No.
This is a job, not a date, Steele. Get that straight in your head right the fuck now.
I climb into the SUV behind Tori, and Bishop shuts the door behind me. We take off through town, passing shops and crowded restaurants. Soft rock plays on the radio and I drum my fingers to the beat to fill the quiet.
Tori clears her throat and glances over.
“My father sent me the guest list. Several important donors will be at the gala.” She rubs her left hand with her right, tense. “You know the deal — be on your best behavior. Tonight matters.”
Annoyance flares in my chest.
“Got it, Boss. You don’t have to keep hammering that point home.”
A flash of hurt flickers across her face but disappears quickly.
“Good. Stay tight. Stick to the script.”
“How about I just let you do all the talking? I’ll sit on the bench, like usual.”
“Bennett…” Her voice softens, along with her gaze. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” I hold eye contact for a beat longer than necessary, then look away.
I’d punch that guy out to protect Harbor all over again and she knows it.
But I’m not here to rehash the past. I’m here to do my damn job and move on.
We sit in chilly silence the rest of the drive, finally pulling into the Yacht Club. All glass and golden glow, the building rises from the waterfront. Knox joins the valet line of expensive cars and five minutes later, we’re climbing out of the Escalade. An attendant motions us into the lobby and we take our place in line for the obligatory press photos. Chandeliers toss light onto the glittering crowd, people born knowing which fork to use. Tori shifts from foot to foot and I button and straighten my jacket, feeling awkward.
Then the couple from the meet-and-greet, the Rayburns, spot us and make a beeline across the room.
“Bennett! So glad you could make it!” Mr. Rayburn pumps my hand up and down and Mrs. Rayburn beams at me.
“Thrilled to be here, sir. Great seeing you two again. Where’s the VIP?” I glance around for their daughter, fairly certain she’s not in attendance at this event.
Mr. Rayburn chuckles, shaking his head. “Afraid we left Saylor at home tonight with a sitter. It’s date night.” He loops his arm around Mrs. Rayburn and she leans against him. “We’ll tell her you said hello, though.”
“Super.”
Another couple waves at the Rayburns from a pop-up bar across the room, and Mr. Rayburn signals to them.
“I need to catch up with a colleague. But we’re at your table. We’ll chat more at dinner.”
“Perfect.” I nod and smile and then they’re gone.
Dropping my voice low, I lean in close to Tori.
“See? That’s an example of someone who actually needs a babysitter.”
“Hey — none of this was my idea,” she hisses, her volume matching mine. “I should be in New York right now, running the hedge fund. But here I am—” she gestures at the room filled with people — “playing hockey socialite-slash-nanny. Trust me, Bennett. This isn’t my idea of a good time.”
My stomach twists, even though nothing she’s saying is news to me.
She’s right. She didn’t ask for this either. She’s got her own life, career, her own pile of expectations.
And she’s here anyway.
Why?
