She’s working. Everyone else is drinking.
By the wall, her blonde coworker is sipping champagne and giggling with Tilly. The pot-bellied communications manager—Glen, he’d finally learned—is deep in conversation with some other suit in a bowtie that Garrett vaguely recognizes as Richard. They look comfortable. Relaxed. Like their biggest concern tonight is whether the passed hors d’oeuvres will come back around.
Meanwhile, Naomi’s flitting between tables like a frantic stage manager five minutes before curtain.
His jaw tightens.
It’s not like he expected her to be calm. Naomi Piccolo doesn’t do calm. But watching her hustle while the rest of them standaround basking in the gala glow pisses him off in a way that sneaks up on him.
She shouldn’t have to carry this whole thing.
And yeah, maybe she’s annoying and bossy and half the time he wants to toss her over his shoulder just to get a word in—but still. She gives a damn. And no one else here seems to notice how hard she’s trying to make it all work.
Garrett swallows his frustration, letting his gaze linger on her a second longer, until someone’s great-aunt leans in to whisper that he’d look “absolutely dashing on our family Christmas card.”
He nearly chokes on his drink.
“Excuse me,” he says, heading for the hors d’oeuvres.
CHAPTER 15
NAOMI
Naomi is one minor disaster away from blacking out in the middle of the ballroom.
Jesse was supposed to emcee tonight. Jesse, with his media-trained smile, golden-retriever charm, and adorable inability to pronouncephilanthropic. But Mila just told her he got called up to the NHL this afternoon—which is, of course, amazing and heart-soaring and the best news ever.
But also terrible. Because now they need a replacement emcee, and fast.
Mila had put her in charge of helping the new guys learn the script. Plural, because the first candidate got mysteriously vetoed by Richard for reasons Naomi still doesn’t understand, and Carter—backup option number two—found the champagne bar a little too early and a little too hard. Every fresh development sends her blood pressure into low orbit.
On top of that, the silent auction has entered nightmare territory with disastrously misplaced bids. She went to find Mila to warn her and instead stumbled upon her and Theo looking flushed and suspiciously disheveled backstage.
Naomi’s genuinely thrilled for her. Truly. Mila deserves some well-earned face-licking from the handsome defenseman.
But also…tonight? Really?
Naomi inhales sharply and scans the ballroom, tablet glowing in her hand. One donor table is demanding champagne. The quartet is prematurely sliding into Top-40 strings. And Richard—freaking Richard—is standing near the bar, sipping wine and watching her scramble with that smug little smirk that saysamateur.
She taps updates furiously into her tablet as if she can bully the stress into submission through the sheer force of her fingertips.
And then?—
“Take a break.”
Tall’s voice is low, right beside her. She doesn’t startle.
(She does, but she covers it with dignity. Kind of.)
“I can’t take a break,” she says, voice pitched somewhere between brittle and feral. “I have to speak to the musicians about the setlist, get more champagne for Table Seven, and go check on the dessert buffet.”
Oh god. She’s spiraling.
He doesn’t flinch. Just casually holds out a cocktail napkin with an assortment of tiny appetizers stacked on it. “Take. A. Break.”
She blinks. “Where did these come from?”
“They’re the only vegan ones.” He shrugs. “They’re terrible, by the way. I feel personally insulted.”
