Chapter 26
Paige
They stand in silence. Stunned. Most of the gala planning committee have their backs to me and the tension builds in the air like a noose tightening around my neck.
I told Zach they didn’t intimidate me and for the most part, they don’t. But this could be the moment they realize they’ve made a huge mistake by letting me run the Rothwell Foundation’s biggest event of the year.
The stranglehold on my insides—it’s been there for days—intensifies and I swallow with difficulty, fighting to keep my anxiety in check.
Most days I feel like a fraud.
Between my fake relationship with Zach and this role as director of gala planning, something I’m highly unqualified for, I’m an impostor in my own life. It’s a sickening feeling, especially when I find myself falling for Zach. Believing our lies.
Some of the board members slowly spin around, eyes darting to the far reaches of the concrete parking lot. They are searching for what they obviously think I’m hiding—the reason why I brought them here in the first place—that one thing they all seem to think is missing. It’s written on their faces.
Right now, the only thing missing is my mind. I’ve lost all common sense. Why did I think they’d get it? That’s when Zach’s husky voice, from earlier today, echoes in my mind.
“…my one piece of advice for you—you’re going to have to sell the parking lot to them like your life depends on it because none of them are going to get it.”
He’s so right. Suggesting a parking lot is a far cry from some high-end ballroom. But I never liked the idea of a ballroom to begin with and when I got the call from the hotel telling me they couldn’t fulfil their commitment, a small part of me thought this was my chance to do it right.
Now I’m wondering how I got it so wrong.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?
“Paige, is this it?” Cormac finally breaks the silence and all eyes land on me.
“It doesn’t look like much, but you’d be surprised how much this place can be made over with little effort.
It’ll blow you away.” I’m lively, beaming at him as I clasp his arm in a silent plea to trust my vision.
In turn, his countenance softens and the crinkles around his eyes and mouth smooth out as he nods.
“Blow us away?” Reagan stands away from the crowd with her hands on her hips. “We’re already blown away by your stupidity. You can’t be serious in bringing us all down here for this.”
“Reagan,” Cormac chides.
She twirls around in her pink two-tone Chanel suit and white kitten heels. Her hair is in a fancy chignon and next to her, in my cute cotton romper, I look cluelessly youthful and so out of place. And that’s the point, isn’t it?
I somehow fit in this abandoned parking lot at the end of a street bordering the lake, whereas Reagan doesn’t. And she isn’t the only one—neither do the rest of them with their haute couture. They’re better suited for a fine dining room surrounded by wealth and opulence.
“The location is fitting. Outdoors and surrounded by water.” I attempt my sales pitch.
The multiple light standards pop on, flooding the parking lot with bright white light, and we all blink a few times to adjust our eyesight.
I don’t know if the lights are a good thing because now we can see everything, or if it’s worse because now we can see everything—the stark bare bones of asphalt, metal, and dirt.
“This is a waste of our time,” Reagan huffs, making eye contact with each person there, save me, ready to rally the troops.
A few committee members don’t need any persuasion, they are eager to leave and inch toward her, while most are uncertain as to what to do.
Sympathy flickers in their eyes as they look to me before seeking out Nan for direction.
She’s been unusually quiet, and now her expression is grave as her eyes sweep across the large, empty space.
Oh no, she isn’t behind my idea. She doesn’t have to utter a word; it’s written all over her face. “Paige, what were you thinking?”
Until that moment, I was confident in my vision. The parking lot isn’t pretty. Okay, it’s a freaking parking lot. Nothing to see here. But what I have in mind will transform this lot into a space befitting of a starry night.
I think of Zach again, his advice to me, and take a deep breath, prepared to sell my idea as if my life depended on it.
“Before you do something you regret, hear Paige out.” That familiar voice, deep, warm, and confident, flits over me and through me like the best kind of hug.
Peering over my shoulder, I spot Zach standing several feet away from us in distressed jeans hanging low on his trim waist and a tucked in button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. His hands rest casually on his hips and damn, his forearms. Flexed, taut, and veined.
My teeth drag the flesh of my bottom lip into my mouth as I fight the crazed desire to lick every single inch of his arms. Who cares what the committee thinks of me and who cares about the gala? I just want to touch him and it’s hard to care that we aren’t alone and I’ve got a job to do.
I love Zach in a suit—he can bring me to my knees—but when he’s casual, like right now, it’s as if he’s stripped bare for me. Along with no jacket and tie, gone is his reserved, professional facade—he’s showing me a part of him not many see.
Hot longing courses through my bloodstream with every one of his strides toward me, and it takes everything within me to focus on my task to win over the committee.
Stopping beside me, his hand slides to the small of my back, reassuring, and I’m stunned still because I’ve never felt like this before. Like I belong.
I belong with him.
His sexy, familiar aroma of leather and spice surrounds me and I find myself leaning in his direction. A mesmerizing blue stare weakens my knees, and he’s looking at me as if I’m the only one here, and I wish it were true.
I look up at him through my dark lashes, flushing, and then fill my lungs with fresh air before turning to face the jury. I’m so ready to make them see things my way. To bring them to the dark side.
Nan’s smiling, content to see her grandson at my side, and even Cormac and Maude devilishly grin like two toddlers up to no good.
“There are many good reasons why hosting Nuit étoilée here would benefit the foundation. First off, it would be a significant savings. We could invest those funds in the cause or donate to the local charities we’ve wanted to support but weren’t able to.”
A few heads perk up and one or two even nod in approval at this news. Confidence surges through me as if Zach has gifted me his superpower.
“Secondly, our goal is to raise funds in support of water. We’ve pledged to help improve the world’s most precious resource, and what better message than holding the event surrounded by this city’s largest freshwater source—Lake Ontario.”
Again, a few more turn around to look at the water as if only just now noticing the lake. More nodding, and some of their body postures open to me. My last point is what I hope to clinch this deal with because I’m appealing to them through self-promotion.
“Finally, think of the symbolism of scaling back the event. We’re putting our money where our mouths are. I’ve already got a media pitch in mind about how our different approach is improving our impact. Think of the great publicity for the foundation and ultimately our cause.”
Reagan steps forward, ready to rebut but I carry on, not giving her a chance. She’ll get her turn.
“The Rothwell Foundation has been great for the many causes you’ve supported, but there hasn’t been any clear direction on what you stand for.
Or any key performance indicators to show your efforts have made an impact.
We can change all that this year. We’ll be able to speak to the cost savings through our innovation, flipping Nuit étoilée on its head.
And we’ve talked about the more-than-money approach where we can build on the good of the gala. ”
An upbeat murmur swells through the group and most are nodding and smiling at me by the time I’m finished.
Except for Reagan.
“This is ridiculous. Talk about ghetto,” she snaps.
“We’ll be laughed at in the press, and think about our patrons.
” She spins around, face screwed up like a grumpy old man’s.
“They’re paying thousands to attend and then they’re asked to donate, and in return we’re hosting here.
No air-conditioning and the mosquitoes and—”
“Reagan, a word.” Zach marches to her side, leading her by the arm away from the group.
She can be heard saying, “Zach, you know I’m right,” when Nan steps up, her smile tight, most probably from Reagan’s desire to cause a scene, but the shimmer reaches her eyes.
“If you say you can make this the best gala we’ve ever had, I believe you. I believe in you.”
The pressure is huge with her support and while overwhelming, I don’t shy away.
“I do believe it’ll be spectacular. Just stick with me for a few more minutes.
” My hand stretches toward the lake. “Imagine a dance floor just there, at the water’s edge, with a canopy of twinkling lights, like stars, above. ”
“It would be different,” Cormac says encouragingly, and I turn to meet his supportive gaze.
Out of the corner of my eye, I’m drawn to the two apart from us.
Unable to help myself, I linger on Zach and Reagan deep in conversation and while I don’t have to wonder what she’s saying, I wish I could hear what he has to say.
There’s something about the two of them together that gnaws at my insides in an uncomfortable, almost rankling, way.
“And over there,” I say, pushing them out of my mind as I point to another area of the lot, “we’ll have the dinner tables and the silent auction. And in that far corner, the bar. It won’t look anything like this, I promise.”