How I Met My Worst Enemy |COMPLETE|

Networking/ Net working

Just then a photographer approached us.

"Mr. Welsh, a picture for the company's magazine?"

"Of course."

"With your date, please."

My eyebrows shot up, and I quickly corrected him.

"I'm not his date."

But Welsh grabbed my waist, disrupting my breathing pattern.

"Is something wrong?" His breath tickled my earlobe.

A shiver split down my spine, and I had to force my back straight. My weakened knees refused to hold steady.

"Smile, please." The photographer took the picture.

After the photographer finished, I quickly stepped away from Welsh.

My father would be here at any moment. He might already be here, watching me with his hawk eyes. I didn't need him making up his own conclusions about me at the workplace.

Claire walked up to us, and she didn't look thrilled.

That was my exit cue.

"Excuse me, sir, I have to make certain the waiters don't serve Mr. Hartfield's mother shellfish or nuts."

Soon the event was in full swing. I'd tactically introduced myself to the head of every department. And I stayed in groups where Mr. Crow, the HR manager, conversed. And I stayed away from Welsh and Claire. The two of them were looking awfully close. She must have been his date for the evening. Not that I cared. I just needed him distracted long enough to cast my net to network.

Fiona also took the time to introduce me to people she knew.

Many times, I was tempted to introduce myself as Hezekiah Mills' daughter, but I didn't. It wasn't because of modesty or anything. Only because whenever I thought of doing it, I spotted my father watching me in the crowd. He acknowledged me with a simple nod and a brief smile.

I would have loved to have more time to brush shoulders. But I kept getting dragged behind the scene to help with last-minute hiccups and this thing or the other.

From the small windows, I watched Welsh go around smiling and talking to people I'd planned on talking to. People I felt were imperative to my rising in the company. The night was moving fast, and I still hadn't met Mr. Hartfield or Mr. Gold. The Co-CEOs of the company. And I could bet everyone who wasn't on the event planning committee already had.

I was regretting volunteering for this job. Then I remembered I hadn't. Some idiot had volunteered me. If he wanted to help so much why didn't he do it himself?

I sighed, turning on my heels. Feeling sorry for myself wasn't doing me any good. There was work to be done. Coincidentally, I spotted just the thing that needed my attention. The centerpiece on that table was slightly off.

As I moved, my feet kicked something on the ground.

An EpiPen? I retrieved it from the ground. Someone had dropped this.

I cast my eyes around the room and spotted an older lady, clutching her neck as she made her way to the bathroom. I followed in her wake.

"Ma'am?"

Before I could tap her shoulders, the woman threw up in front of the bathroom doors.

I shuddered as some spilled onto my feet.

She swayed and fell to the ground.

"Oh, no." I cried as I reached out to her. She took me down with her, but thankfully I was there to break her fall—my back would thank me later.