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She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
At some point in the evening, Bev and her friends and colleagues from the Bricker Foundation ganged up on her and towed her away from Drew to introduce her to someone, and she quickly got embroiled in a lively discussion about partnership possibilities with a charity that helped the victims of land mines. Afterward, she strolled through the ballroom, scanning for Drew. It seldom took long to find him, even in a big crowd, he was so tall. And no one filled out a tux like that man.
“Jenna,” said a familiar voice from behind her.
She spun around with a gasp and beheld Rupert, all dressed up in a tuxedo.
“What in the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Way to make a guy feel welcome.” Rupert sounded a little hurt.
Like he had any right to expect a welcome from her. But she suppressed a tart reply. There were people all around and she was tired of being the floor show.
“What are you doing here, Rupert?” she asked again.
“I was invited,” he said huffily. “You do remember that I worked on these projects, right? The Wexler Foundation sent the invitation to the whole team.” He tossed back the rest of his champagne and smacked it down with far too much force on the tray of a passing server, causing all the champagne flutes on the tray to totter and sway. By some miracle of coordination, the server managed not to drop them all, but Rupert didn’t even notice.
“I knew they sent an invitation to the team, but I didn’t expect to see you come,” Jenna said. “I thought you were in Bali. Where’s Kayleigh? Didn’t she come with you?”
Rupert’s face tightened. “Ah. Well, no. About that. It’s over with Kayleigh. I came back early from Bali.”
“It’s over? You mean...”
“Finished,” Rupert said glumly. “We broke up.”
Jenna realized that her mouth was hanging open, and closed it. “Oh. That was quick.”
He shrugged. “Can I speak with you?”
“You’re speaking with me now, aren’t you?”
“I mean in private. Please.”
Jenna glanced around at the murmuring crowd filling the ballroom of the stunning Crane Convention Center, one of Maddox Hill’s newest projects. “Rupert, I’m really busy tonight, and this isn’t the time or place.”
“Please,” he urged. “Just a word. It won’t take long. You owe me that.”
Actually, she didn’t owe him a damn thing. But she didn’t want to make a scene and she also wanted to be done with this, whatever it was. That way, she didn’t have to schedule another encounter. Things were always better dealt with hot and on the spot.
She sighed silently, and gestured for him to follow her. She led the way out of the ballroom and swiftly up the sweeping double staircase, to the luxury suite that Maddox Hill reserved for its own use. In this case, it had served as a headquarters for the event planners. It was deserted now, since all the event coordinators were downstairs, on the job.
“Okay, Rupert,” she said crisply. “Dinner’s about to be served. After that, they’re going to award the Wexler Prize, and I’m really hoping to win it. So please, make it snappy.”
“I see you’re as career oriented as you ever were,” he commented.
That got her goat, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “You better believe it,” she agreed, noting his peeling sunburn from too much beach in Bali and his affected little goatee. And the smug, superior expression on his face. Thank God, she’d stopped short of marrying that. She was so grateful. “Tell me.”
“I’m not sure just how to say this to you, Jenna—”
“Figure it out fast.”
He looked hurt. “You’re being sharp.”
She gave him a look. “Do you blame me?”
His expression softened. “No,” he said earnestly. “I truly do not. Jenna, I’ve learned so much about myself in the past few weeks. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”
She stifled a groan. Just what her evening lacked. To hear what Rupert had learned about himself. “It’s not a good time,” she repeated, through her teeth.
