Nope. Not going to do it.
12
STUART
The PR team arranged a car service to drive me from downtown LA to Beverly Hills for the fundraising lunch today.
Unfortunately, Brooke turned down my offer to share the ride. She insisted on meeting me at the event, arguing it would save her time if she didn’t have to travel from her apartment to the office first.
That means it’s a lonelier journey than I’d hoped. It’s also frustrating because her excuse was likely a ruse, given an earlier comment that she had a short commute to work. My guess is that she’s avoiding alone time with me.
Of course, I respect her choice, but she’s making it for the wrong reason. She’s afraid someone will think she’s shagging a client. Apparently, that would break a rule for lawyers and be career suicide.
Such a rule seems rather harsh. Surely there are exceptions. And if not, in this case, it doesn’t matter. As I explained to her, I’m not a client, and my invitation last night was only for dinner. Of course, I’d hoped it would lead to more. But that would’ve been entirely up to her.
If I’m lucky, she’ll recognize her mistake and change her mind when she realizes the rule doesn’t apply to us.
To improve the odds, I’ve ensured we’ll have a chance to chat during lunch today. She’ll be seated next to me at the Foundation’s fundraiser. That will give me a chance to explain that I respect her boundaries and integrity, but she doesn’t have to sacrifice either to spend time with me.
It wasn’t easy to arrange the last-minute seating change. It required an excuse to the donor originally assigned to my neighboring seat. After some thought, I told the PR team I have some pressing legal questions for Brooke. It’s a stretch, but I’ll think of something to ask.
When my driver pulls under the portico at the Beverly Hills hotel, I see Brooke exiting the car in front of us. My body reacts instantly to her perfectly toned, bare legs and red-soled, black stilettos as she steps out of the vehicle. I can’t take my eyes off her.
What’s wrong with me? They’re just legs, albeit beautiful ones I’d love to have wrapped around my waist. In fact, her dark blue suit, cream-colored, satin blouse, and black Tahitian pearls are incredibly conservative attire. Somehow that look is sexier than hell. I can’t help envisioning my hands sliding that skirt upward and exploring every inch of her.
Even better, I’d throw her over my shoulder, carry her into a private room, and see if she tastes as good as I imagine.
I shake my head, chuckling to myself. That scenario will have to wait until she agrees we can go out to dinner without putting her job in jeopardy. If I can win that battle, then we’ll see just how much fun we can pack into the rest of the week.
Mmm. So many ideas. So little time. But first, rule-following Brooke needs to let loose a little.
I debate whether to catch up with her now or wait to meet her in the hotel’s ballroom. I choose the latter, hoping that a little anticipation on her part will work in my favor.
Taking my time, I wait in the back seat of the black sedan until it pulls to a stop beside the door of this iconic Beverly Hills hotel. My driver hurries to open the rear door, and I exit, slowly buttoning my suit jacket as I stand on the curb. Observers would assume I’ve no care in the world. Fortunately, my jacket hides mygrowingdesire for Brooke.
Walking inside the lobby, I meet up with the three Foundation board members who are waiting for me. Together, we find our way to the ballroom for the fundraiser.
I’ve stayed at the hotel before but never attended any event in this ballroom. It’s quite lovely.
Giant crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, glistening with light. A formal, elevated stage fills the far end. The center area of the ballroom is unusual in that it’s sunken several steps below the entrance and side seating areas.
Hammered copper pillars and black metal railings border the inner edge of the upper seating areas, preventing people from accidentally falling into the sunken center portion.
Steps at the entrance and on each side allow easy flow between the two levels.
Tables for eight occupy both the lower and upper levels. The tables are set with white linens with glass. Silver urns hold white and lavender flowers at the center of each table.
The overall look is elegant. The décor is rather modern by European standards. Ironically, it’s likely considered vintage for the US.
Fairly quickly, a member of the hotel recognizes us and leads the way through the sea of tables. Dad told me that all 800 seats were sold at the premium ticket price, so as expected, the room is at capacity.
As we weave between the tables, I shake hands and murmur thank-yous along the way. My gaze pans the room in search of Brooke. Finally, I spot her on the far-right side. She’s chatting with one of our sponsors. Making my excuses to the board members, I linger in the middle of the room, watching Brooke interact with an older gentleman and lady.
She’s smiling and animated, charming them both. I’m impressed. She’s an asset to the charity and her firm. She’s also working her charms on me without even trying.
Gradually, I venture toward her. As I near the edge of the ballroom, I stop, waiting to catch her attention.
As she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, I watch with desire, wishing it was my fingers running through her long curls. When her head turns and our eyes finally meet, heat races through me. We move toward each other as if a magnetic force pulls us together.
