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“Good evening, Mr. Baine. Mayor Holbrook would be pleased if you’d join him for a moment. He’d like to thank you personally for coming out to support his campaign tonight.”
Nick grunts. “Let me guess. He’d like to thank me in front of the cameras over there?”
Although the big man doesn’t confirm nor deny, I glance past him to where a cluster of reporters are interviewing the ambitious young mayor who’s currently running for his second term in office. I have no doubt that having Nick’s endorsement—implied or absolute—is worth more than most of the contributions that will be pouring in during tonight’s gathering.
Nick turns to face me. “Will you be all right for a few minutes without me?”
“Sure. Of course.”
From the look he gives me, I know he’s tempted to touch me. Maybe even kiss me. But his demeanor has grown more cautious since we arrived. Whether that’s to protect me from the glare of the spotlight he has to endure or to protect himself, I can’t be sure. Right now, though, it doesn’t matter. We’re here to help the rec center. My insecurities and desires are insignificant compared to that goal.
“Go on,” I tell him. “I’ll be fine.”
He nods. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch him walk away, savoring the cut of his suit on his fine form and the loose, animal prowl of his limbs as he crosses the ballroom and is greeted by the beaming politician. Mayor Holbrook pumps Nick’s hand enthusiastically as the small crowd of reporters close in on them.
I stand there for a moment, then decide to busy myself with a glass of wine. I drift through the elegantly dressed crowd, wending my way toward one of the bartenders positioned near the ballroom’s dance floor.
I can’t say that I’m completely comfortable among this elite crowd, but the music being played by the small orchestra at the front of the ballroom is relaxing and the sea of beautiful gowns and tuxedoes provides plenty of distraction for me as I request a glass of Pinot noir and settle in to people-watch until Nick returns.
With wine in hand, I begin weaving back through the gathering. The ballroom is packed and bustling, both with the mayor’s invited guests and the army of hotel catering personnel who stroll the room offering fancy hors d’oeuvres to the clusters of conversing partygoers.
As I meander back toward the other side of the room, one of those catering servers accidentally pivots into my path, nearly crashing into me with her silver tray of crudités. In reflex, I hold my wineglass up and out of the way as the short blonde comes to an abrupt halt, facing me. For a stunned moment, neither one of us speaks.
“Avery.” Kimmie’s pinched expression goes from shock to confusion as she looks me up and down. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Chapter 22
I am so busted.
Dread washes over me as I stare at my least favorite coworker from Vendange. Kimmie is the last person I expect or want to see here tonight. She could screw me in any number of ways right now, and the thin sneer that spreads over her face only drives that point home even harder.
I tell myself to ignore her attempt at confrontation. After all, considering the situation, my best defense is likely an offense. “I’m surprised to see you here, too, Kimmie. I didn’t realize you work for the hotel.”
She’s still scowling, but my question seems to catch her off guard. “I don’t, usually. My cousin is the catering manager. I fill in when they have large events and need the extra staff.”
“Oh. Well, enjoy the party then. Don’t work too hard.” I force a light smile and start to step past her.
“Does Joel know you’re here?”
Her acid tone freezes my feet in place. I should’ve guessed she wouldn’t let me skate by so easily. But the note of accusation in her voice pisses me off. I swivel a cold look on her. “What does that matter to you?”
“It doesn’t. But I think it’ll matter plenty to him.” Her lips purse, and I can already see the glimmer of satisfaction in her face. “When he called me to see if I could take your shift today, he said you called in sick. Funny, you don’t look sick to me.”
“How nice of you to say so,” I reply with equal venom.
“So, what are you doing here? You can’t possibly be on the guest list for something this swank, so how’d you get in?” She glances around me, her gaze searching now. “You here on a hot date or something?”
She titters as she says it, as if she finds the idea preposterous. But her question hits its mark with laser accuracy—even more than her implied threat about ratting me out to Joel. And as she scans the crowd, obviously looking for clues as to who I could be with, genuine panic blooms in my stomach.
If she sees me with Dominic Baine, I have no idea what she’ll do.
If she decides to confront me again, when I’m standing near him, I’ll not only be humiliated, but sick for the embarrassment it could cause him. Especially in such a public place.
The thought settles on me with a weight I can hardly bear. If Nick were to find out I’ve been lying to him, pretending to be someone I’m not, he’ll be furious.
If it should happen in front of his peers or the mayor—or, dear God, in front of the press—he’ll have every right to despise me.
