By the fourth time, he’s the only one still with his arm up. The price is north of a hundred thousand dollars.
“Sold to Mr. Anthony Winter!” the auctioneer calls to the sound of applause. I just stare at him.
Anthony turns to me. “Well, you recommended it.”
I just blink at him. “It’s a woman’s watch.”
“So it’ll make an excellent gift,” he says, lowering his voice. “Think about the monkeys, Summer.”
“Right. You’re very generous.”
“That’s exactly it,” he says. “And now they’ll all remember it.”
We stroll around the room after the auction, and he supplies me with another glass of champagne. I finally get my hands on some canapés, even if they’re no bigger than a bite. Several guests approach Anthony, and he speaks to them in low, authoritative tones. No small talk and no jokes of the sort he’d exchanged with his business partners.
I drink my champagne and nod and smile to each of them. Toast to rainforest conservation. Drink. Toast to a lovely event. Drink. Toast to the summer weather. Drink.
Anthony’s voice is dry when he finally steers us back toward the bar. “I’m done.”
“You don’t want to network some more?”
“I never want to network again.”
That makes me chuckle. My heel catches in an uneven patch of carpeting and I sway slightly in response.
Anthony’s hand locks around my elbow. “You okay?”
“Yes. That was the carpet.”
“I believe you.”
“But just in case, I don’t think I should have any more champagne.”
“A wise decision.”
We make our way to the exit, his hand on my low back, as he calls his driver to bring the car around. My head swims in the most delicious way. I’m just the perfect amount of tipsy. I’m also hungry.
As soon as we get into the car, I inform Anthony.
He gives a half-amused sigh. He does that a lot, I’ve realized. Rare are the laughs. “You should have had more canapés.”
“Well, I would have, if there were more to go around,” I say.
“Disappointed with them?”
“Yes. Don’t get me wrong, they were tasty. Flavors well-balanced, and I liked the presentation—”
“The caterer is not here to overhear you,” he says.
“—but they were too small. I can’t survive on that alone.”
“What are you getting to eat, then?”
“There’s a place down my street that sells pizza by the slice, or by the… whole? By the pizza? I don’t know what you call an entire pizza. A wheel of pizza?”
The corners of his lips tug in earnest now. “A pie. It’s called a pie of pizza.”
“Oh, that’s a New York expression.”