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But that’s life. Being an adult means making hard choices, and I’ve made mine. No more Maine until my vacation next summer and no more working for peanuts for wildlife conservation groups.
This is my real life, my grown-up life, and I’ll be happy I made these sacrifices someday, when I know everything there is to know about Watson Global and Dad passes the leadership torch into my capable hands. I’ll be able to do so much more good for the world as CEO of an international conglomerate making billions than as a poor wildlife worker documenting the nesting habits of seabirds and shouting into the void about how urgently we need to protect animals from climate change.
A lot of people can observe seabirds, only I can take on this particular challenge. I’m not simply heir to a fortune, but to power on a global scale. I can’t afford to take that lightly. If I don’t prove to Dad that I can fill his shoes in the next year, he’ll find someone else to do it.
Someone who probably won’t care about using Watson Global’s influence for good as much as I do…
Instantly, I decide it’s going to be a one-drink night. No Jell-O shots, no second glass of wine or signature cocktail. I’ll eat, have one drink, dance with Noelle and Ben for a while, and head home at midnight. If I’m in bed by one, I’ll still be able to get up and hit the books hard by eight or nine tomorrow morning.
Collecting a small white plate from the end of the most whimsical buffet I’ve ever seen—the ten-foot-long wooden table is filled with flowers and wooden fairy sculptures as well as three different kinds of tacos, fruit, grilled vegetables, and various snack food on sticks—I load up and head to one of the vine-draped high-top tables. There are no seats, but that’s fine. I’m not sure I’d be able to sit down in this dress, anyway, at least not without showing my ass.
Noelle is three inches shorter than I am and far more daring in her clothing choices. But she was right about this dress—it makes my legs look like they’re a mile long, a fact that isn’t going unnoticed by the other guests.
I catch a man checking out my legs while his date is in line for candy from the candy buffet on the other side of the tables and a fashionable woman touches my elbow on her way by, whispering, “You have the most fabulous legs I’ve ever seen. You should model.”
I blush and stammer, “Thank you, but I’m way too awkward.”
She smiles, her amber eyes mesmerizing in her dark skin. “I was too when I first started. We all fake it until we make it, love. I can connect you with my coach if you want. He’s fabulous.”
I shake my head. “Thank you so much, but I don’t have time for anything outside of work right now. I just started a new job and…” I trail off with a shrug, proving my awkwardness.
The woman’s amazing eyes warm as she nods. “Of course, but take my card anyway.” She sets a pale blue business card on the table without breaking eye contact. “You can call me if you find some free time and want to have some fun. We don’t have to talk shop. I’m Zara.”
“Oh, okay, Sydney. So nice to meet you, Zara,” I stammer as she glides away with the grace of a ballerina jungle cat.
“Woah,” a familiar voice murmurs behind me. “You just got hit on by a supermodel. How does that feel?”
I turn to see Noelle sipping a drink as pink as her dress, her eyes wide over the rim of the frosted glass. “Um, pretty amazing actually,” I whisper. “Really makes me wish I were gay.”
We giggle and she says, “Girl, every day. Every damned day. I love Ben but women are so beautiful and so much less gross. I’ve never been to a woman’s house that smelled like moldy cheese socks.”
I arch a brow. “No, but your makeup table is repulsive, and you always leave a wad of pink hair in the shower.”
She props a fist on her hip. “I do not.” I grunt and she grins. “Okay, fine, I do. But it’s okay. A little grossness is cute. Like a goblin wearing lipstick.” She points to her drink. “That’s the name of this, by the way. Lipstick on the rocks. It’s fantastic. Like roses and grapefruit had a baby and rolled it in sugar. No alcohol but it tastes like there’s a hint of gin. You should get one.”
“I will,” I say, wiping my fingers and dropping my napkin on my now-empty plate. I feel much better now that I have something in my stomach. “Where’s the bar?”
She points to our left. “There are a few, but the mocktail bar is that way. Over by the living A Midsummer Night’s Dream sculpture. Lots of nearly naked people, painted different metallic colors, writhing around, you can’t miss it. I’ll wait here. Ben’s getting tacos.”
“Okay, be right back,” I say, heading out of the seating area and into a darker section of woods, where couples are swaying together to the ambient music. Adrian hasn’t started spinning yet, so the beat isn’t too loud, but it’s nice. The string instruments and light drums add to the enchanted vibe.
Whoever Adrian hired to bring his vision to life, they did a fantastic job.
Making a mental note to tell him later, I start toward the living sculpture, which is as arresting as Noelle said it would be. I’m so drawn in by the slow-motion embrace between a bearded man I’m guessing is the fairy king from Shakespeare’s play and a curvy woman wearing nothing but leaves strategically placed on her silver-frosted body that I almost don’t notice the man in the orange shirt and impeccably fitted suit pants.
I would have missed him entirely, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s moving fast, charging through the ballroom like he’s late for a flight, the only rushed person in a room full of relaxed partygoers.
I don’t get a good look at his face—only a brief glimpse of his profile before he’s past me—but I know it’s Gideon. I just know it, the way I know that the sky is blue, tacos are tasty, and that I’m no longer headed to the mocktail bar.
I’m following Gideon, wherever the night might lead.
thirteen
GIDEON
My talk with Adrian went about as well as I expected.
Which is to say it didn’t “go” at all.
