“So am I, Mr. Winter.”
His eyes flash, as if I’ve made a joke only he understands, and then he closes the office door behind him. I stare at the empty space and regret every decision I’ve made that’s brought me to this point.
I do not have the perfect woman for him.
I’m starting to doubt she exists.
6
Anthony
“Looks good,” I say.
Tristan gives an approving hum, glancing down at his phone. “Imagine it filled to the brim with people, too. We’ll be packed in here.”
The giant ballroom is a bit gaudy, perhaps, but it’s just what the clientele will expect. People who attend charity auctions in mid-Manhattan on a Friday evening aren’t going because they expect Louvre-level class. “It’ll do.”
Tristan snorts. “So enthusiastic.”
I glance down at my watch. It’s nearly ten in the morning, the day of the function, and Miss Davis hasn’t gotten back to me with my date for the evening.
I don’t know what I’m hoping for most—that she does, or that she doesn’t.
The idea of walking around here in the dim lighting, with all these people, having to make idle chitchat… I’d rather suffer through one of my migraines.
“I’m not sure why Victor needs us here at all,” I say.
Tristan slides his phone into his suit pocket. “Of course you are,” he says dryly. “He wants the pizzazz we add.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “The pizzazz?”
“Yes. We’ll bid highly and it’ll give us a chance to mingle. Carter has some executive at a multi-media company he wants us to meet.” Tristan waves a hand. “We’re here to see and be seen.”
“And you’ll stay for exactly fifteen minutes,” I accuse, “before escaping back to your beautiful girlfriend and your son.”
Tristan’s smile is shameless. “Yes, but I’ll bring as much pizzazz as I can for those fifteen minutes.”
“I can’t believe I was happy for you in the beginning. I wish I could take it all back,” I say, shaking my head. “You smug bastard.”
Tristan’s smile just widens further, and despite my words, we both know I’m still thrilled for him. He’d found happiness in a way that had been denied him for years. Doesn’t mean it isn’t still insufferable to watch, sometimes.
He doesn’t ask me why I hadn’t responded to his text about coming around for dinner yesterday, and I’m grateful for that. He doesn’t push.
Victor strolls toward us, weaving around tables covered in white linen. His hands are in the pockets of his slacks.
“Think it’ll do?” he asks.
“It will.”
His face is a cool mask. “Remind me why we do these things again.”
“Network. Prestige. Goodwill,” Tristan says. “The company looks good. Acture Capital looks good.”
Victor shakes his head. “I had to tell them to relegate all emails about this to the my assistant. Do you think the question of what the catering company should serve really deserves the CEO’s attention?”
I look past him to the preparations for the evening. Two technicians are on the stage, unrolling foot after foot of cords.
“Cecilia is good at handling that,” Tristan says. “It’s the one thing I miss about Exciteur.”