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Of course, the rich don’t just put an announcement in the papers like normal people. Nooo…they put on a six-course meal with all of their billionaire buddies. That way, they can all join hands and congratulate themselves on their success.
I pull open my contacts list and start sending off emails. At least the Everettes owned several buildings nice enough to pull this off. It would be impossible to book something like that with such short notice. I put in a favor with one of my best event planners and pray it all turns out.
Me: You don’t acquire new companies often enough to keep me busy.
Damon:You’d be surprised what I would do to keep you with me.
Tingles roll down my neck, raising goose bumps along their path. I have no idea what to say to that.
Chapter 29
Misty
There’s an eeriness to the hall while Damon stands in front of the podium and makes his speech. He’d let me read it in advance, after I insisted as his PR manager it is something I need to review. He’d handed it over with a knowing smile that had the hair rising on the back of my neck. It didn’t take long to realize why he’d looked so smug. There wasn’t a single word out of place in his document. It was the perfect level of serious and lighthearted to capture anyone’s attention. Because of course he knows how to write his own speeches. He’s probably been giving them since he was a kid.
There’s an older gentleman watching him with rapt attention, tall and lanky but impeccably dressed, without a single hair out of place. I can just make out a silver pin attached to his lapel under where his palm is resting. Come to think of it, it’s a super-odd position to be in. He’s standing ramrod straight, at perfect attention, as he listens to Damon go on about airplanes and the future.
I swear, if I were anywhere else, I’d think he was in the military, listening to his commanders or whatever they’re called. Definitely not a member of society’s elite. A quick scan of the room reveals every man is in a nearly identical stance—back straight, chin forward, and one arm crossed over their chest.
Chills roll through me. It’s like I’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone or, better yet, some kind of yuppie cult. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were treating Damon like a leader instead of a peer.
The loud smack of clapping snaps me out of my rambling thoughts as Damon closes off his speech. His eyes dance over the crowd until they meet mine, and he lifts one brow at me in question.
I can’t even begin to process my thoughts right now. I clearly need some sleep because the idea of some underground world where people worship my husband is freaking ridiculous.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
I turn sharply to face an older gentleman. I instantly recognize him from the event Mia, Piper, and their guys went to weeks ago. The one where I’d somehow found myself face-to-face with Damon in an alley. I ignore the knot in my stomach at the raised memory.
“It’s an honor, Mr. Everette.”
“The honor’s all mine,” Damon’s grandfather says with a warm smile. “You look lovely this evening.”
“You are way nicer than I thought you’d be.” The words are out before I can stop them, and I instantly wish I could reverse time and take them back.
His smile widens. “Oh? And how did you think I would be?”
Freaking shit. I twitch uncomfortably, but he just stands there calmly, waiting for my answer.
I blow out a slow breath, praying that this doesn’t somehow get back to Damon. “Sorry…I just meant…well…after your speech at the last event, you didn’t seem like you wanted to be around people much.”
He tilts his head slightly, and I swear a dimple appears in his cheek. It’s clear he’s exactly who Damon gets his looks from.
“You, my dear, are different though. You are part of our family, aren’t you?”
Of course he knows—that was the entire point—but something in the way he asks the question has me wanting to apologize for God knows what.
I lower my voice to barely above a whisper. “Yes, of course.”
He looks at Damon, who’s now staring at us.
The old man returns his attention to me and raises one brow in an identical look to his grandson. “So tell me, why the secrecy?”
Freezing, I take a shallow breath and try to gather my thoughts as his question tries to scramble them. I can’t very well tell him we’re keeping it a secret because I don’t want people to judge me when Damon and I get divorced.
“I work for him. I don’t want our relationship to sway people’s opinions of me. It’s already hard enough to be a woman in sports.” I push the words out at rapid speed. They feel hollow at best, like a story I removed every other line out of.
He gives me a disbelieving look, and I cut him off, asking him the question I’ve been dying to know.
