Her eyes widen, as if in panic, as I turn away from her, but I’m certain she’ll be able to handle herself here.
“Just head to the bar and I’ll join you there shortly. You belong here, okay? You’re here with me,” I say with an encouraging smile, and she manages a smile as I turn away.
I can’t be beside her all night, no matter how much I want to be. I have a job to do.
Still, as I walk away, I glance back at her. She looks lost, standing alone in the center of the room, and I worry for a moment that I’ve abandoned her.
But when Maxwell grabs my hand and introduces me to his inappropriately young date, I forget everything else but business.
Chapter 34
Amelia
Istand in the center of the bustling room staring after Crawford in dismay. Realistically, I knew that he wouldn’t be able to be with me all night, but I thought he’d at least get me set up with a drink before deserting me.
I glance around, noting several stares from the room. Some seem curious, others quickly look away, and a few of the women look me up and down as if I’m wearing the trash bag Hope joked about.
Sticking out my chin, I tuck my clutch under my arm and walk toward the bar, head held high.
When I left my house, I felt like a million dollars, Annabelle and Kaitlin’s words of praise ringing in my ears. Now I’m frantically wondering which designer made this dress and if everyone in the room can see right through me. I’m nowhere near as glamorous as the other women in the room.
I glance desperately around the space, hoping I’ll recognize someone. Even Beatrice would be a familiar face, but there’s no one.
I reach the bar. The bartender is very tall, with cornrows tied in a bundle at the nape of his neck. He has long, slender fingers and is mixing drinks with precision and grace.
“What can I get you, ma’am?” he asks me politely as he places the final cocktail on a tray beside him, and a petite brunette waitress whisks them away.
“Uh, just a prosecco, please.”
“We only have champagne,” he says, and I note the judgment in his tone.
“Sure.”
He pours the drink and hands me the glass as I pass him my credit card. He looks at it with a frown, then a little smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s a free bar, ma’am,” he says and glances at the other bartender. They exchange a look that makes my insides shrivel to nothing, and I put my card away, shoving it into my bag so hard it slides beneath my nail, making me wince.
Jesus, I do not belong here.
“Vodka martini, extra dirty,” a voice barks from behind me, and then long, red nails slide over the bar as a woman comes to stand beside me.
The scent of her is intoxicating, and her long, glossy hair falls in effortless curls down her back. She’s wearing a maroon dress that complements her lipstick perfectly.
“So you’re the latest Barbie doll,” she says, and I see the bartender glance up at me as he mixes her drink.
“I’m sorry?” I say, even though I heard her just fine.
“Lucas was supposed to bring Amber Collins tonight. What happened?”
I turn toward my new companion. She’s tall, elegant, and effortlessly rich.
I glance around for Crawford, but he’s still with Maxwell by the door. My eyes run over his gorgeous body as he throws his head back and laughs loudly at something the other man says.
He fits so well here, a central cog in this huge well-oiled machine. Meanwhile, I feel like a fork in the gears about to be flicked unceremoniously into the trash.
“I’m Amelia,” I say, attempting to sound confident, but it comes out more like a whisper.
“Amelia what?”
