I Was Publicly Shamed Over a Spilled Glass of Wine—Until a Billionaire Stood Up and Said My Name

months of my entire life. We’d study together in the library, sharing whispered jokes between stacks of books. Otto would bring me wildflowers he picked on the way to campus—daisies, black-eyed Susans, whatever was blooming. I pressed one of those flowers in my copy of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnets, the book Otto had given me for my nineteenth continue reading …