The Stand-In(77)

Fangli continues. “It’s having a clean break and all that. I often wish I could take a similar action.”

“You can’t?”

“I love him and although we have different philosophies, he’s my father.” She shrugs. “He’s difficult, but how can I cut him out of my life when he’s my only family?”

There’s no answer to that. Fangli hands me an adorable purse and approves when I sling it over a single shoulder rather than as a cross-body.

Then Sam and I are in the car headed to the event space. It’s on the top floor of an office building in the East End but I gasp out loud when I see the view. The entire city lays itself out in front of us, the lake to the south, the skyscrapers to the west, and residences and trees to the north and east.

“Ms. Wei, what a pleasure.” A tall woman approaches us. “Mr. Yao.”

She’s smiling and I have no idea who she is, so I murmur a suitable greeting and follow her into the main room. A long walkway splits the space in two, and there are rows of chairs lining the sides. Black-clad servers walk around with food and wine, and I decline both when they come in my direction. I can’t eat and be Fangli and save my lipstick all at once.

The woman points out our seats and leaves. A nasal voice comes from behind me. “I’m only here because of Angelica,” a woman says. “The Chinese have absolutely wrecked Chanel with their fakes everywhere. Really it’s quite terrible, but you know Angelica. Once she finds a style, she never changes.”

A booming voice cuts her off.

“Too many Chinese, that’s the problem. Driving all the prices up. Real estate’s the worst. Never know what they’re thinking. There’s too many of them, all look the same. We’re going to be overwhelmed. It’s a numbers game.”

Sam’s face has stilled into neutral but he touches my arm when I go to turn around.

“Forget it,” he says softly.

“Like hell.” I glance behind to see who the asshole is and have no trouble locating him. He’s older, in his fifties, wearing a baggy black suit. I take a long look so I can recognize him later, watching as he shoves his empty glass at a passing server and jabs his finger in her face until she gives him a fresh drink from her tray.

Sam and I mingle but the man’s comments have soured my mood. Sam must notice because he leads me onto the balcony that provides a view out over the black lake. Thanks to an unseasonably cold night, we’re the only people out here.

“You need to let it go,” he says. “You’re not going to accidentally spill a drink on him or beat him in rational debate, so quit thinking about it.”

“How did you know I was going to spill on him?”

He gives me a look out of the corner of his eyes. Against the night, his face is starkly outlined. “There are many like him here.”

“At least you can go back home and not have to deal with people like him. I’m stuck.”

“There are always people like him, everywhere.” Sam leans his forearms on the balcony rail. Tonight he’s in slacks and with the sleeves of the dress shirt rolled up, he exudes coolly confident style. I’ve already seen two men glance over and fix their own sleeves. “He’s scared and he feels inferior and he doesn’t like it.”

“Or maybe he’s not scared but just a class-A dick who needs to be snapped into place. I bet he lords his money over everyone around him.” I look back into the room. “Oh my God.”

“What?” He stands in front of me as if to block whatever it is. I pull him out of the way gently.

“That’s Robin Banerjee.”

Sam waves his hand. “Some context, please?”

“A venture capitalist based in the city who only funds local business and has a focus on lifehacking ventures.” I’ve done my research.

Understanding dawns. “Like Eppy.”

“Like Eppy.”

“Now’s the time to get him,” Sam urges. “Pitch him.”

“I can’t.” I want to stomp my feet in rage. “I’m Fangli, not Gracie.”

“Right.” He gives a brisk nod. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll go over, introduce myself, and tell him I have a friend with a great idea and will he meet with her.”

“Just like that?”

“Well, he might say no.”

“You’d do that for me?”

Sam looks down at me. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I feel weird.”

“It’s called networking.”

“I’ve always managed by myself.”

He doesn’t say anything but I can hear his voice as loudly as if he had. How’s that working for you?

How is it working for me? I look back at Robin Banerjee. Networking was always for people who had connections and I never did. Sam’s casual offer, that he could simply walk over and ask this stranger a favor—and have a good expectation of receiving it by dint of who he is—speaks to a level of confidence I envy.

I don’t want Sam to do this for me. I want to be able to do it for myself.

“I think I’d rather…” The words die in my mouth. Because Todd is strutting through the crowd.