Page 14

Of course. Straight to the one thing I didn’t want to deal with tonight. The situation was already consuming most of my days, figuring out ways to stay ahead of the incident. Having to talk about it here, in a room with others, wasn’t something I was willing to do. My face remained unreadable, trained from years of handling petty jabs.

I wasn’t shocked. I’d expected this much from a guy his size. His short stature and receding hairline were enough to make any man bitter.

“Thanks for the useless update,” I said coolly, pulling my hands from my pockets and motioning over my shoulder with a thumb. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have actual donors to talk to. It’s been a pleasure, Bill.” My smile was anything but friendly.

“I knew you’d fail,” Bill shot back, his voice loud enough to stop me in my tracks. “It was only a matter of time.”

I spun on my heel, my arms crossing over my chest as I tilted my head. “Pardon?” I asked, voice low and dangerous. I’d heard him loud and clear, but I wanted to see if he had the guts to repeat himself, say it to my face.

“This whole thing—Marcus, the PR nightmare—it’s all on you. And this charity stunt you’re pulling? It reeks of desperation. You hired Marcus knowing he was a problem.”

I stepped closer, my gaze narrowing into his. “Shall I remind you who had a hand in hiring that piece of shit?” My voice was calm, almost too calm. I placed a firm hand on his bicep, my smile sharp enough to cut. “The board.” I let the weight of the word hang in the air. “And shall I also remind you who was on the board when Marcus was hired?”

Bill’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t answer.

“That’s right,” I whispered, leaning in just enough to make him uncomfortable. “You. Now I’m the one left to clean up your mess. So tell me, Bill, who’s the real failure here?”

I wanted to tear into him, to tell him exactly how much I despised him and his holier-than-thou attitude. To let him know that just seeing his face in my space made me want to lose my temper. But instead, I settled on something far more effective.

“If you’re not planning to donate tonight, I suggest you leave.”

The flicker of unease in his expression was my cue to walk away. I turned around and left him standing there.

Since enduring that pointless conversation with an even more pointless human being, the ballroom had filled up tenfold. The turnout was impressive, I’d give it that. But shaking hands and spouting fake pleasantries with every donor was draining my already thin patience.

Smile. Nod. Pretend to care. Repeat. It was exhausting, and I needed a break. Or more accurately, a drink.

Ignoring Tawnie’s stern warnings about staying dry tonight, I made my way to the bar. There was no way I could survive hours of forced conversations, endless dancing, and orchestrated cheerfulness without at least one stiff drink. Between the meal, the donation announcements, and the speeches, I’d be here longer than I wanted.

I leaned my forearms on the polished bar top and grabbed the small menu propped in front of me. The options weren’t extensive, but I studied it anyway, mostly to give myself a reason to linger.

Bill’s smug face still flashed in my mind, taunting me. I’d caught him slipping out of the ballroom not long after our exchange. Good fucking riddance. The room felt lighter without his presence souring the air.

Speaking of souring my mood—where the hell was Stan? I’d been here over an hour and hadn’t caught sight of him. Not that I knew what he looked like. I’d expected Tawnie to make an introduction by now, considering how much time I’d be spending working with the guy.

I huffed a breath, placing the menu back on the bar with a snap. If tonight was any indication of how the next few months were going to be, I’d better start relaxing now.

“I’ll take a bourbon.”

My body stiffened, every muscle freezing as her voice cut through the low chatter of the ballroom. Low and gravelly, it had been replaying in my head, driving me to distraction.

Taking a slow breath, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch into a humorless grin. Not out of amusement, but sheer irony. Of course she was here. The woman who slapped down a hundred-dollar bill like it was pocket change. She must be a donor.

I shifted, turning just enough to face her.

Eleanor.

“Tripp?” she asked, her voice tinged with surprise. Her wide eyes gave her away. She hadn’t known I’d be here. Hell, she hadn’t even known who I was.

She stood there in a stunning red dress that accentuated the body I’d memorized the night before. The neckline dipped low, perfectly framing her chest, and the shimmer of the fabric hugged her hips like it was painted on by Picasso himself. My gaze lingered for a beat too long before I forced myself to look up, clamping down on the very real urge to rip her away from this event and fuck her with zero restraint.

“It’s nice to see you again, Eleanor,” I said, my tone measured. Not a lie. But not the truth either. Seeing her here was a complication, one I didn’t need. Last night, I could hide behind anonymity. Here, I had no such luxury. Here, I was Colton Stone—Stone Ranch CEO.

Her expression shifted, suspicion hardening the softness in her features. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, skipping over my greeting entirely. Her tone bristled, like the very idea of me being in her orbit was offensive.

My defenses slammed back into place, the playful man from last night retreating behind the armor I’d perfected over the years. I tilted my head, letting my eyes rake over her one more time before meeting her gaze. A faint blush colored her cheeks—natural or not, I couldn’t tell, but it was damn pretty either way.

The bartender returned, setting her drink on the counter.