When we pull up and get out of the limo, this charity ball is next level. There’s a blue carpet rather than a red one, and paparazzi line up outside black velvet ropes. Black and blue lights bathe the white stucco building in the Bruisers’ team colors.
I have to admit, after being at the cabin for a few weeks, I experience a bit of culture shock upon returning to civilization. Being at the beach was relaxing and the day at the spa was a treat, but the frenetic energy of the city replaces the slow pace of the island I’d gotten used to as camera flashes pop and reporters volley questions at us.
Once we get inside, my breath doesn’t come any easier. Not with the tinkling of the piano or the soft flicker of candlelight.
It doesn’t help that Grey is suddenly tense. He’s probably dealing with his own reintegration into team life. Standing a head taller than most people, he cuts his eyes in the direction of the arched opening leading to the banquet room.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Grey loosens his hand from mine and strides away.
I stand next to a tall banner displaying the names of all of the individuals and companies, along with their logos, that had donated to the charity ball. A top donor is a familiar metal-style font with the lettersLHfused together in a familiar logo. Beneath it is the nameLeFevre Holdings.
One tier down is Mercer Corp, the company where Todd used to work.
Those rats.
Anxiety swims in my stomach even though there’s no chance they’re here. After seeing the picture in the photo album, a series of texts exchanged where I used some top-level negotiating—a skill I’d observed in my father—I thought I got what I wanted.
I’d been reluctant to tell Grey anything, even though it broke our Marriage Club rules, in case I was mistaken.
I also learned that Todd is no longer at Mercer, but in our exchanges, he didn’t specify his new job. It’s mean of me to think this, but I secretly hope that he was fired.
However, the Ice King and Todd have important things to do, places to go, and people to crush. There’s no chance either of them would attend this ball. I hope.
As guests mill around and take their seats, I scan the room for Grey. Tall and handsome, dressed in a suit and tie, he ought to stand out from the crowd, but all the guys wear black suits...and the women are in blue—the theme.
Eventually, I spot him talking to a plump, bald man with a frown on his face.
I cross the room and Grey introduces me to Commissioner Starkowsky, which is just the beginning of a round of introductions that leave my head spinning. For weeks, I’ve seen little more than Grey, Sonny, and a smattering of visitors to the island. Oh, how I wish we were watchingBiler og Lastebilerin a pillow fort and eating blueberries.
But that isn’t what almost makes me dizzy. Despite Grey’s good work for the charity and position on the team, I feel like a trophy on his arm with little to contribute other than a polite nod and smile—much the way I had with Todd as a prize for winning the metal magnate’s daughter.
Well, until I left him at the altar in a state of utter humiliation. Then again, he drove the nails into that vampire coffin when he cheated.
When I was a little girl, I’d watch my father get dressed up and flounce around with women dressed fancy in silky and shimmery gowns with jewelry dripping from their ears, necks, and wrists. Pangs of excited jealousy would stick with me after their heels clicked out the door.
As an adult, I care little for networking events and social hours where my only job is to smile politely. I don’t miss Todd or his antics at all. But I can’t deny that I feel uneasy.
The guests funnel into the banquet hall and I sit at the head table with Grey, the coach, and the other players involved in the #BruiserButt scandal, along with their plus ones, who turn out to be a pleasant surprise—all the Blancbourg coaches are honorary guests...or dates?
Ladies, spill your stories.Then again, I suppose I have one to tell, too.
Grey eyes his teammates, but I sense an undercurrent of tension rippling across his skin as Coach Hammer roasts them all, followed by a few kind words, applauding them for their efforts after #BruiserButt. The guys each express theirappreciation for the Blancbourg program when I spot a familiar face in the crowd.
My blood runs cold.
An icy wind gusts from the north.
I jerk my head in Grey’s direction, begging for an explanation, but there’s no way he’ll have one to offer.
A speaker acknowledges several key donors and how their contributions help fund the featured charity. Everyone applauds the positive impact it’ll have, complete with slides illustrating graphs and statistics.
It would be rude for me to get up, but every cell in my body commands me to seek refuge. There is no good to come from my father being here.
However, another speaker takes the microphone. “Just before the close of our fiscal year, we had a sizable donation from Lefevre Holdings. You may be familiar with them. In fact, I think they’re responsible for providing the metal for this microphone, the light fixtures,” he points overhead, “and just about everything made out of the material in this country. May we have a round of applause for Mr. Lefevre?”
My father’s slim smile is anything but appreciative. After all, he is the Ice King.
