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“I think I saw a couple of empty spots over there.” I pointed to a spot in the far corner of the room that didn’t look occupied. “Come on.”
Maxine followed me as the opening notes of Etta James’s “At Last” started.
“I love this song,” Maxine sighed, humming along and accidentally revealing her warm, squishy center.
A few feet from the open chairs I was headed for, I spotted a familiar profile. My heart stuttered to a stop, and apparently so did my feet.
“What’s happening? Why are we stopping?” Maxine asked, almost running into my back.
I ignored her question, too busy taking in the sight of Holden St. James in an exquisitely tailored tuxedo. The rich black material stretched tightly over his wide shoulders, and hugged biceps that had no right existing on a stuffy lawyer. The cut of his sleeves revealed glimpses of a chunky watch on his wrist, catching the soft lights of the room and making my dress feel tight. I had a sinking feeling that seeing Holden head-on in that tux was going to be the end of me. As if he could hear my thoughts, Holden turned his head, and his eyes found me almost immediately. I gave a small wave, suddenly unsure.
“We’ve been spotted,” I whispered to Max, keeping a smile on my face. “We should probably say hello.”
“Spotted by who?” Max asked, still following me to where Holden stood. He turned to face us fully and my suspicions were confirmed. For the love of all things holy, that man could wear a tux. It was truly unfair to all people that he should make everything look so damn good.
“Sutton.” Holden’s warm voice greeted while his eyes roamed over me.
“Hi, Holden.” I returned his greeting, my eyes doing some wandering of their own. “I —”
But my words were stopped short when a tall, willowy blonde placed her hand on his arm. She was wearing a gold gown that sparkled but still managed to look elegant. Elegant and expensive. I felt like an overgrown fern standing there. Max gently nudged me in the sensitive spot right above my elbow, jolting me back to my senses.
“Holden, this is my friend Maxine. We work together.”
Maxine smiled, her eyebrows rising in recognition. My hands began to sweat as I imagined all the possible things that might be running through Maxine’s head right now and might make the short trip to her mouth.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Holden. The gala is amazing.”
Holden turned his attention to Max. The charming smile he gave her revealed a dimple that I somehow hadn’t noticed until this very moment. The realization — the fact that I hadn’t seen Holden smile enough to notice that he had a dimple — hit me like the food poisoning I got from eating BOGO hotdogs from a gas station my freshman year, when the lure of cheap food had been too much for a poor college student to resist.
I looked from that devastating dimple to the manicured feminine hand still resting possessively on his arm. Would it be bad form to knock it off? I could make it look like an accident. Probably. And if not, I had just enough alcohol buzzing through my veins to not care if it looked intentional.
“Thank you, it’s nice to meet you as well.” He gestured to the mysterious woman clinging to him. “Clinging” might not have been the right word, but I wasn’t feeling particularly generous at the moment. “Sutton, Maxine, this is Greer. She’s a colleague.”
“Oh, I’d like to think I’m a little more than a colleague,” Greer answered suggestively, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow winging up. “It’s nice to meet you both. How do you all know each other?”
“Oh, umm, Macon is marrying my older sister,” I provided, tearing my eyes from Holden just in time to see the smile on her face falter slightly. It reappeared so quickly that I thought I might have imagined the slip.
“How nice! I’ve met Sissy a few times, and she seems lovely.” So she was either a liar or a terrible judge of character. I suppose if I felt like being fair, she might have just been trying to be polite. I doubted that “Poor Macon; your sister is about as pleasant as a raging yeast infection” would be considered a socially acceptable response.
I made a noncommittal noise. It seemed like the only safe response to that comment. A heavy, stilted silence surrounded us for a moment. Half my brain was frantically trying to come up with something to say while the other half was still too busy ogling Holden to think of anything.
“I love your dress,” Maxine said smoothly, saving all of us. “It’s seriously stunning.”
“Thank you.” She finally removed her hand from Holden’s arm to smooth down the front of her dress. “Your dresses are gorgeous, too. Sutton, green is definitely your color.”
I was strongly identifying with the color green at the moment, specifically whichever precise shade was meant by “green with envy.”
“Thank you. Max gets all the credit, though — she convinced me to try this one on,” I replied, finally remembering how to act like a human being who hadn’t been raised by wolves. My eyes skated over to Holden before quickly returning to Greer. “She’s a great project manager, but her real gift is finding the perfect outfit for every occasion.”
“I’m flattered.” Maxine placed a hand over her heart. “But it’s true.”
“I’ll have to keep that in mind for the next event Holden drags me to,” Greer answered good-naturedly, completely unaware that I was mentally constructing a voodoo doll in her image.
“It was so nice meeting you, Holden; and you as well, Greer,” Maxine said, looping her arm through mine. “I hate to rush, but we’d better be getting back. We promised Sissy we wouldn’t linger before finding our table, and I’d like to peruse the silent auction first.”
“Of course,” Greer responded for them, while Holden’s gaze remained steady on my face. “I believe we’re seated at the same table, so we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“Great!” Maxine replied with a tad too much enthusiasm. “We’ll see you then.”
