“Let’s go.” I reach over and squeeze Lena’s hand. “Everything will be fine.”
“I hope. The only time you ever say that is when nothing’s fine at all.”
“Ah, butthis time.”
“This time,” she echoes.
“You’ll fit right in. Everybody there wants to save the planet and wishes they could fawn all over animals all day.”
Which is why it’s a perfect opportunity to talk up my organic dog food. Whipping up interest and lining up investors and retailers ahead of time certainly can’t hurt.
“I’ve never been to anything this important before,” she says, her voice tight.
“It’s not. Just think of it as a cocktail party full of people who like to flaunt their money and wear their hearts on their sleeves for social brownie points.”
“Pssh. And you said I’d fit right in.”
I smile. “Try not to get too pissed at their egos. The money winds up in good hands at the end of the day, no matter how much they bluster getting it there.”
“Right. I’ll just have to bite my tongue the entire time, I guess.”
“You like me despite the long odds, Sass. You’ll be fine. No one’s going to look at you and think you’re not meant to be there.”
“Especially when I’m onyourarm,” she inserts slyly.
“Exactly. Image matters.” I nod at her, and after a second, she relaxes and smiles back. “I promise you everything will be fine.”
Finally, her shoulders slump, and she doesn’t spar with me again before we arrive.
The gala is set up inside this fancy hotel in Bellevue, and it’s clear when we pull up that Lena has never been inside.
I toss the keys to the valet and take her arm.
“Watch your step.”
“Be honest with me, Brady. How awful will this be?”
“No more than a 6.5 on the fire-breathing-pricks-with-too-much-money scale. Meeting my dad will be the hard part, so we’ll try to get that done soon. Then you’ll gorge on finger food and drink some expensive champagne while I do the rest. Enjoy the show.”
“I’ll try. You’ve got people to wow.”
“I know. The champagne helps.” I wink at her to hide my inner thoughts, already spinning like a helicopter blade.
We climb the soaring stairs to the lobby, where a man in a tux greets us with a smile and finds our names on the guest list.
“Mr. Pruitt and Miss Joly,” he says with a rehearsed smile. “Welcome. The gala is just through the doors.”
“No press?” Lena whispers as we stroll through the huge double doors, which have been thrown open wide.
I shake my head.
The hotel is older. This was probably some kind of grand ballroom once, with its huge golden lights spaced at regular intervals on the ceiling and a polished wooden floor underneath.
Now, it’s filled with the cream of Seattle high society, chirping like crickets and flitting around like butterflies.
One big happy dysfunctional family.
Lena stiffens on my arm as the smell of money hits her and the glamour fills her eyes.
