“Absolutely. And I rarely go home empty-handed. I’m starting to accumulate a lot of art pieces and ancient books, though,” he says with a chuckle. “Even if I’ve already donated some of the pieces to other foundations.”
“Aren’t you the generous one,” I say, studying him. And, well—there’s something hopelessly sexy in a selfless man. At least he’s doing some good with his money.
He shoots me a grin. “So, what should we bid on? Your pick.”
I tap my finger on my lips. “Um. I think a yacht would look great in your backyard.”
He laughs hard, the sound warm and unrestrained, drawing a few glances. “How do you know I even have a backyard?”
“Oh, youdefinitelyhave a backyard.”
He pauses, then coughs out a laugh. “Okay, I have a backyard, but definitely not one big enough to host a freaking yacht! There’s no water, for starters.”
“Okay, fine. Helicopter tour?”
He cocks his head, eyes trained on me. “I thought you were afraid of heights.”
“We’re shopping for you,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“We’re shopping for both of us,” he says. “Since you’re here with me, you get to enjoy it as well if I win.”
I suck in my lips, my heart thumping a few beats faster. We barely know each other. We’ve established that we’re not even friends. What is he doing?
His cheeks redden. “I’m kidding, Harper. Just an indecisive man looking for help, that’s all.”
I’m not sure that’s true, but I play along, because it’s what makes the most sense. “Well, if it were me, I’d pick the eco-resort,” I say casually. “A vacation is always nice.”
He nods. “Good thinking. I rarely bid on those. I don’t exactly have a lot of time on my hands, but I’ll make an exception.”
Grabbing one of the pens on the table, he writes down his bid. And I can’t help but notice the ridiculous number of zeroes he’s adding to the end of it.
A clamor erupts near the door, and everyone directs their attention there. From what I can tell, some new guests have arrived, but I can’t see them from where we’re standing.
“Oh, it’s Veronica Lancelot,” a woman in a red dress gushes next to me.
“The reality star? From The New Housewives of New York?” her friend replies, and they both hustle toward the source of the commotion.
I’ve never heard of that particular reality “star,” but the mention of that franchise brings the sting of bile to my throat.
“What’s up?” Baptiste wonders aloud, straightening slightly and scanning the room.
“Some airhead starlet just arrived,” I say, my tone dripping with disdain.
He shrugs. “Yeah, there’s always a bunch of celebrities at these things. At least they bring some press to the event.”
“Let’s go get something to eat,” I say, eager to change the subject.
Making our way to the buffet, we shuffle down the large table draped in white linen and decorated with seashell centerpieces, and I stack my plate high. The choice of cocktail food is overwhelming—mini crab cakes, oysters on ice, tuna tartare, delicate pastries, and of course lobster served three different ways.
We find an empty high table and eat standing side by side, shoulders nearly touching. We start talking about the charity hosting the gala and the other ones he supports. He also sees a few people he knows and introduces me.
“I need to go to the girls’ room,” I say after a while. We’ve been eating and drinking for the past two hours, and honestly, I don’t know how I’ve managed to hold off for this long. “I’ll be right back.”
I worm myself through the sea of expensive tuxes and dresses, inhaling so much perfume and cologne, my head starts to spin. I linger in the stall, hoping to hear some interesting chit-chat, but the only women who stop in are immersed in a dull discussion about who wore what and who looked better at the last gala.
I wash my hands, reapply some lipstick, and step out of the ladies’ room.
As I’m walking back down the corridor, an uneasy feeling creeps up my spine. Like someone is watching me.
