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“Come on, Crew. No one expects you to beloyalto her. You married her for her money.”
Guests start filing inside the banquet room where dinner will be served. “Try me,” I tell her, then start to walk away.
Her hand grabs mine before I make it more than a couple of steps. “I’m here through Wednesday. Staying in my usual suite at The Carlyle.”
I shake her hand off and keep walking.
Scarlett is already seated at our assigned table when I enter the large hall. I say nothing as I take the chair beside her. Polite chatter echoes around us.
Her finger traces the rim of a champagne glass, filling some of the silence with a subtle hum. She sighs, then downs the contents with one final gulp.
“Thirsty?”
“Bored.”
“I’m finding the evening highly entertaining,” I reply, just to needle her.
“I’m sure you are,” she mutters, looking away at the stage.
She must have noticed me talking to Hannah. With any other woman, I’d think she was jealous. Since it’s Scarlett, I’m guessing she’s miffed I’m enjoying myself.
Jennifer Rutherford—the hostess tonight—appears on stage. Everyone still standing hurries to their seats as the crowd quiets. I zone out as she starts speaking, thanking everyone for coming tonight and sharing plans for the renovations they’re fundraising for tonight. It’s not until I hear my name mentioned that I zone back in on the conversation.
“…and Crew Kensington, whose generous contributions ensured we’ve already met tonight’s goal.”
Contributions?I glance at Scarlett as loud applause sounds around us. “You wrote a check?” I ask, quietly enough no one else at our table can hear.
“It’s afundraiser,” she whispers back in theyou’re an idiottone I’m becoming quite familiar with. “Of course I donated.”
“You could have told me. It looks strange for us to make two separate donations.”
“I didn’t feel like elbowing my way past the blonde.”
I want to scoff at that, but I keep a smile pasted on my face instead. It remains in place for the rest of Jennifer’s speech and through dinner. I’m seated next to Howard Burton, a hedge fund manager a few years younger than my father. He prattles on about market trends while I shove lemon risotto and seared duck into my mouth.
Once dinner ends, seats get rearranged. Howard and his wife gravitate toward the silent auction set up in the next room. Scarlett is talking with Katherine Billings, who is sitting on her other side. I’m about to go get another drink when Asher takes Howard’s empty seat.
I raise both eyebrows at him. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight.”
He slouches in his seat. “Eh, changed my mind.”
“Your dad?”
“Yep.” Asher rolls his eyes. His father loves the status of getting invited to events like this, but rarely has the follow-through to actually attend. It’s the same reason Asher ended up working at Kensington Consolidated—his father ran a thriving company into the ground, thanks to sheer neglect. And he always expects Asher to step up and save his ass.
“Let him handle his own messes, man.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Asher replies. We both know he won’t. “Hannah is here.”
I stiffen at the attempt to change the subject and to gauge my reaction. “Yeah, I know.”
“She pissed?”
I shrug. “She’s not thrilled.” I look over at Scarlett to confirm she’s still talking with Katherine. She’s not. Katherine is gone, and Scarlett is scrolling on her phone. Her expression is blank, giving me no indication of whether she’s listening to or absorbing our conversation.
Asher makes an annoying humming sound in response.
Scarlett stands. “Excuse me.”
