As the lights dimmed and the chatter in the ballroom subsided, Cal made his way behind the stage that had been set up in the back of the ballroom. His heart pounded a bit, with a mixture of nerves and anticipation. With a quick glance at his phone, he checked for any updates on the Vanderbuilt operation, his impatience growing with each passing moment. The success of tonight's endeavor hinged on the swift and seamless execution of their plan, and Cal could feel the weight of responsibility pressing down upon him. By the time Charles Vanderbuilt got his food and sat down, he would surely search for his phone and notice it was gone. 

Just as his anxiety threatened to overwhelm him, Marcus appeared through the back door. Their eyes met across the room, and with a simple nod, Marcus made his way toward Vanderbuilt's seat, slipping the phone discreetly to the table, where Charles was sure to believe he had left it all along. Cal breathed a sigh of relief, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. The worst was over -- now all that remained was to re-wire the transaction, and ensure their tracks were covered.

Stepping up to the podium, Cal cleared his throat and addressed the assembled guests, his voice ringing out with practiced gravitas. "Ladies and gentleman, thank you for joining us this evening," he began, his eyes scanning the room, "I am honored to welcome you to our annual fundraiser in support of..." he paused, checking his notes to ensure he had the details correct, before continuing, "The Los Angeles Humane Society. The work that the Humane Society does is truly commendable, and it is a cause that is near and dear to my heart. Every contribution you make tonight will go toward providing shelter, care, and love to animals in need." He added a note that each of their tables were adorned with a gallery of adoptable animals, as well as adoption forms.

As he spoke, Cal couldn't help but feel a twinge of cynicism at the sight of the wealthy patrons before him. Not a single one of these purebred assholes would be seen dead with a mixed-breed dog or some orange cat that had been found in a dumpster. But he pushed aside his reservations, focusing instead on the task at hand -- extracting as much money from their deep pockets as possible. 

Finishing his speech, Cal stepped down from the podium, allowing the next speaker to take over. As the auction of art pieces from his personal collection began -- all of the proceeds would be donated -- he discreetly made his way through the crowd, politely waving when he was addressed, his thoughts consumed by the woman he'd seen earlier. He hadn't seen her amidst the crowd, but with the lights low, it was difficult to make out faces. Despite his usual collected confidence, he was feeling a bit overwhelmed. It had only been an hour, and yet he had exhausted himself with all of the pleasantries and fake niceties that these people seemed to require. He needed some air, and was excusing himself out of a side door, turning to make his way up the stairs to the roof, when he suddenly collided with someone. A handbag dropped between them He was already apologizing. "I'm terribly sorry," he started, turning toward whomever he'd assaulted. 

The woman in the gold dress.

A surge of excitement welled in his chest, and he stooped to pick up the bag. "Can't have you bending over in a dress like that," he purred, "Wouldn't want to rip anything." He tightened his grip on the bag a bit as he handed it to her, ensuring she felt the split second of resistance before he released it. "I don't believe we've met before," he said coolly, his eyes lingering on her. "I'm Calvin." He extended a hand, just as his phone erupted a shrill ring from his pocket. He grimaced, holding a finger up apologetically, and pulled it out quickly to see his tech team downstairs was calling him. Damn it. "I'm so sorry to be rude, but I have to run off," he said, quickly pulling a business card from his jacket pocket and scribbling something on the back of it, handing it to her. "I'd love it if we could run into each other again, later. Meet me for a drink?" 

On the card was, simply, "6th floor". According to any building plans for this hotel, no such thing existed -- it was a 5 floor hotel, not including the basement. There was no button for it on the elevator. But Cal figured that if this girl were worth the time and effort he so desperately wanted to put into her, among other things, she would figure it out. He brought her hand, the one he'd passed the card into, to his lips briefly, before striding off in the direction of the stairs. "I [i]will[/i] see you again," he promised, looking back briefly, a bit of pain welling in his chest. God, he hoped he would.