My sister hurled red wine across my dress uniform and told me I had no place in that ballroom, my father told security to get me out before I humiliated his future son-in-law, and I watched the stain slide over my ribbons, checked the countdown on my watch, and said, “You’re right. I don’t,” because in less than a minute the entire room was going to understand why I had really come.
“Harper, listen to me. Please!” he begged, grabbing her arm. “This is fixable! Your father understands how these bureaucratic reviews work. Clara doesn’t! She’s just a soldier. She’s rigid. She sees everything in black and white. She doesn’t understand how the real world operates!”
I almost laughed. Men like Preston Vance continue reading …
