Tilly entered the kitchen about thirty seconds after I did. Esther had settled herself at the kitchen table like a queen about to receive her court. It was starting to be endearing, not irritating. The more I was around Esther and the other ladies, the less intimidating they were to me.
“Tilly,” Esther said with a warm smile. “We would like to ask you to paint for us.”
Her jaw dropped, and mine nearly did. That wasnotwhat I’d expected.
“Why?” I asked.
“We want you to donate the paintings to the gala and we’re going to auction them off to the highest bidder.” Esther folded her hands. “As many originals as you can paint us between now and the gala. I don’t know how fast you move, whether that will be one or seven, we want what you can give.”
Tilly nodded over and over. “Of course, yes. I’d be happy to donate them. Then my art will be out in the world!” Her eyes glittered with excitement. “I can’t believe this.”
“Go,” Esther said. “Plan your paintings. We’ll take care of the rest.”
When Tilly’s door slammed behind her, I looked at Esther with raised eyebrows. “That’s your big plan to get her away from the other pack?”
Tabi giggled. “That’s our plan to keep her home and distracted. In the meantime, we’ll be training you and preparing for the gala.”
That made sense. “Okay.” With a heart full of hope that we were actually going to get my daughter to permanent safety, I grinned at my new friends. “Let’s do this.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
We had four days to prepare for the gala event at the mayor’s house. Of course, that meant I had four days to learn the basics of fighting and weaponry. Not enough time for someone that tried to avoid conflict like it was an Olympic sport.
But here we were, armed and not so dangerous.
The mayor’s house was nothing like I’d imagined it would be. It was so much better. My eyes couldn’t seem to slow down and take it all in or allow my brain to process. There were tuxedoed waiters and bartenders everywhere. Fine crystal goblets and flutes, and silver so polished it gleamed. The art on the walls—a Degas, a Van Gogh, a Salvador Dali hidden in a guest bath—were all encased in glass and lit by spotlights that made the whole place look more like a museum than a residence.
The real draw was one of Tilly’s paintings up for auction tonight, with her permission and her excitement. It was the perk of having been recruited to work this event. The painting would be sold to the highest bidder and Tilly’s art would be out in the world. There was a certain pride in that. More pride in the fact Esther had asked Tilly to paint more.
It was all part of the plan to draw Tilly away from Holly’s pack and into ours. The hope was that once out from under Holly’s control and influence, Tilly would see the error of the Bennett Pack’s ways.
In the four days since Tilly had sat down with me and Esther about the gala, Tilly had been focused at home, away from the pack of bad shifters who were making secret deals with vampires and promising to deliver a shifter with fae blood. It felt like everything to do with the bad pack was a bad dream. She was back in my house, in good health, and excited about painting and selling her work.
The only thing that still bothered me was the lack of communication with my daughter. Tilly, though she was home and painting and smiling and whistling, wouldn’t speak about being a shifter, but this was definitely a step in the right direction. Tabi and Esther had told me it sometimes took others, outsiders, to face the changes.
I glanced at the ballroom in the mayor’s house.Ballroomwith its gleaming hardwood, floor-to-ceiling windows, tables at the perimeter, and people everywhere I looked. They were standing and dancing and sitting, talking and laughing, swaying to the eleven-piece orchestra in the corner.
I had coordinated the decorations, the orchestra’s setup, the silent-auction display, as well as, set up by the caterers, the florist, the head table where Esther would sit with the mayor and ask people to open their checkbooks for this, the worthiest of children’s causes. At first, I felt like I wouldn’t have much skill to help with this event, but I’d ended up as more than another set of hands. It seemed all the various jobs I’d worked over the years had created someone perfect for helping with an event like this. Me.
As I stood with a champagne flute locked and loaded, Esther came to my side and smiled as she sipped from a dirty martini with three olives on a toothpick inside. “You did a fabulous job. As far as I can see, all you need is a little more confidence in your abilities and you’re going to be a fabulous leader.” She smiled down at me. She was taller than me before she’d put on her six-inch spiked heels. Now she was way up there. “How about you come to work for me as an event planner?”
Oh. Wow. I didn’t want to be too enthusiastic. “That would be so wonderful.” But I couldn’t help it. It was my dream job.
“Great. We’ll talk about it when this is all over.” She grinned. “For now, get out there. Have some fun. You’ve done your job. You deserve it.”
She walked away then, and I couldn’t stop smiling. Not when I drank my champagne flute dry. Not when a couple of women I’d never met complimented my dress, not when the mayor himself walked over to thank me because Tabi had told him I’d handled this entire evening with grace and aplomb. I didn’t know what aplomb meant in this circumstance since most of the day I’d been frantic and overwhelmed, but I nodded and accepted the compliment.
“Would you like to dance?” The voice was deep and resonant, familiar, though I couldn’t place it, even when I looked up into the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen.
“Yes.” It was a single word, yet it was chock full of tension. This was one beautiful man. And while I didn’t think it was love at first sight, it was definitely a lust-filled couple of seconds as my gaze took in the fitted tuxedo. And by fitted, I meant God himself probably painted the damned thing onto this guy. But it was the eyes. I was melting. Falling in. One breath from professing my undying attraction to a pair of big, bright baby blues.
This was unsettling. I’d never been a fall-into-his-arms sort of woman.
Yet here I was. Falling into his arms. It took me a couple of spins around the floor before I placed him. We were mid-whirl when I shook my head, coming out of my daze. “Mountain man?”
He glanced down and smiled and, heaven help me, I could’ve swooned. “Most people just call me Declan.”
“Declan.” Nice name. Strong. Masculine.
