Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Jack
I fumble my left cuff link for the third time while Seb watches with amusement.
This happens every year—since Uncle Warwick retired and handed his foundation over to me, I’ve always gotten stupidly nervous right before the annual charity ball.
I can run the foundation with my hands tied behind my back, no worries, but the ball makes me fall to pieces.
“Do you want some help with that?” he finally asks, and I extend my wrist to him in desperation.
“God, yes. I’m sorry—I’m going to be a mess tonight.”
He smiles, but his gaze is fixed on the cuff link as he awkwardly slots it into place.
“I know. Sarah warned me. She also said that you’d be amazing at squeezing every last cent out of all the guests, so I’m looking forward to seeing that.”
The matter-of-fact way he says it, like he’s got no doubt that it’s true, makes me feel like a superhero, and I turn my hand and catch hold of his, pulling him to me for a kiss.
“I love you,” I whisper.
This isn’t the romantic scenario I had planned for when I said those words for the first time, but I can’t hold them in.
Seb’s eyes widen, but then his whole face relaxes into the same soft look he gives me when we’re cuddling.
“I love you too,” he says.
“And not just because you look hot in a tux.”
The shocking relief that swamps me forces an explosive laugh from me.
“Sorry. I just…”
“Jack.” Seb leans up and kisses me again.
“It’s okay. I love you, I’m gonna be right by your side tonight, and everything’s going to be fine. You and me, that’s locked in.” Surprise briefly shadows his face, and then it’s replaced by a bright smile.
“I knew I was committed to us, but I didn’t realize how much. You’re never getting rid of me.”
My nerves drop away like they never existed.
“I can’t think of anything better than that. Now, let’s go schmooze people into giving us their money.”
“As usual, the night is a roaring success,” Sarah says casually a few hours later.
“The only difference is that your smile is real this year, not just a cover for your breakdown.”
I snort, glancing around to see who I haven’t spoken to yet.
“I don’t need to have a breakdown when the most incredible man in the world loves me.”
Her gasp draws the attention of a few people around us, but they look away when they realize it’s not the beginning of a juicy scene.
“Did he—? Did you?—?”
I grin at her, and her delighted laugh fills the air around us.
“Yes! I knew from the beginning that you’d be perfect for each other.”
“Did you?” I ask wryly.
“Even when I thought he was seventy?”
“Okay, maybe not then,” she concedes.
“But right after you got back that first weekend.” She looks across the room to where Seb is talking to a man who owns a boutique hotel company.
They’re in animated discussion, both nodding and gesturing.
“He’s making a great impression tonight. A few people have asked me about him, and a lot more have promised fat donations after talking to him.”
“I’m not surprised.” He stuck by my side for the first half hour, and then we got separated when the group we were talking to organically broke into two smaller groups.
Since then, we’ve only spoken in passing, but seeing how well he fits into this part of my life—the schmoozing fundraiser part of running a foundation—warms my heart.
Uncle Warwick was devoted to the work we do, and I shouldn’t be surprised that his protégé is equally willing to step up.
“You need to give your speech soon, before the entertainment begins,” she reminds me, and I nod.
“Ten minutes. Warn the band, would you, please?”
“On it.” She makes a beeline for the small stage where the band, who’s been playing background music for the first part of the evening, is set up.
Once I’ve given my speech, they’ll pack up and our headliner will arrive for her ninety-minute performance.
Then we’ll wrap things up for the night.
But first, I’m going to steal a moment with my boyfriend.
Fortunately, it sounds like the conversation is wrapping up as I reach them, and Seb smiles over at me.
“Here he is. I was just telling Peter that one of your projects for next year is to set up a base in New Zealand for faster response times to the Pacific Islands.”
Oh—he’s clever.
Peter has a handful of hotels in the Pacific Islands, and if I recall correctly, one of them was affected by a hurricane last year.
“Yes,” I confirm. “I know the three-and-a-half-hour flight time from New Zealand to here doesn’t seem like much, but in the aftermath of a natural disaster, every minute is precious. Getting an advance team on site even a few hours sooner can make a huge difference.”
Peter’s nodding.
“I understand exactly what you mean. That’s definitely on the cards for next year?”
“I’m already well into talks with the proper authorities in New Zealand,” I confirm.
“We should have sign-off by February, and we’ll move fast after that to get everything set up and staff onboarded and trained before storm season sets in later in the year.” I shrug.
“The more money we raise tonight, the faster we’ll be able to move.” There’s no point being coy.
Everyone here knows what I want from them.
“Interesting.” His mouth pulls up in a smile.
“I’ll go find your lovely assistant, shall I, and see how much faster I can get you moving.”
“That would be deeply appreciated. She’s talking to the band.” We shake hands, and then he offers his to Seb.
“Have Jack bring you to the tennis,” he invites.
“My wife and I get a suite and make a day of it. You’re good to talk to.”
“Thanks,” Seb says serenely.
“You too.”
Peter chuckles and walks off in the direction of the band, pausing once to say hello to someone.
“You impressed him,” I say, grinning, and he pulls a face.
“We’ll see how much, though. But honestly, I liked him. He seemed to have a good grip on what actually happens in his hotels. I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to go to the tennis.” He pauses.
“What did he mean by a suite, though? Like, they get a hotel suite for an afterparty?”
“No, they get a private suite at Rod Laver, at center court. Usually a few times—once early on, to spend the whole day there, and then again for the finals, both men’s and women’s. His wife was a professional tennis player when she was young, and she’s still very involved with the sport here in Australia.”
His jaw drops.
“Really? Would I know her?” He looks around as if trying to spot a celebrity, and I try not to laugh.
“Probably not. That was twenty-five years ago, and she wasn’t a huge name. She’s nice, though, and a big advocate for women in sports.”
“I’ll probably like her,” he decides, and I resist the urge to kiss him.
“What—” The music ends, and he cuts himself off and glances toward the band.
“Ohh. Is it time for your speech?”
“Yep. Wanna come up there with me?”
The expression on his face is pure panic, and this time I do laugh.
“Asshole,” he mutters, but he’s smiling.
“Go on, time for you to wow everyone.”
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise.
“Don’t go anywhere.”
“And miss your speech? No way, mate.” He winks at me, and I take the high from it up onto the stage with me.
There’s no need for me to call for attention—this isn’t that kind of event.
When people see me standing by the microphone, conversations die down.
“Good evening, and thank you all so much for coming to our ball this year. It makes me so happy to see your faces and know you care as much about disaster relief as we do.” They don’t, of course—they’re here to see and be seen, and because not attending might make people think they weren’t invited, and that would be a social slap.
But as long as they’re here with open wallets, I don’t care.
Instead, I launch into my ninety-second summary of our plans for the next year and how they can help us with them.
I could easily talk for half an hour or more on this subject, but people can’t donate money when they’ve been bored to sleep.
“And now, before we show you a short video on what we’ve achieved this year”—heavy on the footage of families and children whose homes were destroyed and who we helped—“I’d like to take a brief moment in memory of my Uncle Warwick. Most of you knew him or knew of him. The foundation was his baby, and he ran it with every ounce of passion he had until I pried it from his steely grip six years ago.” A low murmur of laughter runs through the crowd.
“Uncle Warwick sadly passed away earlier this year, and it seems only fitting that we pay him tribute tonight. He was a great man and one of my favorite people. To Warwick.”
“To Warwick,” they chorus, lifting their glasses.
I even spot one woman dabbing away tears, which seems excessive.
My speech wasn’t emotional.
I step away from the microphone as the wall screen comes to life, showing a montage of photos and videos from the disaster sites we attended this year.
Sarah joins me by the side of the stage.
“That was lovely,” she murmurs.
“Now, that’s it. You’re done. I can handle the rest of the official stuff tonight.”
I blink at her.
“But?—”
“Nope. I’m serious. Go enjoy the rest of the night with your man.”
“Are you sure?” My feet are itching to take her up on the offer, but my conscience insists I check.
“Go before I change my mind,” she threatens, and I grin at her.
“Take Monday off,” I order.
“You earned it.”
“Damn right I did,” she mutters, but I’m already walking away, headed back to where I left Seb.
Who’s talking to someone.
Oh fuck, it’s my father.
Holding in my groan, I join them and stand solidly beside Seb.
“Hi, Dad.”
He looks me up and down the way he always does, as though assessing whether I’m up to standard.
“John. That was a somewhat sentimental speech.”
“I liked it,” Seb pipes in before I can reply.
“Warwick would have loved the part about his steely grip.”
I smile gratefully at him, but Dad’s brow rises.
“You knew Warwick?”
“Have you two been introduced?” I cut in.
“Sebastian Walker, Thomas Tarrant. Seb was Uncle Warwick’s protégé at Bliss Vale, Dad.”
Comprehension dawns on my father’s face.
“Ah, yes. He mentioned you.” Somehow, Dad manages to make that sound like an insult.
“He mentioned you too,” Seb replies cheerfully, which piques Dad’s interest. He’s not used to people who don’t fawn all over him and cower when he’s rude.
“I bet he did. Probably with some colorful language. Warwick and I were close, but we didn’t always see eye to eye.” He sighs, and for a second, I see the grief I knew he felt but that he’s so good at hiding.
Then it’s gone. “So, what brings you here tonight, Sebastian?”
“Seb, please,” Seb corrects, then glances at me, unsure what to say.
“Seb came with me. We’re seeing each other. It’s actually pretty serious.” I snap my mouth shut, because Dad isn’t the kind of parent who invites confidences like that.
He doesn’t look surprised.
“Your mother said you wanted to bring someone to Christmas.”
I nod.
“Yes. Seb.”
“I suppose we’ll have time to talk on Christmas Eve, then.” He nods to Seb, then walks away.
Seb watches him go.
“That was… not what I expected.”
“That was better than I expected,” I retort.
“Trust me.”
“Just one thing.”
“Yeah?” I admire the way the tux jacket fits his shoulders and wonder how soon I can get him out of it.
“I didn’t know your name was John.”