The double doors of the hotel ballroom stood tall and gleaming, guarded by two staff members in suits with earpieces, checking guest lists and credentials. Selena adjusted the hem of her black trousers and the white collared shirt she'd ironed three times that morning. Her low ponytail was slick, her nerves were there somewhere beneath her skin.
She took a breath and stepped inside.
The room was massive. Chandelier light spilled across marble floors and glittering centerpieces. Round tables dressed in cream linens lined the space like a chessboard of elegance. Waiters in the same black-and-white uniform milled around, setting down cutlery, checking glassware. A man with a clipboard barked orders near the far wall.
Selena made her way toward him.
"Excuse me," she said gently. "I'm Selena Blake."
