Ireach the driveway just in time to see his body slide into the driver’s seat of a black SUV. I open my mouth but stop myself from calling his name. The long circular driveway is filled with people. Not just valets and event staff, but guests. I don’t want to make a scene. I start to walk quickly toward the car, intent on reaching it before he can drive away but someone calls my name. I almost ignore it but then there’s a hand around my wrist and I turn and see Victor staring at me expectantly.
“Speak of the devil,” he says with a big smile.
“I think you mean angel,” a deeper, gruffer male voice says and I glance over Victor’s shoulder to see a portly older gentleman with a cigar wedged between his plump fingers. This must be the boss Victor wanted me to meet.
“Where were you headed in such a rush, babe?” Victor asks me and I glance quickly over my shoulder in time to see Alex’s SUV turn onto the road at the end of the driveway. He’s gone. Damn it. I turn back to Victor. “Sorry, I was just hoping to catch Alex before he left.”
Victor blinks, his face full of questions I don’t want to answer, especially in front of his boss, so I turn to him and extend my hand. “Mr. Lombardi, I’m Brie Bennett. Victor speaks very highly of you; it’s nice to finally meet you.”
He smiles and does that thing where instead of shaking my hand he takes it in his and pats the top of it with his other hand. It’s both awkward and annoying to me and as he does it a big clump of ash from his cigar plops to the pavement between us. “I’m sure he doesn’t speak as highly of me as he does of you, young lady. After all I’m the one that makes him work weekends.”
The men all chuckle like that was the wittiest thing anyone has ever said. Mr. Lombardi leans closer, as if about to share a secret with me and says, “This is a lovely party for a lovely cause.”
“Thank you.” I struggle not to choke on his foul cigar and whiskey breath.
Victor wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. Mr. Lombardi shoves the cigar between his lips, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “I know there are donation boxes inside but I wanted to give you this myself.”
He hands me a check for twenty-five hundred dollars. “Mr. Lombardi, sir, thank you so much.”
“Call me Peter, honey.”
I bite my tongue to keep from responding withCall me Brie, not “honey,” honey.
“Victor says you have a background in psychology and that you’re Baxter and Helena Bennett’s daughter?” he says. “I know Bax from my old position at LeBrun Industries.”
I nod, not really paying attention. My mind still on Alex. I hope he’s okay. I debate texting him or calling him, but I don’t want to annoy him. If he wanted my help he would have asked for it, right? And since he thinks I’m some meddling, spoiled socialite, I’m the last person he’ll ask for help. His expression was pure torture when I saw him on the beach, and his body was so rigid it was like marble. And when he took my hand in his, unexpectedly, it was out of need. He was freefalling and looking for an anchor. That’s why I grasped it back, lacing my fingers with his and holding him in a firm and gentle grip, my thumb sliding soothingly back and forth against his wrist.
Victor says something. Peter says something else. I keep smiling. Over Peter’s droopy shoulder I see Len standing on the front porch talking to the woman who bought the Barons tickets. I can’t believe Alex agreed to have dinner with her. And he thinks that means he agreed to sex. Does it? Does that woman think she can buy sexual services at a freaking charity auction? And would Alex really just sleep with her like it’s no big deal?
“Gabrielle!” Victor’s sharp tone yanks me back to reality.
My eyes refocus and I realize by the expectant look on Peter’s face that he’d asked me something. Victor’s hand slips from my shoulders to my hip where he holds on firmly—much more firmly than required. “You’ve just always had an affinity for helping kids in need, right Brie?”
I blink. He smiles sharply at me, barely containing his annoyance. “That’s why you started the charity right?”
I look back at Peter. Oh. “Well, I’m adopted and actually spent a year in foster care before I was placed with my parents. I was very young and was blessed to be adopted out of the system and into such a loving, strong family. But I’ve always been aware that not all kids have been blessed like me, by no fault of their own, and so it’s just always been important to me to try and help them. Change their luck, you know? And this charity is my way of doing that.”
Peter looks truly moved. Dropping his cigar on the pavement and crushing it under the heel of his black dress shoe, he reaches for my hand again and gives it a squeeze. “I had no idea you’d been through that.”
I smile and gently, subtly, take my hand back.
“She barely remembers it,” Victor announces in a confident voice. “She’s just a regular person.”
What the actual fuck does that mean? I stare at him with a look I’m fairly certain could melt titanium but he’s too busy staring at his boss. So I turn to Peter again too. “It was so nice meeting you and I appreciate the donation very much. If you’ll excuse me for just a moment I need to discuss something with my friend Len, who is handling something for me.”
“Of course, honey,” Peter says with a grin. “I’m sure you have a ton of obligations. Nice meeting you.”
I start to walk away, toward Len and the guest who seem to be about to wrap up their conversation, when I hear Peter ask Victor, “Is Len the one who will take over the charity after you get married?”
I freeze and turn back to them. I’m standing a little behind Peter so he doesn’t know his words have caught my attention, but Victor knows because our eyes lock. I can tell by the expression on his face Bob’s words are not some misunderstanding. He told Bob that I’m going to give up Daphne’s House after we’re married. I silently mouth three words: “What. The. Fuck?”
But I turn and walk away, continuing toward Len. I walk up beside her and she smiles and introduces me to the Barons ticket winner. I smile and extend my hand. The older lady with the way-too-low-cut dress takes it, her fingers icy. “Lizzie Cameron.”
“Ms. Cameron owns Cameron Real Estate,” Len explains. “She bid on the Barons tickets and got Alex to throw in dinner too.”
“It’s such a good cause,” Lizzie says, smiling. “And if I can help you and help myself by meeting a hot athlete at the same time, I am more than willing to do it.”
She laughs. I smile politely just like Len is doing. “About those Barons tickets. I think it was such a funny moment to ask for dinner but unfortunately we don’t make alterations to prizes.”
