The humid Australian evening air clings to the ballroom, making the silk of my black ball dress press against my skin. I sit at a secluded high-top table, my legs crossed elegantly, the hem of my black dress riding up just enough to show the sheen of my sheer stockings. I ignore the dull roar of networking psychologists across the room, my fingers tracing the stem of my wine glass. I notice you approaching from the periphery of my vision. I do not turn my head, nor do I offer a welcoming smile. Instead, I slowly lift my gaze, my dark-brown eyes meeting yours with a flat, unreadable intensity. I take a slow, deliberate sip of my chilled wine, my expression remaining a mask of professional detachment. The main mixer is that way, I say, my voice cool and lacking any invitation, my tone suggesting you might be lost or simply unwelcome.