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I shake my head. “Way too much information, anyway I was calling because I forgot that the Avalon gala is going to be this Saturday and—”
"And you need me as a buffer, or, rather, as a repellant for all the ladies who want a piece of that tight, delicious ass of yours."
I roll my eyes. “Something like that. I'm sorry to be asking all of a sudden. I totally forgot. You can take Diana along if you want. It won't be too difficult for me to get another ticket. What do you say?"
Tabloids already run wild with everything I do to portray me as the dashing playboy I never was. So I really don't care what they would write if I ended up escorting two beautiful women at once to the gala. I’m pretty sure that, even if they knew they were gay and in no way involved with me, they would still find a way to make me the hero of some sordid romance tale.
"You, mister, have got yourself a deal. Gotta go now. I've got to employ my tongue in better ways, ciao!"
She hangs up on me, and I chuckle in the empty car. Tasha has always been my best friend and the only person I could trust outside my very small family. I can always count on her. Still, sometimes she does overshare a bit. She is very candid and always says what's on her mind, you either love her or hate her, and I happen to fall into the former category, and I'm all the better for it. She is the most loyal friend a man could ever have.
I'm very happy she found Didi. She is a very sweet woman and loves my bestie dearly, and since they've been together, Tasha has been blossoming into an even better, healthier version of herself. Loneliness was no good for her, especially after Alina.
Not all people can bear the solitude as well as I can.
CHAPTER3
Carina
Ilook around at the gathering of phonies, the backbone of the so-called high society of Boston, and sigh to myself. They are all smiling, clutching their flutes of Champagne and pretending to look concerned with all that Avalon stands for as soon as a member of the Press turns their cameras in their direction. Still, the truth is they don't care. They are here to see and be seen, to gossip and strike deals that have little to do with charity, and of course, to one-up their competition —perceived or real— whatever that might be.
This soiree should be about all the good things that the foundation has done in the twenty-seven years since its birth and all the good things ahead, but no one cares.
Sure, it's a fundraiser, and so they will open up their wallets and throw their money around. Still, the truth is, by most of them, this is seen as nothing more than an obligation. It's something they have to do because not doing it would look bad. For others, it's simply a way to get a tax deduction. For a good chunk of the remaining crowd, it's something that must be done to look better than their enemies or, worse even, to upstage their dearest friends.
My parents taught me well, and I know how to navigate these shark-infested waters better than most, but it's still unnerving to be amongst them and to be constantly under so much scrutiny and be seen by them as a mean to increase their own wealth.
My mother says in the end, it's all good; lots of money are raised, and no matter the motivation that guides the donors' actions, it still will be used to further Avalon and its charitable ventures, but I can't help it. The fakeness of this gilded world still gets to me anyway and makes me feel completely out of place and miserable.
I see the light of greed spark in the eyes of a cluster of wannabe-powerful suits, and I steel myself for their attack, remembering my dad's tenet to graciously get rid of them before we get mired in conversations that could potentially cost money to Preston International or end up with me having gained unneeded enemies. Just smile, nod, be sure to speak noncommittally when addressed by deal-chasers —as my mom is fond of calling them— and then use the excuse that you have tokeep minglingto move on.
The ringleader of this present group of deal-chasers has already reached me at this point. I smile, raise my glass to him and nod along as he drones on and on about thedeal of the last fifty years, and then I pretend to look at someone over his balding, shiny head.
"I see what you mean there. If you'd excuse me, I just spotted an acquaintance that I must greet immediately," I say, leaving him standing there and looking slightly baffled as I make my way to the opposite corner of the vast reception room.
As I disappear, swallowed in the sea of jewels glinting on black and white haute couture gowns, I catch my mom's eye, and she slightly nods at me.
I roll my eyes at her and duck down a little. I’m in no mood to be introduced to yet another scion fromThe List.
She has spent half of the night chasing after me to get me to meet the guy that will become the next chairman of Avalon, Mr. Anderson, the current CEO of Anderson & Associates.
A formal announcement about his future role in the foundation will be made in two hours by Mr. Colton —the president in office of Avalon.
This guy is eligible, ambitious, single, in my mother's words, he isput-together, and most importantly, he is onThe List, so according to her, Ihaveto meet him —along with a whole lot of other pretentious jerks, no matter what I say or the fact that I’ve had it with the whole phony meet-and-greet for tonight.
I huff to myself, taking another sip of Champagne.
I could escape the otherbachelorseasily enough by making excuses, but I will really have to meet this one, seeing that we’ll both be joining Avalon.
Just what I needed today: a meeting with yet another greedy, soulless lawyer.
Yuck.
All of a sudden, I feel someone watching me. I stop walking to my hiding spot and look around.
I'm used to being watched, appraised, and judged, but this feels different.
It’s like the air is charged with something I can’t explain.
