The vintage silk dress that always impressed the investors at Ethan’s events fits like a dream, but my knees lock together. The awkward pose I contort myself into beside the elegantly arranged refreshment table is the only way I can stop from wobbling.
The satin opera gloves I’m wearing are an accessory too much. I glance at the fist balled at my side. Actually, the pearl bracelet over the gloves is the step too far.
Who am I kidding?
It’s all bad.
My outfit. This dinner. Presenting.
Someone put me out of my misery.
I press my hand to my chest. My heart hammers like thunder under my palm. Panic has set in, and no one’s even seated for the dinner yet. Waiters circle the balcony, offering canapes tomen in tuxedos and women in gowns. Is there really only two hundred people here?
Okay.
This spiral isn’t helping. I breathe slowly through my mouth. One…two…
Okay.
I slide my palm cards from my clutch, but my notes blur no matter how often I blink. I breathe in and scan the crowded restaurant.
Find a friendly face.
Luke isn’t in the dining room. He greeted all the guests at the door and thanked them for coming before excusing himself to finish preparations for dinner. I shuffle along the wall and peek into the kitchen. There he is, in all his glory, wearing his white coat and a stern look of concentration. A chant of “Yes, Chef!” echoes when he calls out a direction.
Luke will be busy there until he hands the kitchen over to his pastry chef for dessert. The auction is penciled in to start right after.
Who else is here?
I don’t recognize many faces. Most of my friends from the community center didn’t buy tickets to the dinner. Mallory Something-or-Other is here, though. Her narrowed gaze follows me and my panic attack everywhere I go. She wants her exclusive.
Tonight just gets better and better.
I snatch a canape as the tray passes and shove thefritto mistointo my mouth. It’s so hot and fat I can’t chew it, so I just hold it in my cheeks like a thieving squirrel.
“Honey, the canapes are free.” Kristen parks herself in front of me and pops her hip. White satin splits over her bare thigh. “You can take a bite.”
I try to answer, but the delicate treat is a rock sliding down my throat.
“Well, well…” Kristen’s critical gaze studies my gown. “Chanel.”
I straighten the shoulder strap even though the dress hugs me perfectly. “Y-yes.”
“It’s retro, but… I know what you make per hour. You can’t afford that dress.” Kristen’s frosted pink smirk stays fixed in place as her eyes drop to my shoes. “Or those Prada heels.”
“They’re…old…”
“The duotone leather heels were on the runway two years ago.”
I tug at the side seam of my dress. “Um…” I need an escape.
She flicks a blond tendril behind her ear. “Did I tell you?” She smiles sweetly. “Sawyer and me. We hadsucha great time the other night.”
“It certainly sounded like it,” I mumble.
“He’s gorgeous.”
I press my lips flat.
