The goddess turned and extended her hand to me. “I’m so sorry to ignore you. I’m Selena.”
“Stella,” I said, shaking her hand a tad more forcefully than I had to.
“Nice to meet you, Stella.” She turned to Malone and, honest to God, giggled. “Do you only date women with names that begin withS?”
“Looks like,” said Malone.
“Well, it’s good to see you with a plus-one.”
He draped an arm around my shoulders. “Amazing how life sometimes plops the perfect person just across the breezeway.”
My heart skipped a beat at the word “perfect.”
Stop it, Stella. It’s part of the act. Now smile. Innocently.
“Yes. Amazing.” Her smile stayed in place, but her eyes took on a more calculating gleam. They flicked toward my cleavage. Ha! There was one point—well, two, really—in my favor.
My body, meanwhile, had leaned into Malone like a plant toward the sun.
“Well.” Selena cleared her throat in a dainty yet authoritative way. “I’ve checked you off the guest list, so ... have fun.”
“We will,” Malone said, his arm sliding down my shoulders to settle at the small of my back. I shivered with anticipation of our postparty Finnegan.
How little time could we spend here?
Chapter 27
As we entered the ballroom, I rolled my shoulders back and focused on standing up straight. This was, after all, a crowd that took posture and manners very seriously.
Also, since I’d chosen Chucks over high heels, I needed every inch I could get.
All around me, women wore designer dresses, just as Nana had predicted. My dress might not have been as expensive, but it fit me perfectly. Selena wasn’t the only impossibly thin woman to gaze with envy at my cleavage. Some of the older ladies barely contained their disdain. I told Nana the electric blue would’ve been a safer bet for me.
I caught Malone looking at me with hungry eyes. He looked as though he might plop me on one of the tables. I took in a ragged breath at the thought.
Never mind. No regrets.
Finally, Malone settled me at a table toward the front of the ballroom. “Want a drink before I go kiss Grandpa’s ring?”
“I’d love one. Something white, please.”
As he strode to the bar, I scanned the room. In the corner, Nana chatted with a distinguished older gentleman. She wore the same electric-blue dress I’d tried on, only two sizes smaller.
Well played, Nana.
I had to admit she fit in well with the ladies who lunched.
Finding Blake—so I could get the fifty dollars from Malone I would have to give Havisham later—would be more difficult. Not only were the lights dimmed, but the men all wore tuxedos, an absolute sea of black. This old-money crowd wasn’t going to experiment with color or styles like actors at the Oscars.
My Malone returned with a glass of wine for me and a bottle of beer for him. I raised a brow in inquiry.
“Sauvignon blanc,” he said.
“As long as you don’t serve Mrs. Q’s casserole with it.”
“Pretty sure it’s going to be rubber chicken tonight.”
I made a face. “Did you happen to bring any of your medicinal hot sauce?”
