Then back at me.
"You claim to be AVERY?"
I held her gaze.
"I am the designer operating under that label."
She laughed bitterly.
"Impossible."
I looked toward our chief operating officer, who had just entered through the side door.
He approached carrying his phone and a folder.
The investor turned.
"You."
He stopped beside me.
She pointed toward my face.
"Tell this girl to stop pretending she's your designer."
My chief operating officer looked at her.
Then at me.
For a moment, he seemed genuinely exhausted.
Finally, he said, "She's the founder, creative director, and controlling owner of AVERY."
The investor stared.
He continued.
"The contract you signed was negotiated on her behalf."
Her expression changed.
She looked toward my yellow gown.
Then toward the scattered bills being quietly collected by hotel staff.
Her mouth opened.
For several seconds, she seemed incapable of speech.
Then she whispered, "You were in our meetings."
I nodded.
"Yes."
Her eyes widened.
"The assistant?"
"Creative development."
She stared.
"You deliberately misled me."
I took a slow breath.
"No. You assumed I was an assistant whose opinion didn't matter."
Her cheeks flushed.
"You never identified yourself."
"Your representatives had the legal identity of the contracting party. My public creative identity was confidential under our agreement."
She looked toward my chief operating officer.
He nodded.
"The confidentiality arrangements were disclosed and accepted."
The investor's jaw tightened.
Then she pointed at me.
"So this was a trap."
I stared.
"A trap?"
She gestured toward the ballroom.
"You dressed like a waitress and waited for me to make some mistake."
I felt anger rising.
But I kept my voice level.
"I came to examine a collection whose release hadn't been approved."
Her expression flickered.
I continued.
"I joined the event staff through an authorized arrangement because I wanted to observe the presentation and service environment without ceremonial treatment."
She gave a sharp laugh.
"And you just happened to be serving my table?"
I looked directly at her.
"The event coordinator assigned me there. I didn't ask you to throw money at me."
For a moment, she looked away.
Then she recovered.
"That was unfortunate."
I stared.
"Unfortunate?"
She crossed her arms.
"I was upset."
I felt my jaw tighten.
"You pushed a tray into me, threw money in my face, and watched a manager grab my arm."
Her expression hardened.
"We don't need to discuss that in front of everyone."