Maggie straightens her dress. “Well, he looked like a different man when he stepped out of your truck earlier. You might have worked some magic.”
Hopefully, my cheeks aren’t as embarrassingly pink as their warmth suggests. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Well, whatever you didn’t do worked, so you keep right on not doing it.”
She takes another glass of champagne from a tray ready for a server and hands it to me. “Here. Go track him down and give him this.”
I nod and take the glass.
“And I’ll go find that husband of mine and check he hasn’t given up on his speech. God help us all if he tries to wing it.” She shakes her head in affectionate exasperation as she teeters off and is immediately stopped by someone asking her the secret to a long and happy marriage.
24
SUMMER
Ibreathe in, hold the champagne glasses high so I can ease around the back of the people talking to Maggie, and make my way to the room Owen disappeared into a few minutes ago.
I pause in the doorway for a moment to soak up the warm glow of joy, family and friends that fills the air.
It’s packed with people laughing and smiling. Some gather by the large fireplace, others dot the room, standing in small groups. Some sit on a sofa, others in wingback chairs.
And in the far corner, by the heavy swag of the tapestry curtains, stand Owen, Elliot, and the Gold Chain Man who witnessed me almost render Maggie unconscious earlier.
Holy shitballs. He must be the big potential investor, Archie Banks.
The warm glow is flushed away by an icy wave, and a ten-ton weight descends on my chest, leaving me struggling to breathe.
What the hell kind of shambolic impression did I create on Owen’s make-or-break investor when I smacked the hostess in the face with a door and ended up tending to her on the kitchen floor with my dog drooling all over her? Presumably the exact opposite impression of the one he would have wanted.
But Owen hasn’t even mentioned it. Unlike Alastair, who would have had a fit about any kind of social faux pas in front of a big client. Not only has Owen not uttered a word, but a moment ago, at the top of the stairs, he looked at me like he thought I was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. So it definitely hasn’t put him off the idea of sleeping with me.
With Elliot standing next to him, you can tell how different they are. Not that Elliot’s not attractive. He is, in a geeky kind of way. But he shifts from foot to foot, and his eyes dart around the room. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
On the other hand, Owen is all confidence and charm—shoulders back, chest out, smiling, and in charge of the conversation. Archie is rapt. Owen seems to have him in the palm of his hand. Watching him in business mode is sexier than I could have imagined. And, it has to be said, he’s ridiculously hot in a suit. A rush of desire mixed with admiration ripples through me.
Owen says something that must be hilarious, because Archie throws his head back and laughs, his white shirt straining across his belly under his bright blue sport coat. Maybe I didn’t do as much damage as I’d thought.
Archie’s face is even redder than it was earlier as he smacks Owen on the shoulder and booms, “Need to visit the little boy’s room. Then you guys can put on your show for me.”
Excellent. Owen will have a free moment for me to give him his drink, and I can apologize for causing such a ridiculous scene in front of the man I now know is his dream client. I hold the two glasses of champagne to my chest and squeeze sideways between the backs of a woman discussing her horse’s injured leg and a man wearing too much cologne.
I emerge to find Archie Banks’s ample chest staring me in the face.
He snatches my glass from my hand. “Ah, finally some service.”
I recoil in surprise. And wipe a bit of spit from the end of my nose.
He hands me his empty flute. “Here you go.”
My cheeks burn as I stare at the used glass I’ve taken from him without realizing what I was doing. How can he think I’m a waitress? All the servers from the catering crew are wearing white shirts.
“Erm, actually—”
“You're the one who caused the embarrassing fiasco in the kitchen earlier, aren’t you?” he says. “Surprised you still have a job after concussing your boss.”
He takes a sip of his—or, rather, my—drink with his pinkie sticking out.
A surge of burning fury and frustration swells inside me.I always expected some rich dick to treat me like this. That’s why I’d wanted to slam my truck into reverse and go home the moment I saw this place. Why the hell did I let my feelings for Owen get the better of me and agree to stay?
