"Yes."
"Thought so," she says. "He was trying too hard to make you look sick. It's a deflection. He's the one sweating."
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Dad
The board is impressed with the stability. Keep it up.
I look at Ivy. She's currently waving at a donor across the room, the picture of innocent charm.
"Ivy."
She turns back to me. "Yeah?"
"Dance with me."
"Brooks, I'm working. I need to make sure the entrée service?—"
"The staff has it." I tip my head toward the room. "You just gelded Royce Aston in under sixty seconds. You've earned a break."
I take her hand and pull her onto the dance floor.
She lets me lead her into the center of the room. The band is playing something slow, old-fashioned. I pull her close. Closer than necessary. My hand settles on the bare skin of her lower back. She stiffens for a second, then melts.
We move together. She fits perfectly against me. Her head tucks under my chin. The tension leaves her body, the frantic energy of the day dissolving into the music.
"You saved the day," I say into her hair.
"It's what I do," she whispers back. "I fix things."
"You fixed us."
She pulls back slightly to look at me. Her eyes are wide, vulnerable.
"We're just a job, Brooks." Her voice softens. "Don't forget the contract."
"Screw the contract."
I spin her, dipping her slightly, making her laugh. It's a real laugh, bright and clear, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.
Across the room, I see my mother watching us. She isn't scowling. She's smiling. And for once, I'm not performing for her.
I pull Ivy back up, holding her tight against my chest.
"You hungry?"
"Starving." She exhales. "I haven't eaten since that apple."
"There's a burger joint in town. Greasy. Cheap. No amber lighting."
Her eyes brighten. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Can we leave?"
"We're the happy couple." I shrug. "We can do whatever we want. We'll tell them we're overcome with... emotion."
