Chapter 24
“A word of warning.” Elliot had trusted the valet with his beloved car, and his hand found itself in that familiar spot on my lower back, gently guiding me through a back door. “The richer a person, the more insufferable they become.”
Snorting in amusement, he shook his head.
“No, I’m serious. They walk around like they can think, say, do whatever they’d like .
. . because they can. Usually, I try not to let them get away with it.
Usually, I’d love to see you putting them in their place.
” He gave me an apologetic glance. “Unfortunately, tonight it’s their money I’m asking for. So, we’ll have to be polite.”
“Wait.” I faltered in my strides, previously fake-it-till-you-make-it confidence in them. “This is your fundraiser?”
“Yes.” Sheepish smile. “Problem with that?”
“As in you’re . . . organizing it?”
“That’s usually what hosting a fundraiser entails.”
I still hadn’t caught on. Strange feeling for someone usually on top of every piece of information floating through the room. “Not your mom’s? Grandfather’s?”
Elliot scowled. “I’m starting to feel insulted.”
“What for?”
Now, he seemed genuinely baffled. Blinked at me, mouth opening, closing.
Opening again. “My . . . charity?” A beat of silence passed before he must’ve realized I was being serious.
The confusion on his face morphed into that familiar amusement.
“Maeve.” He tsked. “I thought you said you did your research. Did I just surprise you?”
“No.” Yes. More than I’d like to admit.
I wasn’t a fan of unknowns. It didn’t help that we hadn’t snuck in the back but were instead positioned to walk the carpet nearby.
Elliot was too delighted by the situation to notice my growing nerves.
“So, you knew this is what I do?” He gestured toward the dreaded carpet, which wasn’t actually red but dark green.
“Raise funds.” I nodded grandly. “Of course.”
His eyes narrowed, and he knew he’d got me when he asked, “What for?”
I had no fucking idea.
“Oh, whatever, Elliot!” No need to embarrass myself further trying to guess what causes he threw elaborate fundraisers for. “I just think you should’ve told me all eyes will be on you tonight. Seeing as I’m with you.”
He was smiling again, and I hated that I didn’t hate it. “And then what?”
“I probably would’ve put more effort into how I look. I wouldn’t have let this dress crease in the car. I wouldn’t have leaned against the seat. My hair is probably a mess.”
“Your hair’s perfect.”
“More setting spray,” I added. “I would’ve used more setting spray and done my makeup with a little more attention to detail. Some eyeshadow, maybe.” I was pacing. Small circles around Elliot, who wouldn’t stop turning with me.
“Okay.” His hands landed on my shoulders, finally getting me to stop. “I’m starting to feel dizzy. You need to calm down, Maeve.”
I wasn’t sure I could.
“I didn’t tell you because I thought you might freak out.
” His brows rose like I’d just proven his point.
“You look perfect. I have no idea what any of the things you just said mean, but I can’t imagine there’s a way to make you look more beautiful.
And if there is . . . God have mercy on me,” he added, lower.
Then cleared his throat. “You’re okay. Okay? ”
My loud sigh bounced off the tent to the side of the carpet, still hiding us from the masses of paparazzi and journalists outside. “I just hate being unprepared,” I admitted, voice now barely a whisper.
And like it was no surprise at all, he said, “I know.”
I leaned against one of the many poles keeping the tent upright, and Elliot followed without my having to say a word.
Like he knew exactly what I needed from him, and where that meant he should be: no more than a foot away.
Something familiar in the vast ocean of unknowns.
By some miracle I couldn’t quite explain, my pulse did slow.
By the carpet, camera flashes went off, accompanied by wild yelling and shouting of This way! or Here! or Another one!
I looked back at Elliot. “And it’s smart? For us to go out there together?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“They’re going to talk.” That much was obvious.
“They always do.” And I wasn’t sure if his smile was sad or encouraging.
A little bit of both, maybe? He’d come to terms with that reality a while ago.
Probably had to. “Whether we get out there together or you go after me. Whether we emerge with three feet between us or holding hands. Whether I don’t look at you at all or passionately kiss you, they’re going to talk. ”
“Don’t do that,” I warned, which made him smile. With a sigh, I glanced back toward the flashing cameras. “You really should’ve told me.”
“I’m sorry.” He smoothed my hair with one hand, kissed the tip of my nose more gently than anything he’d ever done before, then straightened back to his full six-foot-two frame.
I might’ve been seeing stars. “Now will you believe me that, despite not knowing, you look like you’ve been preparing this look for a month? You look beautiful, Lucky.”
Rolling my eyes, I finally pushed off the wall. “Is my hair frizzy?”
“It’s perfectly straight.”
I took a step toward him to make sure he could see when I asked, “Mascara smudged?”
Which is how we’d ended up this way again: standing nose to nose, smiling and trying not to kiss. I think the only thing keeping our lips off each other was another bright flash startling us.
God knows where we’d be without the continuous interruptions saving us from ourselves.
“Nothing smudged,” he confirmed, then led the way to the carpet. Hand, of course, in the small of my back. The roaring from outside got louder. I couldn’t just see the flashes; I could hear the shutters. Their shouting turned into a ringing in my ear, dull and incomprehensible.
I thought if Elliot drew their attention first, I might be able to sneak by unnoticed, but we never got to test that theory. I felt the pressure of his hand on my back right up until we stepped onto the carpet. And it was like feeding hungry piranhas.
The second they caught a glimpse of Elliot, flashes went off, yelling got louder. His hand slipped off my back, squeezed my hand once, then let go.
I mouthed a Thank you, but wasn’t sure he even noticed in the hustle and bustle of it. Of photographers demanding his attention while journalists kept asking how much he wanted to raise. “Where’s Allegra Amato?” I heard one shout. Then, “Who are you with?!”
He ignored all of them until a guy in the first row, barely any hair left on his head, asked, with a relatively normal volume and respectful tone, “Who are you wearing tonight, Elliot?”
And even then, Elliot just gave a look that made the front row laugh. “Seriously, Robert?” he added, eliciting another burst of laughter before his hand was on my back again and he nudged me across the rest of the carpet and into the building.
The roaring in my ears quieted, my eyes adjusted to a lack of flashing lights, and I barely noticed Elliot being approached by three different people wanting three different things. Ran out of napkins. Can’t find Elizabeth. Issues with the guest list.
What I did notice, though, was the way he shook his head in their direction, then glanced at his security. Without a word, the man moved between Elliot and the people demanding his attention, keeping them from reaching him. Us.
“All good?” Elliot asked. The previous three minutes felt like a very distant fever dream. Had I been posing? Smiling? Waving? Or had I just been watching Elliot, too entranced and nervous to do anything else?
Where’s Allegra Amato? Who are you with?!
“Oh God.” My voice was probably three octaves higher than usual and more like a mouse squeaking than a human talking.
Again, it seemed Elliot knew exactly what to do in that situation; took me aside instead of leading me down to the beautifully decorated venue.
“I don’t even know what just happened.” The realization was a little scary. “Don’t remember a thing.”
“Very normal first carpet experience,” he said, amusement and understanding in his expression.
“You’re a pro.”
“Because I had my first I-Don’t-Remember-What-Just-Happened moment when I was nine, I think.
Maybe ten. And it wasn’t a red carpet, just my mother taking me and my brothers to see a movie.
We got out, security wasn’t quick enough to hold them off, and I swear we almost got trampled.
” The tight-lipped smile on his face looked strange.
I’d never really seen him try to smile. He always just did.
“Since then, I’ve been very grateful for the barricades at these things. You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”
“God, I hope not.” The idea of putting myself in that situation again was unfathomable. “Did I even do anything?”
Elliot’s hand guided me to a quiet corner where I could spiral in peace until I’d come to terms with the fact there were pictures of me out there now, and I had no idea what I was even doing in them. “Oh God,” I repeated. “I don’t think I did anything.”
Sitting on a high chair I couldn’t quite remember getting onto, Elliot covertly shuffled between my legs, one hand resting on my thigh, the other on the small, round table beside us.
If I weren’t already so busy freaking out, I’d start now. Because we shouldn’t be this close to each other in the privacy of our own home, never mind a very public fundraiser where anyone could see, take a picture, and tell on us.
“You did just fine,” he assured.
I shook my head. “You can’t possibly know that.”
Like a friendly reminder, he said, “I was there.”
“You were busy . . .” looking good and making them laugh and rocking that quiet, stoic thing that’s undeniably sexy. “Doing whatever it is pros are doing on red carpets. I wouldn’t know.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes, smiled, and squeezed my thigh teasingly. “Apparently, pros are busy looking out for their dates. You smiled, you posed, you looked good. We wouldn’t have been out there that long if you hadn’t.” He added, “Smiled and posed, I mean. We already established you look good.”
“They could’ve still taken a bad picture,” I argued.
“Doubt it.” His hand slipped into mine, raising it to his lips. “And if they did, we’ll have it destroyed, and that photographer will be out of a job for the rest of his life.”
His tone was so casual, I didn’t even question it, or the way he pressed a single reassuring kiss against the back of my hand before pulling me out of the chair.
“Good?” he asked when we were halfway across the hall.
Whatever it is he’d done to me in that corner made me feel better. More secure and calm. “I think so.” Which meant I finally had time for a look around.
The first thing that came to mind was the color.
White. Walls, floors, and ceiling were all the same muted shade.
Corners were rounded, with all shapes organic except for the large frames around colorful artworks, which displayed abstract structures in pink, orange, or purple.
The wide hall curved, revealing the coat check and elevators.
Despite various other arrivals, we got one to ourselves. And to shift very far away from what happened ten hours ago, also in an elevator, I asked, “So you did all of this?”
“Well, no. That would be . . . a lot.” I wasn’t sure why he was smiling like that, leaning against the opposite wall. But I wasn’t complaining. “My team did most of the actual work. I just planned, organized, and then signed off on the bigger decisions they made.”
“While working at Adeline Ashwood?” When did he have time to do all this?
Again, his lips ticked upward. “These things are planned months in advance, so not really. You look so impressed, though, I almost want to say yes.” He took a single step, and it was all he needed to stand right in front of me, my head craning upward.
“Maybe I should plan another one for next month just to show you I can.”
I snorted a laugh, but he . . . looked sincere. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Things are happening in my head right now,” he threatened with a laugh.
“Calculations. Budget. How much overtime my staff would have to take . . .” He trailed off, smiling, then shaking his head as if, finally, realizing just how ridiculous the notion was.
“Okay, they’d kill me. Can’t do that to them.
” He planted his hands on my waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But we could do it. In theory.”
“I believe you!” I cried. “Leave those poor people alone. They’ve done enough.” More sincerely, I added, “Everything looked beautiful so far.”
The elevator’s ding announced our arrival on the top floor, and Elliot took a single step away from me, reluctantly letting his hands fall from my waist before the doors opened.
Into a vast hall, bar to one side, round dinner tables set up across the rest of the space, and a view of Manhattan’s skyline like I’d never seen before.
“Well,” he said as we stepped into it. “Let’s hope beautiful makes these people feel generous.”