My brother sent me to the kids’ table at his wedding and whispered, “Don’t ruin the image,” but everything changed when the billionaire boss he wanted to impress sat next to me and shattered his humiliation.

He pointed to Table Nineteen which was tucked away in the furthest corner of the room right next to the swinging doors of the kitchen. The table was marked with a small drawing of a balloon and was clearly designated for the youngest guests at the party.

“Jeffrey, that is the children’s table,” I pointed out with a look of disbelief. “Great-Aunt Maude will be there too and since she is mostly deaf, you two will be very comfortable together,” he replied as if he were doing me a favor.

“You want me to sit with toddlers?” I asked. His patience finally snapped and he told me that I simply did not fit in with the people who came here to network and close major deals.

“You are not on their level, so just sit in the back, eat your meal, and please try not to embarrass me,” he muttered. My throat tightened with anger as I reminded him that I worked just as hard as anyone else in the room.

He let out a short and mocking laugh before telling me that my little freelance blog did not count as a real career. “I do not have time for this, so stay at Table Nineteen and do not even think about approaching Xavier Thorne when he arrives,” he commanded.

He told me that a billionaire CEO like Xavier was completely out of my league before he walked away to greet a group of men in expensive suits. I watched him walk through the crowd and had no idea that the man he just forbade me from speaking to was actually my biggest client.

I knew that the revolutionary speech Xavier had given at the London summit last week had been written on my laptop at three in the morning. To my brother, I was just a strange sister who wrote small things in coffee shops and had never achieved anything significant.

I took a deep breath and walked toward the back of the room where I found the disastrous setup of Table Nineteen. There were plastic cups and crayons scattered everywhere along with plates of cold chicken nuggets and a baby crying in a stroller.

I sat down in the middle of the chaos until a young boy with a messy bowtie looked up at me and said he liked my dress. “Thank you very much,” I replied with a small smile.

“I like monsters and fast cars,” he told me while holding up a blue crayon. “I like those things too,” I said as the woman watching the children gave me a sympathetic look from across the table.