Chapter -9-
Mayor Tiffany Reynolds’s yearly Valentine’s Day gala is a glamorous, unforgettable spectacle.
Only a hundred tickets are made available to the public.
Another hundred are reserved for the mayor’s family, close friends, staff, and some notable singles.
At her heart, she’s like Kenneth Carter—a determined matchmaker.
More than once, she’s attempted to set Denz up.
He always declines in favor of his true soulmate: top-shelf vodka.
But tonight, Denz has an actual date. An exceptionally late date.
The step-and-repeat outside the Rigel is a who’s who of celebrities and athletes and political influencers. Denz doesn’t spend much time there. No one’s noticed he’s alone either.
Coming out at an early age means the media doesn’t care about his love life unless he’s making out with an attractive model or there’s a scandal involved.
He’s at that age where he’s still a hot topic in the gossip columns.
However, in queer years, he’s teetering on the edge of being aged out for the young, sparkly, freshly out gays that gossip sites like The Final Word love to write about.
He’s okay with that.
The Orion Ballroom is a sleek space with lofty ceilings, four bars, and wall-to-wall screens featuring immersive artwork.
The crowd quickly fills up empty tables and the expansive dance floor.
Eric convinced Denz to hire DJ Apollo rather than a live band.
A cycle of love-adjacent themed songs vibrates through the ballroom.
Currently, it’s Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance.”
Apropos for the way Denz feels about his situation.
He distracts himself by inspecting the details: cascading strings of black and red rose petals suspended from the ceiling.
Cupid ice sculptures bookending the bars.
Trays of champagne flutes with wild hibiscus flowers floating inside.
The room’s centerpiece—an eight-tier red velvet cake.
Staff blurs by him in white tuxedo jackets, wearing crimson-and-gold domino masks.
What’s a party without a little drama?
The atmosphere is magnetic. Laughter and music and bottles continuously popping. He captures it all for the company’s social media.
“You really pulled it off,” Kami comments when he pauses at one of the bars. Her lavender, one-shoulder minidress has gold foil designs all over it.
“Did you doubt me?”
She sips her wine, shrugging.
“You did,” Denz accuses, smiling. “What? You thought I’d hire a magician? Have a clown make terrible balloon animals?”
“A bounce house would’ve been a hit with this crowd.”
He doesn’t disagree. The current tide of young actors and reality stars jumping around to the Darkness’s “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” is just shy of ridiculous.
“Admit it.” Denz bumps her shoulder. “I’m damn good at this.”
“I’d pay you to plan Mikah’s seventh birthday party.”
He laughs, ordering a glass of water from the nearest bartender. Deep down, Denz knows it’s her pride talking. His success could potentially end a dream she’s had for years. He hates that winning means his sister loses.
At least one of them will carry on the family’s legacy.
“Is Suraj coming?”
“No,” Kami says flatly. “I’m working.”
“You’re drinking .”
She takes another languid sip. “An essential part of managing you on event nights.”
“I don’t need babysitting,” he says defensively. “It’s all under control. My checklists are flawless.” He downs his water. “You’re avoiding the question. It’s Valentine’s . Your boyfriend should be here.”
“ Lower your voice. ” Kami’s eyes dance around the ballroom, as if that word—“boyfriend”—could summon the aunties. “Who said we’re using official titles?”
Denz shakes his head. “You’ve been hiding him from our family for months. If that isn’t a boyf—”
“Where’s Braylon ?” she counters.
Denz looks away. The last texts he got from Braylon, over forty minutes ago, were equally chaotic and apologetic:
Sorry. Running late. We had a bowling day for the teens.
Showered and changed. Sorry again. Leaving home!
Loads of traffic. Will be there soon. Very sorry!
Denz slaps on a big, fake smile. “He’s coming. I can’t wait. I miss him.”
“Calm down, Ryan Reynolds,” Kami says, giving him a weird look. “We get it. You love Blake.”
Denz squawks but his comeback is intercepted by Jordan appearing at their sides. He swipes a champagne glass, shouting, “On your six!”
Kenneth breaks through the crowd in a striking Stefano Ricci tuxedo. On his arm, in a sleeveless red gown with a tiered skirt, is Mayor Reynolds.
Jordan squares his shoulders. Kami smooths down her dress, eyes twinkling. That’s when Denz notices the photographers trailing the mayor. Well, fuck. He rests his empty glass on the bar before turning on his own practiced charm.
“The Carter Trio,” Mayor Reynolds says. She’s a tall, curvy woman with fawn skin and a freckled face. A glimmering tiara sits atop her teased hair. She hugs Kami, then Jordan. “Denzel, this party is heavenly. People can’t stop talking about it.”
“Anything for you, Mayor.”
“Oh, please . Call me Tiffany.”
Denz grins but doesn’t cross that line. Not with his dad watching nearby. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he says over a Maroon 5 ballad.
“This might be the best V-Day gala yet!”
Very cautiously, Denz glances to her left. He waits for his dad’s approving smile. It’s more of a stiff nod.
“Thanks for fixing that last-minute menu catastrophe,” the mayor goes on.
Denz freezes.
Hundreds of emails were exchanged over the last month. He answered a dozen this morning alone. But in all the do we really need a meeting for this? messages, he doesn’t remember approving a menu alteration. It’s been set since last week.
He tugs at his collar. “Um, no problem?”
“I’m so embarrassed. My team forgot to include my husband’s lactose intolerance in the dietary restrictions list,” the mayor says.
“Oh, yeah.” Denz swallows bile. He can sense his dad’s heavy stare on him. “All fixed.”
“Justin loved the broccoli fritters,” the mayor tells him.
“Amazing, right?”
“And the tomato basil bruschetta.”
“Who doesn’t love a great bruschetta!”
Denz needs to find out who handled this oversight without letting him in on the issue.
“Justin’s been asking all night,” the mayor continues, “for the crispy baked asparagus fries recipe. The ones with the—” She pauses, hands on her hips while watching Denz sweat.
“The, uh,” he stammers.
“The spicy garlic aioli,” Kami proposes. “Remember you had me taste-test it?”
Denz nods robotically. “Yes. You did.”
“They were phenomenal,” the mayor says.
As Jordan segues into a conversation about the specially crafted cocktails for the night, Denz shoots Kami a grateful look. She changed the menu. He’s happy that one more tiny fuckup hasn’t ruined his chances. But he’s humiliated and angry too.
How did his team miss this? How did he ?
“Denz,” Mayor Reynolds says when one of her staffers tries to drag her away to meet a senator’s daughter and her girlfriend. “Check in with me before the big speech, okay?”
“Of course.”
She disappears. Kenneth tugs Jordan aside, whispering instructions Denz can’t hear. He whips around to Kami.
“How could you?”
“What?” she whispers.
Denz matches her volume: “You didn’t consult with me before intervening with my event.”
“Is it my fault I’m BCC’d on all communication from the mayor’s people? There wasn’t time to ask your permission,” she reasons. “I did what was best for the company.”
“Next time, don’t treat me like I’m five. I’m an adult .”
She guffaws. “Then stop acting like—”
“Are you two okay?”
When Denz turns, Jordan’s gone, but Kenneth isn’t alone. Cheryl’s there in a shimmery minidress. Eva’s gold-leaf hairpiece complements the Aphrodite-inspired gown she’s wearing.
“What a star-studded party, Denzel,” Cheryl says. “Was that the Malcolm Givhan from By Invitation Only by the hors d’oeuvres?”
Denz grins smugly. “Maybe.”
“He never comes to our events.”
“You two look…” Eva scrutinizes them. “What’s a word below ‘lovely’?”
“Decent,” Cheryl suggests. “Theme appropriate, though.”
Denz bites his tongue. Sorry we can’t all be attention-seeking like Uncle Tevin in his all-white ensemble, Auntie C.C .
“Denzel,” Eva exhales. “I thought we agreed on the Tom Ford jacket and red tie?”
They didn’t, technically. And, well… Denz isn’t dressed in the Paul Smith maroon suit with matching loafers because of what Braylon said the other day. But he’s not- not wearing it because of that either.
“I didn’t want to outshine the host.”
“At least the party understands the assignment,” Eva notes. “You have a lot to live up to with your event, Kamila.”
Kami manages a tight, calculated smile.
“Where’s your date, Denzel?” Eva searches the crowd. “Is it over already?”
Denz flinches. “No—”
“Don’t worry, nephew,” Cheryl cuts in. “In case your… boyfriend decides to ditch you for another country again, we have a plan.” She gestures toward the other end of the bar where a man chats with the bartender.
He’s handsome: fair sepia complexion, a perfectly styled pompadour. Any other night, Denz would be locked in an unoccupied office, learning what’s under that jade suit, but he’s not interested. Frankly, he’s scared to question why .
“His name’s Javier,” Cheryl tells him. “Javi for short.”
Kami says, “Doesn’t he work for Elite Events?”
“Keep your enemies closer, Kamila,” Eva replies.
“Sorry,” Denz says, incredulous. “Did you invite a man who works at our competitor as my backup date?”
“We’re looking out for you!” Cheryl’s sympathetic eyes say, because things didn’t work last time .
Denz doesn’t need the reminder. Or a plan B. “I’m good. My relationship’s good,” he says firmly. “Braylon’s just—”
Very, un-fucking-believably late.
“I’m here!”
A body nestles into Denz’s side. He wills himself not to gasp at Braylon’s freshly shaven face. His strong jaw under the ballroom’s lighting. How his shoulders look in the Boss tuxedo Denz suggested he wear. Those apologetic eyes staring back at him.