Flo copied her lip-zip, then glanced furtively around them. “I hope there are no reporters picking up on what we said.”
Matt laughed. “I’ve been keeping my eye out. Thankfully, they’re all clustered around Gareth and his paintings.”
True enough. Michaela saw the flock of journalists surrounding Gareth, who looked like he wanted to run. But Clay, Saskia, and Adrian were there too. After this showing, the man was going to shine.
But in her mind, Troy shone too. There was so much more to him than she’d ever imagined. Olympic gold medals, revolutionary exercise equipment, inspiring young people with his story.
How much more could there be to admire about this man?
Still, he was a billionaire. And their real worlds were miles apart.
Chapter Four
Troy spied Fernsby coming out of one of the gallery’s side rooms and assumed that was where his family must be gathered, since he hadn’t seen any of them here in the main room.
Making a beeline for the older man, he waylaid him on his way to the buffet, which was stocked with all manner of delicacies. “I’ve got a couple of lovely ladies to introduce you to, Fernsby.”
Though the same height as Troy, Fernsby managed to tip his chin so he could look down his nose imperiously. “Of course, sir.” Then, Fernsby being Fernsby, he put his hand to his chest. “I’m charmed, dear ladies. It’s so nice to meet you. My name is Fernsby.” Fernsby would never be rude to a woman, beautiful or not.
Troy couldn’t help putting a proprietary hand on Michaela’s arm. Fernsby’s eagle eyes immediately shot to the gesture as Troy said, “This is Mickey.” He didn’t wait for Michaela’s reaction as he added, “And her mother, Flo Killian.”
He enjoyed the stark disapproval in Fernsby’s eyes. Fernsby never used a nickname, and Troy couldn’t help messing with the man. Even more, he loved messing with Michaela.
Her arm stiffened beneath his touch. “I told you I go by Michaela.” Which was exactly what Troy had expected her to say.
He gave her a wide-eyed, ever-so-innocent look. “I thought it was only Mick and Mikey you don’t like.”
Her pretty eyes darkened to the color of emeralds. When she glared at him, the woman stole his breath.
Fernsby filleted him with his own glare, then took both of Michaela’s hands in his. “I so appreciate a woman who gives proper respect to her full name.”
By the slight quiver of her lips, Troy could tell that Fernsby had caught her off guard, though she didn’t stammer. “Thank you. I’m Michaela Killian. So nice to meet you, Mr. Fernsby.”
Fernsby damn near smiled. Or grimaced. Troy wasn’t sure. But since he was speaking to Michaela, it had to be a smile. “I am Fernsby, my dear lady. No mister is necessary.”
Good Lord, the man was laying it on thick.
He relinquished Michaela’s hands to take Flo’s. “And it is so nice to meet your beautiful mother, Florence.”
Flo laughed, a sound almost as lovely as her daughter’s. “Why, that’s delightful. I’ve never been called Florence before.” She winked at Fernsby. “I do believe I like it.” Then she leaned close to Fernsby, lowering her voice. “But I don’t feel like a Florence.”
Fernsby patted her hands. “My dear lady, Florence is an elegant name for a very elegant woman. Please use it with joy.”
With a smile at Troy, Flo said, “Oh, I really like him.”
Susan Spencer approached then, and Troy couldn’t help reeling her in. Over the past year and a half, as he and his family worked with the Mavericks on various ventures, the Maverick matriarch had become a mother figure to the Harringtons as well.
Susan and her husband Bob had raised the Mavericks in a seedy Chicago neighborhood. Already the parents of two children, Daniel and Lyssa, the Spencers had taken in the four teenage boys, raising them as their own. More than a foster mother, she’d been a true mother to them all. Recently, the Mavericks had moved Susan and Bob from Chicago to the Bay Area. Lyssa had followed and then fallen for Cal Danniger, the Mavericks’ business manager. And now Susan had adopted the Harringtons too.
Troy made the introductions. A beautiful, elegant woman in her late fifties, silver hair framing her face, Susan had lived a hard life until the Mavericks had grown old enough to give back to her and Bob, and yet she was still so full of love.
Taking Michaela’s and Flo’s hands in hers, Susan stretched her arms out wide. “Your dresses are exquisite,” she exclaimed, her enthusiasm genuine.
Michaela seemed to beam with pleasure. “Thank you so much. My mother made both outfits. She’s a wonderful seamstress.”
It amazed him again that Michaela would feel free to admit the dresses were homemade. Most women would pretend they were wearing haute couture. But Michaela won him over once again with how proudly she spoke of her mother and her talents.
Susan’s jaw dropped. Even Fernsby was a little awestruck, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Susan enthused, “They’re incredible. And they fit you both so perfectly.” Then she said to Flo, “You have an amazing talent.”
