The corporate dinner is endless.
Three hours of speeches. Four courses. Infinite small talk. My face hurts from smiling. My feet scream in heels that looked better than they felt.
Adrian navigates it all with practiced ease, introducing me to partners and executives whose handshakes feel like tests.
“You’re doing great,” he murmurs during dessert.
“I’m dying.”
“Smile.”
I smile. “How much longer?”
“Forty minutes. Maybe an hour.”
I suppress a groan.
“Welcome to my life.”
By the time we escape to his car, it’s past eleven. I collapse into the passenger seat, kicking off my heels immediately.
“That was torture,” I say.
“That was mild.” Adrian loosens his tie. “The annual shareholder meeting is six hours.”
“Six hours of that?”
“With PowerPoint presentations.”
“I’m never complaini
