Evan was already shaking his head before his dad could finish the sentence. "No, that's not it."It might be. "I don't think that it has anything to do with being an Alpha."It probably does. "I just...God, she's been living in my head rent-free, Dad. I can't stop thinking about her."
Chris nodded. "And James? Does he...feel the same way about her that you do?"
Evan grimaced a little. "James doesn't want to talk about how he feels about her. Which means that she's bothering him...probably just as much as me, if not more."
Chris nodded, standing up. "If I might offer some unsolicited advice," he said gently, laying his hand on Evan's shoulder. Evan leaned into the comforting touch, nodding in assent. "Maybe get to know her. I know Alphas, and I'm sure that you both have been posturing and being aggressive because that's what feels right to you." Evan opened his mouth to protest, but his father pushed on before he could speak. "But get to know her as a person. If it's right, you'll know. And if there's something a little deeper going on, something instinctual or maybe even karmic, well, that's just a bonus."
Evan stared at his father, pressing his lips together tightly before he sighed, and nodded. "Okay. Yeah, you're right."
Chris squeezed his shoulder one more time before he disappeared into his closet to change out of his business clothes. "Pass the message on to James, too. And tell him that he's always welcome, no matter what that asshole of a father of his says."
Evan allowed himself a small smile, some of the weight that he had been carrying lifted. "I will, Dad. Thanks."
Chapter eleven
Camelia
Camelia smoothed her hands over the skirt of her black dress, her shoulders relaxing as she followed her dad into the banquet hall. He was dressed in a sharply tailored suit, his gray-streaked hair brushed neatly back, and he offered her a smile as he held his arm out for her to rest her hand on.
Camelia leaned close, whispering as they passed a few well-dressed attendants in white suits. "What's this one for?"
He chuckled. "Fundraiser for children's cancer research, or so they say. Mostly just an excuse for everyone to rub elbows and show off how much money they have."
Camelia nodded; this wasn't the first time that her father had brought her along to fundraising events and she was sure that it wouldn't be the last, but there was something thrilling about it now that she was almost done with college. She wanted todostuff like this. Make a difference in the world, use her skills for connecting with other people to evoke change where it seemed impossible.
Getting to know some of these people was the first step to that.
"Carson, so nice to see you!" A older lady draped in glittering green fabric turned away from her companions, lifting a champagne glass to toast them as Carson inclined his head, changing course and bringing Camelia along with. The woman looked at Camelia, her expression warm. "And your lovely daughter. How are you, dear?"
Camelia wracked her brain, desperately trying to remember the woman's name even as she smiled. "Thank you, I'm well."
Carson patted her hand, smoothly taking over the conversation. "How is the foundation, Dolores? I heard that you had some troubles with embezzlement a few months ago..."
Camelia stood by as her father made small talk, committing as many details about these people to memory as she could.
Dolores Magnum, owner and founder of a foundation intended to eradicate medical debt.
Harry Johnson, assistant to state Senator Martines, who was currently in the midst of bringing legislation to the floor to eradicate the wage gap between men and women in government positions.
Ursula Irving, United States senator to Michigan, who was a staunch advocate for single-payer healthcare and improving access to prescription medication for the disenfranchised.
She knew that she wouldn't remember all of them, but if she was going to work with some of them in the future, she knew that this was a good time to make an impression. Politicians came and go, the same as diplomats, but everyone had an equal opportunity to make a difference during their short time in power.
It wasn't until a well-dressed older woman stepped up to the podium that Camelia forced herself to stop eavesdropping on the conversation that her father was having with a senator whose name she hadn't quite caught. A gentle tapping on glass wasmagnified by the microphone, and Carson offered Camelia an easy smile as he said farewell to his conversational companion and steered the two of them towards a table near the front.
"Honored guests, if you'll take your seats, we're about to eat dinner. Thank you."
The woman's voice was smooth and professional, but Camelia couldn't help rolling her eyes a little as her father pulled out her seat for her. "How many pills do you think she's on to sound that calm all the time, do you think?" she muttered, leaning close to her father so that he could still hear her even as the other seats at the table filled up.
He shook his head, chuckling a little at her comment, and he turned to the gentleman on his left, striking up a conversation as each table was surrounded by waiters and the food was served.
Camelia tuned in an out of the conversation, though she knew that she should be paying closer attention. She couldn't help the way the hairs on the back of her neck raised every time a slightly louder peal of laugher rose above the respectfully low murmur of conversation, and she focused on the meal that was being served as if that would stop her from feeling overscrutinized.
You need to get a hold of yourself. You're not going to have Dad around to hide behind forever. Your status cannot be your eternal liability...
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that the conversation happening across the table barely registered, but when her mind caught the wordsomegaandlegislation, she snapped to attention, her gaze focusing in on the two older gentlemen dressed to the nines.
"You simple would not believe some of the arguments that these advocate groups are coming up with to lobby some of the more vulnerable senators," the man on the right was saying. He looked to be in his mid-to-late sixties, white, dressed in a charcoal suit with a bright red tie as if he were wavinga conversational red flag. He took a sip from his wine glass, swirling the red inside around, and the man to the left chuckled.
