Against The Fire

The Invitation 

The shrill sound of Eli’s phone cut through the peace of his office.

He winced, pen poised over a contract he had barely started reading. He let out a long, irritated hiss, “Ugh, not now.” His voice held the weariness of someone who hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in a week. Maybe he hadn't. Stacks of files, leases, proposals, and partnership drafts were scattered like a paper battlefield across his expensive mahogany desk.

The phone rang again. The caller wouldn't stop. Eli was angry and was too busy to even get up from his chair to get his phone at the other corner of the office.

“Megan,” he called, not looking up. “Please, whoever that is, kill it.”

His personal assistant looked up from her own cluttered workspace, knitting her brows as she reached for the phone. “It’s your dad. Mr. Chamberlin.” she wouldn't dare to answer such a call. 

Eli’s head dropped back against the chair with a thud. “Shit,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Sir…….you know I can't answer this one,” Megan said, offering the phone like it was covered with poison.

Eli groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course you can't.” He snatched the phone, holding it with two fingers like it might explode. “What is it, Dad? Why are you trying to mess up my day with your relentless call? Did your wife leave you?” she spewed, and didn't even offer him the common greeting, and there was no warmth in his voice at all.

As usual, his father didn’t bother with pleasantries either, or even respond to his pettiness. “There’s a charity art gala tomorrow evening. You’re going.”

Eli sat up straighter. “A gala? In the middle of a business quarter? I have files taller than me to…”

“You’ll go,” Mr. Chamberlin cut in sharply. “You’re the face of the company now. Act like it. Be responsible And represent our family.”

Before Eli could come up with another good excuse or even roll his eyes in peace, another voice crackled through the speaker. It was his mother. Mrs. Venita 

“And take a girl,” she added with a note of annoyance. “People are starting to talk. You’ve never been seen with a proper woman, Eli. It’s embarrassing.”

Eli’s jaw clenched. “Goodbye, Mother.”

And he hung up.

The moment the phone clacked down onto the table, he let out a dramatic sigh and slumped deeper into his chair. “I hate being a Chamberlin,” he muttered.

“You’re not going?” Megan asked, already knowing the answer.

“I’ve got better things to do than sip overpriced champagne with a bunch of boring billionaires and their Botoxed wives,” he grumbled, reaching for the next file.

His comment was funny, that it made Megan laugh so hard, forgetting that she was in an office. But when she realized, she quickly apologized. 

However, she was still bent on telling him her own cent of the truth. “You do know that this particular ‘boring’ event is being covered by The Echo, right?” she asked casually, knowing how to push just the right buttons. “They’ll have open mics for poetry, you love poetry and rumor has it, a few editors will be there. It could be… exposure.”

That caught his attention.

He glanced up.

“And,” she added with a smirk, “networking. As the heir to a multimillion-dollar real estate empire, you might actually want to shake hands with people who aren’t on your payroll. Sign up some deals, make more billions, and maybe raise my salary.” Her last word was dragged, but Eli didn't pay any attention to that part. 

Eli groaned. “Damn you and your logic.”

Megan grinned. “So…?”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go. But if one more rich girl tries to flirt with me by talking about her vacation in the Maldives, I’m faking a seizure.”

He checked his watch. 3:57 PM.

“Shit. I should leave now if I want to beat traffic.”

“I’ll handle everything here,” Megan said, already swiping files into organized stacks.

“Remind me to give you a raise,” Eli muttered as he grabbed his jacket.

He left the office with his usual graceful irritation, nodding curtly to the staff as he passed by, his mind was already beginning to churn with the possibilities and the kind of person you would see there. That was the only reason he was going. That, and Megan’s annoying ability to be right.

*************************************

Eli’s penthouse in Tribeca was minimalist perfection. Clean lines, cool tones, and the scent of teakwood cologne already lingering in the air.

He stepped out of the elevator and tugged his tie loose, tossing his jacket on the back of a leather couch. As he made his way into his bedroom, the weak light of the city spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, shining over classic furnishings and the dark marble of the ensuite bathroom.

An hour later, he stood in front of the mirror. On Black slacks tailored to perfection hugged his frame, paired with a deep navy shirt, buttoned just enough to hint at the lean muscle beneath. His blazer was also sharp and structured, and was the color of midnight with a subtle satin lapel. No tie. No gaudy watch. Just a single silver ring on his index finger and a quiet confidence that made him look impossibly effortless.

His dark curls were perfectly tousled, like he hadn’t tried at all which, of course, took twenty minutes.

He studied himself in the mirror and smirked faintly. “You clean up alright, Chamberlin.”

The Lambo waited downstairs, gleaming under the golden haze of evening.

As he stepped out, the valet straightened with an awed look. Eli tossed him a casual nod and slid into the sleek leather interior. The engine roared to life with a purr that made heads turn as he eased into the street.

He didn’t know why, but a strange anticipation curled low in his stomach.

He told himself it was just the chance to get to see what he loves, and to play the part his father demanded for once and move on.

But deep down, something told him this night…this stupid, f

orced gala was about to change everything.