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She’s right, I did miss it. Now I’ll have to drive an extra three blocks just to turn around. With all her boring chatter, I had let my mind wander off and wasn’t concentrating.
“Sorry, it’s been a long day,” I apologize and enjoy her silence for the remainder of the drive.
Inside the fundraiser, there are all the usual faces I’d expect to see at such an event. Anyone who is anyone with money in Boston is in this room. The mayor has organized this event to fund his upcoming election, which we all know is rigged anyway. Yet, all the suits still write their checks and nod their heads like the sad sheep they are. Their overdressed wives all bitch to one another about their chipped nails and snooping housekeepers, while secretly picking each other to shreds behind their backs. Same crowd, same money, same boring old chit-chat.
Georgiana tugs on my arm. “There’s my father. Let’s go talk to him.”
I nod to her with a smile, let her lead me over to her arrogant ass of a father, and silently cuss to myself the whole way. Max Sullivan is a pretentious dick. He’s aware everyone knows who he is and has a lot of money and power in Boston, yet he still likes to advertise it. I suspect his motives for wanting his daughter to marry a Judge son have something to do with his not-so-legal extracurricular activities that my father’s company is constantly covering up. A marriage between our families would guarantee our silence. God, if only Georgiana knew what a repulsive sick fuck her father is, she wouldn’t be greeting him with such admiration right now.
“Ah, Roman, it’s good to see you, my son.” Max extends his hand, and I reluctantly shake it. He calls me son like he knows it's a sure thing. I almost vomit in my mouth every time he calls me it.
“I have been meaning to call you about the latest construction contract I sent over last week.” Great, just what I want, more shop talk!
“Yes, Mr. Sullivan. I received it. Our team is scheduled to look over it on Monday. We have had a big week,” I reply, taking a glass of champagne off the waitress’ tray as she walks by. I take a big mouthful, regretting my decision to not bring a driver with me this evening. I’m going to need at least ten glasses of these overpriced bubbles to deal with tonight’s guest list. These people are all so boring and dull. I’d much rather be spending the night getting drunk at a bar, or better yet, I’d even settle for a decent night's sleep.
“Yes, that’s right. You won Peter’s case this week, didn’t you?” He holds up his glass of champagne and salutes me. “Congratulations.”
I nod with a curt smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Good, well, enough business talk. There are more important matters at hand.” He looks at Georgiana’s arm looped through mine with a satisfied smile. “When are you going to make an honest woman out of my daughter?”
I choke on the mouthful of champagne I’d just taken in, and attempt to composure myself. “All in good time, Mr. Sullivan.” I quickly recover. “Work is very hectic at the moment. If and when I propose, I’d like to be certain I can give her the time she deserves.”
I watch as his eye twitches when I say the word if.
“Well then, don’t take too long, son. I would hate to see you waste the perfect opportunity.”
“I never waste a good opportunity, Sir. That I can be certain of.” I may lie for a living, but I try to stay as honest as I can when I can. Plus, I’ve never lied to Georgiana. She’s aware I’m not ready to be married. Hell, the whole universe can see that, except my father. I’ve never once committed myself to her, yet she graciously waits for me anyway.
My father joins us, and the torture continues. Loosening the tie a little from around my neck, I feel hot and so ready to be done with this night. I look for an out, scanning the crowd. To my left, I see Liam and his wife Evelyn enter the room. Nope, not going in that direction. On my right is my ex-girlfriend's mother, so I’m definitely not headed that way. I feel suffocated, being surrounded by complete and utter misery and unpleasant conversations, no matter which way I turn.
That’s when one of the wait staff catches my eye. Her honey-blonde hair is loosely tied into a bun, with whiskers of hair poking out the back. The white blouse she’s wearing is two sizes too big for her too-small frame, and her bow tie is crooked. I can pick a newbie a mile off. I watch her as she cautiously carries a tray of drinks across the room. She’s concentrating so hard, it’s amusing. I think she might just be the most entertaining person here tonight.
Her bright blue eyes dart back and forth across the room nervously before they stop at mine and then widen a little as she sees I’m looking straight back at her. I’m surprised at first that she doesn’t immediately look away, but then I become curious as to why she doesn’t. Standing frozen in the middle of the room, she just stares at me like a deer in headlights. She wants to move and look away, but for some reason, she can’t. I can tell by how rapidly her chest rises and falls that I have affected her in some capacity, and although I am used to this reaction from a lot of women, something about this one is different.
Cocking my head to the side, I offer her a flirtatious smile. Her eyes widen even more, and it’s like it happens in slow motion as she turns to walk away and bumps into the man standing beside her. The tray wobbles in her hand as she desperately tries to control it, but the three glasses tumble over with one smashing to the floor. The music and noise in the room muffle most of the sound, but a few guests close to her stop their conversations with raised eyebrows and disapproving glares.
Fuck! I mumble under my breath as I hurry over to her.
“I’m sorry. that was totally my fault.” I crouch down to where she is kneeling on the floor, hurrying to pick up the broken shards of glass. She stops and looks up at me. Her perfect porcelain skin is flushed with pink, and her blue eyes are glassy with unshed tears.
“Leave it, please, Sir. I will clean it up,” she speaks to me softly but sternly.
“Here, let me at least hold the tray for you. You are going to cut yourself. Be careful.” But the moment I say the words, she does just that. I watch as her naturally plumply pink lips form a perfect O shape as she widens her mouth in a gasp. Putting the tray down on a table next to her, she looks at her finger.
“Show me.” I pull her hand to mine and inspect the cut.
“Ow.” She yanks back her hand when I try to remove the small shard from her finger.
Another young waitress kneels down and begins to mop up the spilled champagne with a cloth. “Are you okay, Indie?” she asks, looking at the blood now oozing from the cut on the girl’s finger. “There is a first aid kit in the kitchen. Go, I will fix this up.”
Indie pains a smile at the waitress. “Thanks, Leah. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, forget it. It’s no big deal. Really. It happens all the time.” She gives Indie a dismissive wave of her hand. “Go on now.”
I try to follow the waitress to the kitchen but get intercepted by my brother, Liam. “Really, Roman?” He creases his brows. “The wait staff?” He looks in Indie’s direction as she continues to walk away and into the kitchen. “Surely even you have standards?”
I glare at him, shaking my head. “She cut herself, you asshole.” I shove him aside. I don’t bother explaining any further; he’s honestly not worth the breath.
