“That Minnesota fund, that was legitimate! They were thrilled with their returns until somebody started asking questions!”
I have no idea what he’s referring to, but it doesn’t sound great—or legal. And Howard’s so into his own pity party that he doesn’t notice when the entertainment portion of the night comes to an end with a bombastic clash and audience applause for the scores of performers bowing and starting to disperse.
“I’m the only one in this company who thinks big!” he yells as the applause starts to quiet, leaving his voice the only thing fills the ballroom “You think you’re so goddamn righteous, but the truth is, you don’t have the brains or the balls to steer client investments toward high-fee funds and pocket the difference! That municipal deal alone netted me half a millio…”
It’s almost funny how slow Howard is to realize how very much he’s just fucked himself.
As his voice trails off, his wild, bloodshot eyes meet mine with a desperate plea for help. I respond by wrapping my arm around his shoulders and walking us out of the hidden spot between the Christmas trees, where we’re met by a sea of aghast faces. The first person to break this standoff is Franklin, who calmly folds his napkin and sets it next to his plate before turning to offer his hand to his wife. He and Joanne walk to the nearest exit without a word, the scuff of their steps the only sound in the suddenly silent room. The instant the door closes behind them, the room breaks into a frenzy buzz of conversations.
“Looks like you lost one of your whales,” I tell Howard as the sound of his labored breaths echo through the ballroom speakers.
Then he does the most surprising thing of the night. In a blind rage, he whips around, pulls back his arm, and punches me in the face.
Well. Punches oversells it. If getting slapped by CJ last year didn’t slow me down, Howard’s wet-paper-towel physique doesn’t even make a dent. The only part of me that moves after impact is my hand to the spot on my jaw where his knuckles grazed me.
“Wow,” Celeste says loudly, turning the phone around so the camera’s facing her. “Did the seven thousand eight hundred and forty-two people watching my livestream see that assault? Drop a thumbs up if you just witnessed a crime!”
“Somebody call the police!” shouts a voice from the back.
But CJ’s already walking over with her phone pressed to her ear.
“On it.” She turns to Howard and wiggles her fingers. “Hi, Howie. Remember me?”
“Forget the degradation kink,” CJ says two hours later. “I have a Howard-getting-hauled-off-in-handcuffs kink.”
I groan and yank on my bow tie until it unravels.
“Please never bring Howard into our sex life again,” I say.
Her eyes immediately heat. “Okay, but let’s circle back to the fact that we have a sex life.”
“Not as much of one as I’d like,” I grumble.
It’s been nonstop cops, reporters, and coworkers since Howard’s public confession of fraud and shit-baggery, plus his assault on me, and I’m beyond ready to pick up CJ and run out of the Oakwood ballroom. I’ll go through a wall Kool-Aid Man-style if necessary. But at least we’re getting through the last of the Sounder-funded alcohol; once the immediate drama was past, not a single guest seemed anxious to leave, instead choosing to suck down Rumpleshakers while they rehashed every detail of the night.
“Pretty sure we’ll be dining out on this story for the rest of our lives,” CJ says.
Our lives. Fucking hell, I just need five minutes alone so I can drag my tongue tongue up that slit in her dress that’s been making me crazy all ni?—
“Mr. Jones?”
My shoulders droop at another stranger approaching to solicit gossip. But in the interest of doing whatever damage control I can on behalf of Sounder, I summon the last of my pleasantness and turn to the newcomer.
It’s the man who was chatting with Reese earlier in the night, and now I’m braced for some kind of misplaced nobility or the unfurling of a one-sided romantic rivalry. But it turns out to be neither.
“I’m Bryce Washington, and I’m starting a new job with the SEC’s Enforcement Division at the start of the year. I’m wondering if you’d be willing to meet with me to share anything you know about your former CEO’s criminal activities.”
I hold up my hand. “Let me stop you right there. I’ve been compiling information for a massive complaint, and my girlfriend’s already filed her concerns with the SEC. We’re both happy to talk with you.”
“More than happy,” CJ says.
Bryce chuckles. “It may not even be that necessary. Between the soundboard automatically recording the mic feeds, the room of witnesses, and the live stream seen by thousands, I suspect we have enough to put him away for a long time. But adding to the evidence never hurts.”
After we’ve exchanged contact information, CJ’s mouth drops into a pout. “But I want to be the star witness against Howard.”
“We can do deposition role-play at home, if you want,” I offer, and we’re both laughing when I notice that the Oakwood ballroom’s finally cleared out enough that we might, maybe, possibly be able to make our escape too. Our friends left ages ago, and looking around now, it’s mostly the Oakwood event staff clearing the last of the dishes and starting to break down tables. There’s one I still need to talk to before we can finally ditch this place, however.
“Do you have a minute?” I ask Gerry when CJ and I approach her table. She and Radha have been nursing Rumpleshakers and talking quietly to themselves since Howard was hauled away, but with her wife headed toward the coat check, my window to chat is closing.
