The burgundy dress is too slim cut for me to do more than take little mermaid steps, and I can’t get away fastenough before Stu has me cornered. His breath reeks of alcohol. Sausage fingers clasp my bare arm.
“Such a pretty dress. Bethany can’t wear anything like that right now.”
His wife is with the other Prism higher-ups and hasn’t noticed us.
“You should talk to Bethany. She’s been real difficult to be around lately.” He takes a long sip from the wineglass. “It’s nice to be around a woman who supports a man, who takes care of herself.”
His gaze slides down the V of the neckline.
Maybe making polite small talk while hanging on McCarthy’s arm’s not so bad.
I try to sidestep Stu, but he moves with me, pushing me back against the table.
I concentrate on McCarthy’s blond head as he moves through the crowd, and I can hear his deep voice.
“—like to say a few words if I may,” McCarthy’s saying to the chairwoman, “before we kick off the festivities.”
Air raid sirens go off in my head.
Abort mission!
I try to move.
A sweaty hand grabs my wrist. “I’m just going to shoot my shot here.” Stu chortles. “I wouldn’t be the man I am if I didn’t at least try. Now correct me if I’m wrong, though I never am”—there’s that wet chuckle again—“but I really feel a connection to you.”
“I can’t.”
He catches my gaze as it drifts to McCarthy.
“Him?” The corners of his mouth drop down. “You pulling my leg? Bethany says that man’s not actually in love with you, he’s just sleeping with you.”
McCarthy’s making his way to the stage.
Stu shifts to cut off my view. “Now, I have to say, when I left my wife for Bethany, she was a much nicer person, but she’s turned bitter and angry. She doesn’t even rub my feet anymore. But you. You seem like such a nice girl, Jenna. I can actually take care of you. That man?” He nods to McCarthy. “Sure, he’s a ten, an alpha male. The women they marry—well, you’re a nice girl, but they want, you know, an heiress or something, not—”
“I really have to go.” I finally wrench away from him.
“I’m just shooting my shot here.” His expression turns ugly. “You women. You take everything too personally, you know.”
Grabbing the hem of my dress, I try to push my way through the crowd.
I’m too late.
McCarthy is already up on the low stage.
“No, no, no, no. What the hell is he doing?”
Whatever it is? It’s not good.
“Let’s get this party started!” the HopeWorks chairwoman announces into the microphone as my dad claps like a demented seal.
McCarthy is wearing that shit-eating grin on his face as he looks out over the clapping crowd.
I slide, almost banging into a waiter carrying a tray of empty glasses, as I push my way up to the front.
“McCarthy.” My hiss is drowned out by the applause from the crowd.
McCarthy puts two hands on the lectern and leans over to the microphone, his gray eyes glittering in the light from the chandelier. “Good evening.”
