Chapter 1 Charlie

I slip through the throng of midday pedestrians. The pulse of the city synchronizes with the throb of a headache I'm nursing.

It's another day where every penny clings to each other for dear life in my bank account. Charlotte "Charlie" Greene is my name, though the second part feels like a cruel joke. Green usually means go, or growth, or cash—things that seem just out of reach at the moment.

I started my event planning business the day I turned eighteen. A generous relative left me a sizable sum of cash, but it wasn't enough to live on for the rest of my life, so I thought I would do the smart thing and invest in a business doing something I loved.

It, coupled with a meticulous business plan, was enough to convince the bank that I meant business and secure the rest of the capital I needed to get my dream underway.

Three years later and my business is growing, but so are my bills. And rent here in the city isn't cheap. I just need a few more really good gigs and then I'll be out of debt and it'll all be profit.

Until then, the struggle is real.

My phone buzzes against the soft flesh of my hip, buried deep within the confines of my purse.

Shit, what now?

Fuck it, I'll check it later.

There are schedules to triple-check, venues to scout, and dreams to chase—even if they're wearing me thin.

The coffee shop on the corner is my first stop. It's not a luxury, but a necessity. The barista, a boy barely out of his teens, knows my order by heart. His eyes linger on the curves that my pencil skirt hugs unapologetically, but it's a look I've learned to ignore. I need caffeine, not a flirtation.

"Large Americano, extra shot," he recites, like a prayer offered to the goddess of overwork.

"Keep the change," I say, leaving a couple of dollars on the counter—my attempt at generosity, even when it hurts. I pivot on a heel, the air around me clinging to my body, heavy with the scent of freshly ground coffee beans and frothed milk.

Back on the street, I pass storefronts with mannequins dressed in clothes too expensive for their stillness, and restaurants where laughter spills out like music. None of it's for me. I have a mission: make this event planning business thrive, make Charlie Greene a name that echoes in the halls of high society, make it so my curves are synonymous with success and not struggle.

"Charlotte" might be etched on my birth certificate, but "Charlie" is the moniker that carries weight—the persona of a woman who doesn't flinch at challenge, whose ambition is as wide as her hips, and whose practical mind maps out her next move before the current one is complete.

My phone vibrates against the fabric of my pocket again. I sigh as I slip it out, fingers grazing the cracked screen—another expense on the never-ending list. The number is unfamiliar, but in this business, that's the harbinger of opportunity.

"Charlotte Greene," I answer, voice steady, exuding the confidence I meticulously craft.

"Ms. Greene, this is Claudia, assistant to Alexander Bennett."

The name hits like a shot of espresso straight to the veins. Alex Bennett.

The Alex Bennet.

Billionaire CEO, with eyes that command and a reputation that precedes him like a shadow on a sunny day. His world is one I've always viewed from the outside, pressed against the glass like a child at a candy store.

"Claudia," I respond with a practiced calm, even as my pulse begins to race. "What can I do for Mr. Bennett?"

"Mr. Bennett requires your expertise for an upcoming gala. He insists on nothing short of spectacular."

"Of course," I reply, pulse quickening. "I specialize in spectacular." I want to squeal like a high school girl. Yes, yes, yes!

"Excellent. Mr. Bennett will expect no less. Details will follow. Prepare to exceed expectations, Ms. Greene."

"Always do," I say, but the line is already dead, buzzing with the silence of anticipation. I stand rooted to the sidewalk, the world blurring around me. This is it—the break I so desperately need.

Not only could this booking get me close to paying off my start-up business loans, but it could open up doors to better venues.

Higher-paying clients.

Success and stability.

I can't stop the grin that breaks across my face.

I'm going to plan the hell out of this gala.