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Although the drive wasn’t far, nerves crawled through me, acid climbing in my throat every time I swallowed.You belong. You’re allowed to do this.I repeated the words in my head over and over until I pulled into the loop in front of the Port Grandlin Museum of Fine Art, just as the invitation had instructed me to do.
There were people everywhere. They had set up a red carpet in front of the museum and a photographer took pictures of the guests walking along it. A valet in a tuxedo rushed up to my car and smiled down at me.
“Invitation, sir?”
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands and tapped the screen until I located the email. “Here it is.” I turned my phone to face him.
He nodded. “Very good. I’ll park your car, sir, if you’ll just step aside. Keys?”
My mouth went dry. I hadn’t thought about parking, much less tipping someone to do it for me. “I can park for myself.”
The man smiled again, knowingly this time. “The foundation prepays parking, sir.”
Adrenaline washed through me. I hated that he’d guessed my secret so easily.Calm down. Everyone here needs financial help. That’s why they’re here.I took a shaky breath and nodded before stepping out of my car and passing the keys to the valet. He handed me a ticket and slid into the driver’s seat.
No sooner had he driven away than another person in a tux came up to me. “Right this way, sir.”
I followed the usher, who guided me to the red carpet. As I stood in line to have my photo taken, my stomach soured, more acid churning in my gut and burning my throat. I looked around at the people in fancy clothes, the opulent decor, the dozens of staff just to guide people to their places. I was way, way out of my depth there. I could just feel it.
Chapter Four
Dex
Iworked my way through the wide-open floor of the art museum that was dotted with large round tables, shaking hands and offering easy smiles to everyone I met. Staff ambled through the space, offering passed hors d’oeuvres and drinks from the open bar, guiding people to their seats, and generally being helpful. I spotted many people I recognized from the files Jude had sent me, the grant recipients and their families making their way inside to take seats at their assigned places.
The room was also full of foundation sponsors, people with far more money than they knew what to do with, as well as local politicians and small-time celebrities. My company, Webber Holdings, wasn’t the only organization that funded the Michaels Foundation, and many of the co-sponsors enjoyed attending the annual event. I nodded politely at the governor and his wife, waved at the local news anchor who’d caught my eye across the room, and circulated the space, enjoying the event without drawing too much attention to myself.
I preferred to lie low when it came to the Foundation, keeping my name out of the event as much as possible. Ross, the chair of the Foundation and an old business associate of mine, took the spotlight and kept the heat off me, which was a nice change of pace from my daily life. I didn’t do any of the work we did with the Foundation for recognition, so having Ross run the show and keep the attention on himself was more than fine by me. Ross didn’t mind it either—he’d always been more of an attention grabber than I had—and he was in his element.
As I circulated the room, my attention caught on someone entering the event. I recognized him at once as Bennett Cantrell, the final grant recipient of the season and someone who’d been awarded as much as we could conceivably give to one family. I knew his story down to the last detail, thanks in large part to Jude and in part to the deep dive we did into recipient background. Applicants were allowed to include photos in their application packets, and I easily recognized Bennett from a group picture of his mom, his sister, and himself. He was a little above average in height, possibly five-eleven, a few inches shorter than me, with short, dusty brown hair and dark brown eyes. Something about him made my heart flutter. I wanted to approach him.
What surprised me about Bennett was that he’d come alone. He’d applied for assistance for his mother, and I knew he had a sister as well. Why hadn’t he brought one or both of them? His gaze darted around the room, flicking from place to place as he desperately searched for some guidance on what to do next.
I looked at the person I’d been halfheartedly listening to, one of the sponsors, and reached out to shake his hand. “We’ll have to catch up later,” I said smoothly. “I see someone I need to speak with.”
The sponsor nodded, a furrow forming between his eyebrows. “Of course. No problem at all.”
With that, I approached Mr. Cantrell, drawn to him as if he were a magnet, despite the fact that he was actually fifteen years younger than me. Bennett wore a blue-gray suit with a white button-down shirt and a red tie. The suit fit him fine, but there was something off about it. While the slacks clung to him nicely, he adjusted the waistband as if they were a smidge too big. He shifted his shoulders, a pained look on his face as he came to a stop at the entryway to the banquet.
I seized the opportunity and sidled up to him, raising my voice to be heard above the chaos of the crowd. “It’s a lot, isn’t it?”
Bennett’s eyebrows shot up as if he weren’t certain I was speaking to him. “Huh?”
I gestured to the room. “All of this, it’s a lot. People. Noise. Activity.”
Bennett nodded and let out a little relieved exhale. “I’ve never been to one of these things,” he confessed. When the words were out, he closed his mouth, frowning at himself. The muscle in his angular jaw worked as if he were clenching it, and he ran a hand through his dark brown hair, tousling it a little.
With a grin, I took a sip of the drink I’d been holding. “I’ve been to a few. They’re all the same, these things. At least, the people putting them on are.”
He nodded again, and a shaky chuckle escaped him. “How do I score one of those?” He nodded toward the glass in my hand.
I looked around and immediately flagged down a server circulating the room. “Easy.” I turned my attention to the server. “Can I get another vodka soda? And I think Mr.…” I lifted my glass in his direction.
“Cantrell,” Bennett supplied.
“Yes, Mr. Cantrell wanted to order something as well.”
Bennett bit his full lower lip and thought for a second. “Same, I guess.”
