She looked up, and her gaze settled on my lips. She leaned in impossibly close, and our back-and-forth swaying stalled. We shared a few shallow breaths, and I nudged my nose with hers, nervous and elated out of my mind.
This wasn’t in my head. This wasn’t one-sided.
A set of car headlights blinded us, squashing the moment. We both recoiled and shielded our eyes as a Jeep pulled up, the window rolled down.
“Park’s closed,” the ranger said, oblivious to what she interrupted. “I’m gonna have to ask you two to leave.”
Something switched in Daisy, and she pulled back, refusing to meet my eyes. My insides sank. Daisy was pulling away in real time, and I knew that if I pushed her, she’d only retreat more. I’d gotten close to her—closer than ever before. Maybe with a little patience, we could get there. This could be our best summer ever, if I only found the right moment.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Daisy, Now
A server walks by with a forced smile, probably because she knows I could be the person to tip her at the end of the night. Catering to a room of privileged clients doesn’t sound like fun to me, either. I’m the odd one out, catching some air amidst stifling conversations about vacation homes in Tuscany and private planes.
The people inside the restaurant’s event space are exactly who we need, though—folks with influence, money, or both. I remind myself of Dawn’s encouraging words.Steady breaths, go slower than you think, and talk to one person.
“Hey.” Max’s voice interrupts my mindful breathing, and I clench a fist around my note cards. “You okay?”
“Mhmm. Heading back in a sec.”
“Alex really went all out with the menu for us. Have you tried those bacon-wrapped figs?”
“Not yet.” I eye his champagne flute. “You mind?”
He barely has the chance to nod before I snatch the glass and pound it back, the cool, fizzing liquid releasing the tension in my shoulders.
“Easy, tiger.” Max rests a hand on my upper arm, and I halfway hope he’ll pull me into his chest. I could use the comfort. When I saw a speech—fromme—on the fundraiser’s schedule, I almost cried. But Max said he could stand up there and talk about art all he wanted, and that wouldn’t make a difference. My story would get them to care on a deeper level.
And, more importantly, it would encourage them to bid in the silent auction and donate.
The past couple of weeks involved a lot of listening to podcasts on public speaking while I cleaned The Mirage. Dawn came over almost every afternoon to offer private coaching, although I’ve hardly absorbed a fraction of the stage presence she has. Gwen endured enough speech run-throughs that she could probably recite this thing for me. I wish she would. No amount of preparation could stop the damp, slick sweat of my armpits or my stomach tying itself into knots.
“Most of the work’s already finished, Daze. Everyone in there is already a couple drinks in and ready to throw down some cash. And you look great in that dress. Your hair’s all done up in that…” Max waves his hand around his head, mimicking the half-up, half-down style.
He’s trying to calm me down, but satisfaction simmers under the surface knowing he noticed how I look tonight. Max is effortlessly handsome in a black suit, button-down, and tie, and I wish I could trace the line of his jaw or douse myself in his musky aftershave. If it weren’t for the billion thoughts in myhead, I might kiss him again…although that would only intensify the yearning between my legs.
Max glances at his wristwatch, and I already know.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” I ask him.
“Do you need longer?”
“No, I’m ready,” I lie, the weight of not only the pop-up but also The Mirage and Max’s reputation weighing on me.
We return without another word to the private room in Alex’s restaurant, and the air gets sucked out of my lungs. I can’t count the number of people here. Cocktail tables host throngs of guests, all of them dressed in sparkly ball gowns or elegant suits. The banquet hall is basked in a lavender-blue glow, save for the elevated platform and microphone.
Max must sense my trepidation, because he turns to me and rests a palm against the small of my back. His touch burns like an ember.
“Once I’m done, I can stay on stage with you,” he whispers into my ear, his breath irresistibly warm.
“I’ve got it.” I think. “Maybe stand off to the side with a bucket?”
His face splits into a grin, lighting up the whole damn room. The event coordinator gives Max a curt nod as a cue to walk toward the mic.
“Remember to breathe,” he says. “Go slowly. And you’re talking to a bunch of people, but just talk to the one person who matters, okay?”
Max strolls up to the microphone like he belongs there. “Hello everyone, and thank you for coming out tonight.” Max’s speaking-to-a-roomful-of-fancy-strangers voice is far more controlled than mine. It’s deep and inviting, like this is his house, and he’s invited us over for a grand party.
