"That's complimentary."
She started for the door, then stopped.
"You know the Whitmores will be there tonight."
"I saw the guest list."
"Their office thinks they're meeting 'J. Carter' Monday. Apparently no one bothered to look you up."
"Good."
Sarah raised an eyebrow.
"Good?"
"I don't need prospects performing for me all weekend."
"You're not planning to test them, are you?"
"No."
James's tone made the answer final.
He did not believe in disguised tests designed to trick people. They created theater, not truth. He had no intention of engineering an encounter.
He was simply going to attend a charity gala under his own name, wearing his own clothes, without a security detail or a publicist.
What people chose to do with that information was theirs.
James had driven himself to the Apex Club just after seven. At the valet stand, a young attendant had jogged toward his car, glanced at him through the open window, and said, "Catering deliveries go around back, sir."
James had answered, "I'm attending the gala."
The attendant froze, checked a tablet, found the name, apologized, and accepted the keys.
James tipped him anyway.
Inside, a coat-check attendant directed him toward the service elevator before he showed his invitation.
At the first security station, a guard asked whether he had an employee badge.
An older guest in a tuxedo asked if James was someone's driver.
None of those moments alone would have defined the evening.
Each person corrected course after receiving new information. Some looked ashamed. Some simply moved on.
James had learned to distinguish ignorance from insistence.
Ignorance could be corrected.
Insistence was a choice.
By the time he reached the terrace and found Bradford and Victoria at his table, James was tired, but he had not been angry.
Now, standing in the side corridor with Lena and the event director, Ellen Pierce, he felt tired in a different way.
Ellen arrived almost running.
She was sixty-three, silver-haired, and had spent fifteen years building Innovation for Tomorrow into one of New York's most respected education charities.
"James," she said, breathless, "I am so sorry."
"Don't apologize for words you didn't say."
"They were sitting at your table. My staff should have moved them."
"Why were they allowed to sit there?"
Lena answered.
"They told a waiter they were guests of Mr. Carter. He assumed you had added them."
James nodded.
"Then fix that process next year."
Ellen stared at him.
"That's your concern?"
"One of them."
She looked toward the terrace.
"I can remove them now."
James thought for a moment.
"Not yet."
"James."
"I mean it."
"They humiliated you in front of half the room."
"And if you throw them out before the program starts, tonight becomes a spectacle about me."
"It's already a spectacle."
"Then let's not feed it."
Ellen studied him.
"What do you want?"