“Okay, look,” I said through my teeth as we smiled for the camera. “If I tell you everything, will you promise to be cool just this once?”

“Of course,” she said, staring straight ahead as the photographer finished shooting, then meandered back into the crowd.

I turned toward Eleanor again. “I like her,” I said as I dug at the collar of my shirt, which seemed to have shrunk two sizes over the course of this conversation.

“That’s it? You like her?”

“I like her, and I’m thinking about asking her out to dinner now that she’s done working for us, yes.”

“Well, you might want to go show off your charm and wit, because I think she’s about to head out the door.”

I followed Eleanor’s gaze across the room, to where Franny was hugging Lola.

“Crap,” I muttered under my breath.

“Tell her we want a photo with her!” Eleanor shouted after me.

I wove my way through the crowd as I watched Franny disappear toward the elevators. I took off for the entrance, trying to walk at a fast enough pace to reach her without looking like a weirdo running through his own party. But once I got there, she was nowhere to be found. I pushed the button, but the elevator was stuck at the first floor and didn’t seem to be moving. Luckily, I had walked the building weeks prior, and knew that the stairwell was always unlocked in case of a fire. I made a dash for it.

Four flights later, I flung the door open directly onto the street. I could see her curls, bouncing just twenty feet ahead of me. So close.

“Franny!” I shouted, cupping my hands to my face to amplify my voice. She turned back, glancing around as she tried to determine where the voice was coming from. I gave her a wave and then slow-jogged to where she stood.

“Hey,” she said, a confused look on her face.

“I was going to grab you for a photo for Architectural Digest,” I said. “But you’re leaving.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I made sure to connect with them,” she said. “They took a few photos already.”

“Oh.” I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice. “Good.”

She tucked her hair behind both ears. “It’s just that I can only play fake extrovert for so long,” she said. “You might not believe it, but underneath this”—she waved a hand up and down her body—“lurks a secret introvert.”

“Well, I’m just a straight-up introvert, so I get it.” I squeezed the back of my neck with my hand.

“The space looks amazing, Hayes,” she said. “I’m really happy I got to be a part of it.”

“Can I get you a Lyft?” I asked, unsure of what else to say. “Or a bike?”