As we mingled, I introduced Anica to various acquaintances and business associates, all of whom seemed fascinated by her. Or, more accurately, fascinated by the fact that I’d brought her as my date. I could practically see the gossip spreading through the room, carried on currents of whispered conversations and meaningful glances.
Strangely, I didn’t mind. In fact, part of me, a larger part than I cared to admit, wanted these rumors to be true. Wanted people to think of Anica as mine. Wanted her to be mine.
“What are you thinking about? You’ve got a strange look on your face.” Anica asked, breaking into my thoughts.
“Just contemplating the strange and mysterious workings of the universe. And wondering if the shrimp puffs are worth the inevitable garlic breath.”
“Very deep thoughts,” she nodded solemnly. “Truly the mark of a philosophical mind.”
“I contain multitudes,” I agreed. “Speaking of which, would you like to see the pediatric cardiology wing plans? They’re on display in the east gallery.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You know where the display is?”
“I helped design it. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Taking her hand, I led her through the crowd to a quieter area where architectural renderings and medical equipment diagrams lined the walls. I stopped in front of a large display showing the proposed new wing of the children’s hospital.
“This is the project the gala is funding. A state-of-the-art pediatric cardiology center with the latest diagnostic and treatment technology.”
Anica studied the renderings. “This is impressive. The layout is incredibly patient-centered.”
“That was the priority. Too many hospitals are designed for the convenience of the staff rather than the comfort of the patients. We worked with child psychologists to create spaces that would feel less intimidating for kids undergoing treatment.”
“We?” she questioned, looking at me with new curiosity.
“I’ve been involved with the hospital for years. My cousin was treated there as a kid. Leukemia. She survived because they had the right technology and the best doctors. Not every family is that lucky.”
“I had no idea,” Anica said softly.
“It’s not something I advertise. Bad for my image as a heartless sexy tech billionaire,” I shrugged.
“Heaven forbid people know you actually care about something beyond your stock portfolio,” she teased, but her eyes were warm.
“It would ruin me. Next thing you know, I’d be rescuing drowning damsels and helping old people cross streets. My reputation would never recover.”
As we continued through the exhibit, I explained various medical technologies with perhaps more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary. But Anica seemed genuinely interested, asking thoughtful questions about the equipment and treatment protocols.
“You know a lot about medical technology for someone who isn’t in healthcare,” she observed.
“I invest in it. Not just financially, but time-wise. I sit on the hospital’s innovation board. We review new technologies, evaluate their potential impact, determine funding priorities.”
“That’s... actually pretty amazing,” she admitted.
“Try not to sound so surprised. I occasionally do things that don’t involve being insufferable.”
“Only occasionally,” she agreed with a smile that took the sting out of her words. “This is clearly your annual good deed.”
“Ouch. You wound me.”
She laughed, and I found myself inordinately pleased that I’d caused that sound. I wanted to make her laugh more often. I wanted to be the reason for that spark in her eyes, that slight flush in her cheeks.
God, I was in trouble.
As we made our way back to the main hall, the string quartet had been replaced by a small orchestra, and couples were beginning to fill the dance floor. I glanced at Anica, who was watching the dancers with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“Would you like to dance?” I asked, offering my hand.
She hesitated. “I should warn you, I usually don’t.”
