He ignored them. Otherwise, he might be tempted to scoop up the blue silk and lace-trimmed garter lying across the toe of his patent-leather derby shoe.
Focus on winning the bet.
“Pick it up,” Wes growled under his breath.
Blaise kept his hands in his pockets, but he glanced at Dash.
“Don’t look at me.” Dash held his hands in the air. “The garter is all yours.”
On stage, Mason cleared his throat. Glared. His nostrils flared.
Okay, some action was required.
No worries. Blaise was a fix-it guy.
From his peripheral vision, he spotted a boy. Maybe four, maybe ten. Blaise had no idea how old. He avoided children, but this would solve his current problem.
Pulling his hands out of his pockets along with a hundred-dollar bill from his money clip, he caught the kid’s attention. With a flick of his wrist, Blaise raised the money slightly before pointing to the garter.
Excitement exploded in the kid’s eyes. With the smoothness of a Wimbledon ball boy, he ran onto the dance floor, swooped up the garter, and grabbed the bill out of Blaise’s hand.
Guests laughed and applauded with the doting parents looking on.
As the crowd quieted and men left the dance floor, Blaise pumped his fist.
Issue resolved. Crisis averted.
Time for that drink.
Eager to escape whatever lecture Wes wanted to give, Blaise wove his way around the linen-covered tables toward the bar.
Halfway there, Henry Davenport stepped in front of him. He was dressed in a burgundy tuxedo jacket, and his mouth twisted. “Nice show out there.”
Henry reeked of old money, which he’d inherited after the deaths of his parents, but he didn’t intimidate Blaise. “It worked out.”
“For the kid. But Mason was aiming for you.”
“Not my fault he did that,” Blaise said with zero emotion in his voice. Henry was well-connected and close friends with Brett Matthews, who ran Matthews Global Investments and was someone Blaise respected. He needed to be nice and polite—what the board accused him of not being. “Mason should have aimed for Wes or Dash.”
Henry raised his left brow. “Wes is trying to get his life back on track, and Dash is hopeless with relationships. That means you’re the next in line to get married.”
Uh-oh.Henry enjoyed playing matchmaker. His first successful match had occurred when he set up Brett and his wife, Laurel. Not that Blaise was a part of Henry’s group. Portland might be the largest city in Oregon, but it wasn’tthatbig of a town for those with money.
Blaise crossed his arms as if to ward off a vampire. Henry would happily suck the singleness out of him. “Mason knows I’m not interested in getting married.”
“The garter toss is a tradition.”
“Many brides and grooms opt to have an anniversary dance instead,” Blaise countered.
“This couple chose otherwise yet you ruined the moment.Theirmoment.”
“Hey.” He didn’t appreciate the accusation in Henry’s voice. “I made that kid’s day. He got the garter and a hundred-dollar bill. I call that a win.”
Henry’s lips parted. “This is about the bet.”
“Yes.” Blaise had no reason to lie.
Henry blew out a breath. “Catching the garter doesn’t mean you’re—”
