“That’s kind of you,” I answered vaguely, before turning to Travis. “Could we find me another glass of champagne, honey?”
He grinned, all too eager to make the getaway I was proposing. “Absolutely.”
“Enjoy your evening.” I waved at the blonde, who now wore a sour expression watching us walk away.
“Jesus,” I muttered, taking a large gulp of the champagne Travis grabbed for me.
“Told you,” he muttered back. “But you handled that perfectly.”
“I feel like I need to read the mean girl playbook. Or at least the CliffsNotes.”
He squeezed my hand. “Nah, you don’t need it. You just be you, and they won’t know what the fuck to do.”
We laughed together, wandering the room. It felt good to have him at my back. He had become my closest friend, all while being the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on.
By the time we sat down, Chris was already there, indicating that we should sit next to him. The ballroom was gorgeous, with chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and tables with gold tablecloths and flawless flatware.
Travis sat next to Chris, and I sat to his left, looking at the remaining empty seats at our table and preparing myself for small talk. This was part of what Travis needed to do for his profession, and I wanted to be a part of it. Even if it was out of my comfort zone.
A couple sat across from us, raising their hands in greeting, while two men sat to my left.
“Greg Randal,” the man directly to my left introduced. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I recognized him from.
I turned to shake his hand. He was likely a good ten years older than me, handsome in the classic sense, with brown eyes and brown hair, dressed in a very expensive-looking suit.
“Emerly Greer,” I replied, shaking his hand. “This is my boyfriend, Travis McAllister,” I added, gesturing to Travis.
The man leaned over me. “It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve heard you speak. Will you be speaking tonight?”
Travis shook his head, pouring me a glass of wine from one of the bottles on the table.
Plates of delicious-looking meat and vegetables with some sort of creamy sauce were placed on the tables.
“How do they raise money if they dole out so much expensive food and wine?” I whispered to Travis.
He squeezed my upper thigh, where his hand had been since we sat down. “Everyone pays for their seat. Some buy a table,” he explained.
“I probably don’t want to know how much my seat was,” I replied dryly.
“Knowing you, probably not, so just enjoy your meal.” He squeezed my thigh again reassuringly.
I dug into my food and did just that. Everything was melt-in-your-mouth delicious.
I made small talk with my neighbors, nothing overly painful, and by the time dessert came I was feeling pretty confident about my first fundraiser.
I continued to be awed by Travis. So many people came over just to say hello to him and to shake his hand that I lost track. The look of admiration in their gazes as they interacted with him was obvious, and yet he was gracious and humble at every turn. I was all the more taken with him.
“You ready to go?” he asked as we sat in front of empty plates.
“There’s no more mingling required?” I asked in a teasing tone.
His eyes flared as he leaned in close. “There is, but I don’t think I can wait another minute without getting you home and seeing what you’ve got on underneath this dress.” His fingers trailed over the fabric at my shoulder, and my body heated in response.
I leaned in close. “The answer is nothing,” I whispered.
He groaned, standing up and pulling out my chair for me. I had to bite back a laugh at his urgency. We both said our goodbyes to those at the table, he took a few extra minutes with Chris, and we were soon headed for the foyer hand in hand.
He shrugged off his jacket, placing it on my shoulders as we waited for his car to come around. “That wasn’t so bad.” I shrugged.
