“Does Cal Sherwood dance?”
He shot her a look. “Not if you keep talking about me as if I’m a character in your latest fantasy.”
She closed her eyes. He was, he was, and she’d tried to be all brisk and job focused but screwed it up. And that look he gave her almost ensured she’d be in the mosh pit on her own.
“You know who your targets are tonight?”
Trust him to be on point. “The three XRad founders.” They’d built their success on stolen intellectual property.
“I’ll introduce you early in the night, and then you’re free to enjoy yourself.”
Which meant he didn’t intend to spend the night with her. At least this time, she wouldn’t be forced to listen to boring stories from bitter women who were never even offered a cigar.
The luxury cars parked in the venue lot told her all about the wealth of the people who’d be inside. XRad employees were stockholders, and some of them got seriously cashed up when the company’s games went global. The conversion of the old power plant told her everything else she needed to know. The whole side of it was laser lit with swirling designs and changing scenes from XRad games. There wasn’t a person on the guest list who couldn’t afford to give to D4D.
How much money did it take to convert an abandoned power plant into a super cool party venue for a thousand people for one night? The caterer was famous; the event design firm worked for Beyoncé and Lady Gaga. Cal said a million, easy. A million. For a party. It stopped her in her tracks. She stood between the Aston Martin and a lime-green Lamborghini and forgot how to put one foot in front of the other.
“You’re thinking that’s obscene.” He’d walked on and doubled back when he realized she wasn’t by his side.
Was that the word for it? “That money could support thousands of families. Whole villages. It could build schools and roads.” Yes, it was obscene. “I don’t belong here.”
He reached for her hand, but she took a step back. He was part of this world. His fancy car and his stunningly rich business associates. His damn shirt probably cost more than her whole outfit.
“I can explain to you why it’s a legitimate expense. It’s all to do with market presence and competitive tensions, wooing the press and new customers and attracting the right talent to the firm, but none of that is going to make you feel better.”
She kicked at some rubble underfoot. She didn’t want Cal’s words of wisdom; she wanted him to feel the same whisk of rage that was souring her stomach.
“Could they not do all that some other way?” She threw a hand out. “They’re making derelict chic. It’s like one big joke. All these status symbol cars and the whole slumming it vibe, it’s so arrogant.”
“If you’re serious about D4D, there’s no one in there you shouldn’t take money from.” He spoke softly and took a step towards her, and she didn’t back away because she’d become the inconvenient girlfriend who’d started a shouting match in the parking lot, and they weren’t alone. She dropped her eyes to her scuffed boots. He stepped closer but didn’t touch her.
“I’m being a shitty date.”
The tips of his boots met the toes of hers. “You’re being you, and it’s okay to be angry. Use it in there. I get it.”
She looked up at him. It needled that he doubted her commitment to D4D. “But you’re one of them.”
“It suits my purposes.” He said that as though he’d read it cold off a script, no emotion to it.
“Do you do everything calmly?” Maybe he’d spent all his heat on Rory.
His hand went to her waist. Not a cue, more like a possession. “Not everything.”
“Good to know.” And hard to care. She broke away because she was angry and irritated with herself for losing it, and she didn’t want to feel any more confused about Cal. They walked into the building together, but not hand in hand.
The VIP room was an annex with a glass-floored deck that was suspended above the main stage area. It was filled with red velvet love seats and brocade wall hangings and lit with low-hanging crystal chandeliers. Amid the rough brick and stained cement, a cast of eclectically dressed people wandered, while progressive electro trance played. Unlike the Langleys’s dinner, everyone here was young, hip, and ready to have a dangerously good time.
She took a fancy cocktail from a server, and Cal took a beer. Great, now she was making him drink. “You need a fake girlfriend who doesn’t start fights in parking lots and make you want to drown in alcohol.”
He shook his head. “I need a drink because I hate big events like this.”
She might’ve sat on the floor for the way that shocked her. “No way.”
He gestured to the stage area beneath them where most of the guests were crowded. “Too many people, too loud, a wrong look short of out of control.”
“It’s not a rave.” It was a private party, and there was evidence of security everywhere. It wasn’t like it was going to get crashed, and if she could get over her sense of outrage, it was a once in a lifetime experience.
“It might as well be. They have medical staff on site to cope with anyone who overdoses.”