The next day, Gray was sitting behind his desk with a half-finished report open in front of him. His computer's monitor was open, and the cursor was blinking patiently on the screen.
The office was quiet that morning. He had a lot of work to do, but his mind was elsewhere.
Gray's fingers hovered over the keyboard. They were unmoving. The numbers in the spreadsheet blurred in his eyes, his focus drifting for the third time in less than five minutes.
He leaned back in his chair and let out a breath through his nose.
Tomorrow.
The gala was tomorrow.
He had known it was coming, but now that it was actually close, his nerves were creeping in.
He looked down at his hands, tapping one thumb against the other. His suit was already hanging in the closet at home. They were already pressed and ready.
He'd also already confirmed the venue, triple-checked the invitation, even set a reminder on his phone for when to leave.
And yet…
'What if I mess this up?'
