It took Sandra and me almost half an hour to locate Camille. She stood at a champagne table, talking to a man from payroll admin—I knew him by sight.

Her dress was an event by itself. It was jet black where its fabric hugged her shoulders and showed ample skin in a deep neckline. The hem screamed a fluorescent neon green, with tongues of green flame reaching upwards into the black bodice of the thing. It made her look like a stick of coal aflame in emerald fire. And on her left shoulder, something perched—a green contraption of silk, like a giant flower, the kind that might eat a guinea pig for breakfast.

The dress emphasized her tall, slim build and highlighted her coppery hair.

"Oh, wow." I gingerly reached out for the flower thing. It yielded to my touch in a slightly disturbing manner, as if alive and contemplating to feed on me instead of guinea pigs. "That sure is creative."

"Thanks." She grinned and gave me a probing look. "I think this is the first time I've seen you in a skirt."

I shrugged, feeling once more like a businesswoman looking for the boardroom in a jungle of exotic creatures. Or like that girl at the beginning of Katy Perry's 'Roar' video. I had hoped they'd at least recognize the creative upside-down placement of my silver angel.

The man at Camille's side cleared his throat. He was clad in a featureless dark suit. His contribution to the common creative effort was an emoji tie.

"Ah, yes," she said and tapped his shoulder. "That's Jake. He's from payroll."

"Pleased to meet you," he said. One of the emojis on his tie was the turd-one.

I was tempted to comment on the turd but was interrupted by Sandra. "So, have you seen Prince Charming?"

I silently blessed her for steering the conversation away from wardrobe and preventing me from saying something stupid, even though the Prince Charming topic wasn't much better.

Camille knotted her brows. "Prince Charming?" But then her face lit up. "Ah, you mean Thierry Thorne? No, I haven't seen him... have you?"

"Briefly," Sandra said. "With his sister and a woman looking like the new millennium's edition of Twiggy."

I loved this description of the hyena woman. "Twiggy two-point-oh," I added.

"He's with a woman?" Camille frowned.

Sandra nodded. "It did look like that, yes."

Camille fingered the green thing on her shoulder, her gaze lost in mid-distance. "Well... we'll see about that."

"Talking about men..." Sandra said, "Have you seen Lawrence Liang anywhere? The IT guy?"

Camille nodded. "Yes. He was over there..." She waved towards a remote corner of the hall. "... with the rest of the nutty nerds, laughing about nerdy jokes, or something. Have you seen what he's wearing? He's dressed like a rainbow."

I disliked the mocking tone of her voice. "I think it's a fun suit. At least, he's much more genuine than Thorne junior and—"

"Here you are!" A man's voice boomed beside me, nearly making me jump.

I turned to face a grinning Bob. He wore a white jacket, white trousers, a black shirt, and a white tie. Quite dashing if it wasn't for the red wine stain that marked one of his lapels.

I moved to Sandra's other side to bring her between me and him.

As I reached my new position, the lights in the hall suddenly dimmed. The noise receded and an expectant murmur filled the room. Spotlights turned on to illuminate a wide podium with a lectern. A suited figure stepped up to it, tiny in the distance.

A gigantic wall screen behind him lit up with a close-up of the man.

Thierry Thorne.

The picture on the screen showed every detail of his face, broadcasting the glitter in his eyes. When he moved, a myriad of iridescent highlights emanated from something woven into the fabric of his jacket.

"Welcome, folks. It's so good to see you here, at our humble..." He lifted both arms. "... TCorp Party."

The crowd laughed and applauded. I crossed my arms.

"I know you're not here for the speeches, so we'll keep them short. And you certainly don't want to see me up here... do you?" He paused, his grin on the screen amplified to garage door size. The crowd's laughter and the occasional, high-pitched calls of his name made more of his white teeth appear.

A predator reveling in the attention of his willing prey.

Or did I do him wrong here? He had seemed quite nice, back at our office.

When the clamor had died down, he continued. "But we do have one speaker that you'll all want to hear... and my dad wants to have a word with you. So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Thomas Thorne!"

Thierry merged with the murk at the back of the stage as Thorne Sr. walked up to the lectern. His steps were slow, and he used a walking stick. The crowd greeted him with applause.

He leaned his cane against the lectern. Then he faced the camera, a smile on his lips. He didn't have his son's grin, nor his imposing frame—he was slightly stooped, his thin hair gray, and the skin on his face mottled, but he held the same sparkle in his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone." He bowed his head at the camera. "Like every year, it's a pleasure and an honor to be with you all. But this year... is a very special one." He paused. The silence that followed was almost palpable.

My eyes searched the dark periphery of the dais for Thierry Thorne. Was the old man about to retire, about to yield the helm of TCorp to his son?

"Today, on this date, but fifty years ago... we founded TCorp."

I hadn't been aware of this. And I obviously wasn't the only one. It took some moments for the crowd to start its clapping and cheering.

Thomas Thorne held up his hands for silence. "We didn't tell you in advance. Why? Because we are not celebrating TCorp tonight." He shook his head. "No, tonight is not about TCorp. Because TCorp itself doesn't matter... If there's one thing I have learned in all my years here, it's this: A company is nothing without the people working for it... So TCorp is nothing without you. It's you who are the heart and the soul of this company. It's your efforts, your integrity, your grit, your imagination, your loyalty, and your visions that are driving it and shaping it. So, tonight we are celebrating... you." He spread his arms as if he wanted to hug us all.

The applause was thunderous.

Thomas Thorne wiped an eye. True emotion or a gifted actor? I didn't know—he usually didn't give a speech at the yearly party—but I felt like hugging the old man back.

He held up an arm once more, and the noise abated. "And now... I don't want to bore you with more talk. Enjoy the drinks, enjoy the food, enjoy the shows, enjoy the night. But most of all, enjoy yourselves because you are the best thing this place has ever seen."

The crowd was clapping and yelling as the man left the stage.

Again, I searched the dais and its periphery for Thierry Thorne, but the predator was in hiding.