Lauren said, not quietly enough, “Apparently ripped jeans are business attire now.” Sabrina laughed. Paige looked uncomfortable.
Imani heard every word. She signed the document. Then she continued reading.
Lauren slowed. She had expected a reaction. When none came, she said, “Must be nice when people make exceptions.” Imani finally looked up. “Exceptions for what?”
Lauren stopped. Paige immediately became interested in her phone.
Lauren gestured vaguely toward Imani’s clothes. “Nothing.” Imani nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
The women walked away. Matthew had witnessed the last few seconds from across the room. He approached after they left and asked whether there was a problem.
“No.” Imani closed her folder. “Not yet.” Matthew knew that tone well enough not to press.
The strange part was that Lauren’s behavior was not unfamiliar to Imani. She had spent much of her twenties entering meetings where people assumed she was the assistant, junior coordinator, diversity representative, or somebody’s guest. She had once presented an entire development proposal before a client turned to her white male employee and asked whether “the principal” agreed. The employee had pointed back toward Imani.
Those moments rarely came with openly racist language. That almost made them easier for other people to dismiss. No one said Black women could not own companies, lead projects, enter luxury hotels, or drive expensive cars.
They simply behaved surprised when one did.
At two fifty, Imani decided she had stayed long enough. She found Matthew near the ballroom and asked whether the valet could bring her car around while she went upstairs to retrieve updated drawings. He handed her claim ticket to the concierge personally. “Five minutes.”
Imani took the elevator to the temporary project office. She collected a folder, checked an email, and returned downstairs. Through the lobby windows, she saw the red Ferrari waiting beneath the porte cochère.
She also saw Lauren.
The blonde woman stood beside the driver-side fender in the fitted red dress she had worn all afternoon. Paige and Sabrina stood behind her, both now holding phones. Lauren leaned one hand against the car while Paige adjusted the camera.
Imani stopped inside the doors. She watched them take several photographs. Lauren turned slightly, crossed one leg, and rested her handbag on the roofline.
The valet who had originally brought the Ferrari around was no longer present. Another attendant stood farther down the driveway helping an elderly couple into an SUV. Nobody had told Lauren the car belonged to anyone in particular.
She had simply decided it was available scenery.
Imani walked through the revolving doors.
Paige noticed her first. She whispered something. Lauren glanced over and immediately recognized her.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Then Lauren smiled.
“Well, look who found us.”
Imani looked at the hand resting on her car. “Please step away from it.” Lauren glanced toward the Ferrari and then back at Imani.
Paige’s phone remained raised.
Lauren apparently believed another entertaining moment had arrived.
“We’re taking pictures,” she said. Imani nodded. “I noticed.”
“We’ll be done in a minute.” Lauren turned slightly toward the camera. Imani did not move.
“I’d like you to step away now.”
Lauren sighed dramatically. “Do you work for the hotel suddenly?” Paige smiled behind the phone. Sabrina did not.
Imani’s expression remained neutral. “No.” Lauren spread one hand. “Then why do you care?”
“Because I asked you to move away from the car.”
Lauren laughed.
“So now you’re security?”
Imani stared.
The question contained more than the words.
It was the third job Lauren had assigned her that afternoon.
Event staff.
Hotel employee.
Security.
All while Imani wore the same sponsor badge Lauren had already seen.
“I’m not security,” Imani said. Lauren lowered her sunglasses and gave her another deliberate look from white shirt to distressed jeans.
“Then maybe let the valet handle the cars.”
Paige laughed.
Sabrina stopped smiling.
Imani felt something cold move through her, but she kept her voice level. “You’re right.” Lauren looked briefly pleased.
“The person responsible for this car should handle it.”