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His face flushed an angry red and he jerked to his feet. “I’m sorry you think that of me.”
And just like that, their easy banter ended. Gretchen felt a moment of sadness. She’d messed it up this time, and it was clear from Hunter’s stiff posture that the moment had vanished.
“The invitation is yours if you want it,” he told her in a cold voice. “Feel free to decline with no obligations. It was meant as a friendly gesture.”
And she’d killed it. Clearly if she was going to bring them back together she’d have to be the one to do it.
“I’ll think about it,” she lied.
Chapter 15
When Gretchen’s taxi pulled up to Buchanan Manor several days later, she did a double take. She knew that having the charity event at the house was a big move for him, but it took seeing the throngs of people and the endless line of limos curving up the driveway to impress into her mind just how much of an effort he was making.
She smoothed her little black dress nervously. He’d made an effort. Had she done enough? She pulled out a compact and checked her hair. Her upsweep—so different from her normal messy ponytail—still looked perfect thanks to Audrey’s help, and she had a yellow rose tucked behind one ear. It was the only accessory she wore, and she hoped it was enough. Her dress was plain since she didn’t have the money in her bank account to buy something. But she’d had a dress in the back of her closet that was simple, but elegant. It was a black dress with tight, elbow-length sleeves, shirred sides, and a boatneck collar. It made her red hair stand out, and she knew Hunter liked her hair.
Staff in white shirts with black ties opened the doors to the house to let her in. Had he hired more staff only for the party? Or was this a new change? She thought she recognized a few of the women wandering the room with trays as the housecleaners, but she didn’t approach them for fear of making them uncomfortable. Instead, she mingled with the crowd and scanned the room. Buchanan Manor looked as gorgeous as ever, but it was unnerving seeing it full of guests. She was used to seeing the rooms empty and silent.
Oddly enough, the house no longer felt lonely.
As she pushed through the throngs of people, a woman whirled past her with a tray and then turned. “Would you like a hors d’oeuvres—oh, Gretchen! Hello!” She broke into a smile.
“Brandy, how are you?” Gretchen smiled back at her. She recognized the maid from her excursions into the cleaning wings. Brandy was fond of Gretchen’s banana nut bread and always talked about how much her children enjoyed Gretchen’s cooking.
“Busy,” she said, offering Gretchen a fig-covered confection from her tray. “But happy. There’s been lots of changes in this house in the last two weeks.”
“Oh? What kind of changes?” She pretended to be casual, though anticipation strummed through her body at the thought. Had Hunter made changes because he wanted to impress her? Why did that make her positively giddy?
“Well, first of all, he got rid of that nasty assistant of his.”
Gretchen grinned. “So I heard.”
“Yup. From what I hear, he’s got three assistants now. Two localized here in the house and one at the office.”
“Three. That seems like a big change.”
“It is. And that’s not all. That man of yours hired more staff and gave the rest of us a raise.” She patted her pocket. “I got a Christmas bonus, too.”
“That’s wonderful,” Gretchen said with a smile. “But I don’t know that he’s my man. I—”
But Brandy was already on her way to the next group, a cheery smile on her face. “Hi there. Hors d’oeuvres?”
Her man. Gretchen popped the appetizer into her mouth and tasted the words. Her man. She liked that. Did he miss her like she missed him? God, she hoped so or this was going to get awkward, fast. She turned around and sucked in a breath.
There he was, at the center of the room, in the thick of the party. He looked pained and uncomfortable . . . and utterly gorgeous. A black tuxedo fit him to the nines, and his hair had been cut recently, his new hairstyle keeping his hair off his forehead and giving him a slightly rakish air. He stood with a group of people, a flute of champagne in his hand. A stiff-looking silver-haired couple were talking to him animatedly, and he kept a polite smile on his face even though he looked a bit trapped.
She giggled at that, even as her fingers curled with the need to touch him. Instead, she just watched him from a distance, enjoying his every move, noting the way his cheek pulled when his mouth curved into a lopsided smile. How could anyone think of that raw, masculine, delicious man as anything but beautiful? She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
Then he turned, and his attention seemed to head unerringly for her. His gaze lit up.
Gretchen’s feet felt glued to the floor. She should go over and say hello to him. Interrupt the conversation he was having. Something. Anything. Instead, she stood there like a dummy, her brain unable to work.
Hunter was having a party and entertaining people. Her Hunter. He was breaking out of his self-imposed exile. Was this all for her?
How could she possibly be mad at a man who was going to such lengths to prove to her that he could be the man she needed him to be? He’d manipulated her—and others—with his influence, that was true, but now she understood why. He’d never thought that she’d be interested in him, never thought she would give him the time of day, so he’d done the only thing he could do to bring her close. And while it was low-down, dirty, and craven . . . she understood it and even felt a twinge of sympathy for him that he’d felt the need to go so very far for something as simple and basic as human need for another person.
He extricated himself from the conversation, handed his glass to a passing waiter, and strolled toward her, adjusting the front of his tuxedo jacket as if to make sure he looked his best. She found that utterly charming. Here was Hunter Buchanan, the most sexy, glorious, powerful man in the room, and he was making sure he looked good enough for her.
It was a heady feeling.
