Henry hated these things. He hated the small talk and the choking necktie and the hearty handshakes as he milled about the crowd. But it was good for the Foundation, which was why he came.
Between the buffet and the bar stood a woman like a Michelin star confection. She smiled and walked over, one hand extended. “I do declare,” she said, each word basted in gumbo. “You’re Henry Hall. I admire your work.”
Her hand was as silky as a summer nightgown. “Thank you,” he said, voice husky.
“What brings you out to our gala?”
“I love these things.”
This has been an edition of Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle for hosting this party and thanks to Dale Rogerson for this week’s photo. To see more stories inspired by the prompt or to submit your own, click here.