“Mr. Darrow, here, told me months ago. Besides, if you’d ever walked past the bathroom near the little conference room between a quarter after twelve and twelve thirtyish, you’d know that already. They think they’re subtle.”
Z slapped a hand over his mouth, and Mansfield chuckled his way over to a caterer holding a tray of shimmering glasses filled with even more champagne. Rowell blushed and cleared his throat. Z buried his face against my shoulder. Olivia laughed so hard she started choking—Rowell had to slap her on the back.
“Well, then,” Rowell said, appearing scandalized, and that just set Olivia off on another round of cackling, only this time Z joined her. I shook my head at them all, my face on fire. I never let go of Z’s hand, though.
“Yes, for anyone wondering, we’ve been dating,” I said, loud enough that I caught the attention of a few other people from the office. I was surprised when we got some claps.
“Are you proposing?” someone called out, and I nearly swallowed my tongue as I shook my head.
Olivia snorted out another laugh, and it was Z’s turn to squeeze my hand and offer his support.
“We live together,” I called back with a burst of excitement. “So, sometime we probably will, but I wanted to say everyone who goes to the new office with Z and Mansfield will have a great time. He’s a hard worker, and he’ll always be on your side as long as you meet him halfway.”
There was another round of applause, I suspected fueled by the champagne. Cheers went up as Mansfield opened the front door, and we all filed into the new building that still smelled strongly like paint. There wasn’t any furniture yet in the lobby, just a huge black wooden desk that dominated the entryway and served as a barrier between the door and the elevators behind, which I suspected meant there would be security here. Criminal law carried risks patent and tech law simply did not.
The afternoon disappeared in a flurry of food, drink, and building tours. The sky garden was set up for the party and large enough to accommodate everyone. Mansfield had a great time lording his new building over all his rivals and had a lot of photographs taken to post online. At some point Avery Wysocki from the newspaper corralled him and Zayden against one of the mirror-plated pillars for a photo.
“Wait. Fern!” Zayden called. Mansfield gestured for me to join them, then called his wife over.
“This is for posterity, boys,” Mrs. Mansfield said, leaning her head against her husband’s. “To another fifty years of good business.”
Zayden grinned, and it dawned on me I was being included not because Iworkedwith him, but because I waswithhim. My heart hammered and I smiled for the camera.
As Wysocki wandered away, taking more candid shots of the party, a man I didn’t know slid in near Mansfield’s elbow. He was tall with wide shoulders. The reddest hair I’d ever seen in real life was brushed back and to the side in a classic style that went with his tan summer suit. If it wasn’t for his strong jaw, his high cheekbones would have put him into model territory. As things stood, he was one of those men who always made everyone around them suck in their gut and straighten their spine.
“Congratulations, Clint. And company,” he said in a deep Texan drawl, including me and Z in an offhand way that let me know he didn’t give a shit about us. Z shared a look with me.
“Alton. Boys,” Mansfield said to us, grinning. “This is Alton Bouchard. He’s probably the richest man you’ve ever met.” He laughed and shook his head like that was a great joke.
Alton only shrugged.
I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Congratulations?” I murmured.
Alton actually grinned. “Yeah, it took some doing. Say, Clint. You know everyone here, right?” He turned and not so subtly pointed at the mopey young guy I’d noticed earlier in the really nice suit. “Do you know who that happens to be? He was with Edison Divine.”
Mansfield let out a groan. “That’s Noah Divine, his son. Shiest kid you’ll ever meet. You can’t get two words out of him. Real shame.”
Alton’s eyebrows twitched. “You don’t say. That’s the heir to the Divine Conglomerate? I’m privately invested in the company. Will he tank it?”
Mrs. Mansfield laughed. “Goodness, they’d never allow that. They’re Vert Islanders.”
“Old money,” Mansfield said, as if any of us needed to have that cleared up. “They’ll train him to run the company. That’s what those types of people do. Too bad he isn’t a girl, though. They’d marry him off to someone who knew what the hell they were doing. A man who could run the damned business without a passel of supervisors.”
Mansfield’s wife shushed him.
A predatory smile spread across Alton’s face. “Yeah, they probably would, if he was a woman.” He let out a thinking hum and smirked at Mansfield. “This isn’t the old days, is it? Things have changed some. Thanks, Clint. Congratulations again. Let’s do lunch one of these days.” He kissed Mrs. Mansfield on the cheek, and she laughed as he took off to talk to a man nearby who waved a hand at him.
At the typical quitting time, the party wound down, but most people headed off toward Bar Row, rather than home. I knew Zayden would be going back in to work tomorrow, even though it was a Saturday, in order to help get the furniture deliveries to the right areas of the fancy new offices. This settling-in period would be a long haul for us as a couple, and it wouldn’t be fun to be apart so much.
“I’ll help you tomorrow,” I said drowsily from the passenger seat. The world was beautiful as it flew past my window, and Z smiled at me.
“You don’t have to, you know.” He patted my knee, and the sunset reflected in his dark sunglasses.
“But there’s no rule against it, right?”
He shook his head, paying careful attention to the road the way he always did when he drove. “No.”
“I want to help when you need me and stay out of it when you don’t. I miss you.”
