“I think what my colleague is saying,” he went on smoothly, “is that while Miss Bartlett’s plan is certainly noble, it is also untried. Whereas his own marketing strategy has been the basis for every successful ad campaign since the advent of behaviorism and Dr. Skinner. New ideas are enticing, of course, but a man of your commitments—so noble, by the way, I was so pleased to see someone standing up for his community—a man of your sizeable commitments can hardly afford to take on such a risk when a tried and true method presents itself as an alternative.”
Minister looked back and forth between Chad and Chuck, filled with distaste for the former, and wavering towards the reasonable-sounding words of the latter. He had almost forgotten I existed. Now would be the perfect time to remind him.
“If by ‘tried and true,’ you mean ‘tired,’ then sure. Strategies don’t work perfectly forever. The numbers already show the American public is getting tired of being talked down to. In fact—”
And then I saw Hunter and Paige, and I forgot what words were.
Paige was looking evanescently beautiful in a gauzy princess gown of pale peach pink, her tresses swept up into something out of a Cinderella storybook. Her smile lit the room.
And Hunter…
A black tuxedo hugged every muscled inch of his body, a deep red tie and pocket square flashing like blood against it. His shirt was golden in a way that brought out the feral energy of his eyes. That barely contained energy was in his movements too, quick, sharp, a predator on the prowl. A grin lifted his lips, the light glinting off his teeth.
His hand was resting possessively, as if its placement were perfectly natural, on the small of my sister’s back.
“Excuse me?” Ben Minister’s voice intruded through my haze. “Miss Bartlett? Are you quite all right?”
“Well, she was trying to do math,” Chad said, “probably strained something. You know lady brains can’t handle that stuff.”
Mr. Minister’s lips thinned, and Chuck looked as though he would murder his current ally if there were fewer witnesses. It was probably easier to be business partners with sexist pieces of shit when they were less obvious, but Chuck had the tools he had.
“Sorry, I thought I saw someone I knew for a minute there,” I said with a bright smile, forcing my attention back onto the battle at hand. And at least this was a battle that I knew could be won. “I think you’ll find I know my mathematics quite well. In fact, if we look at sales figures for liquor companies for the past three decades—”
I very determinedly kept my eyes on the board member, and not on the rest of the party, as I resumed my attack on the Douchebros’ allegations. I very determinedly resisted scanning the crowd, or listening for the sound of familiar footsteps.
I may have lost a lot of things recently, but I was not going to lose this man’s vote.
#
“Ah, Ally, there you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”
Damn, damn, and triple damn. After all my efforts to avoid them all evening, ducking and dodging and assiduously avoiding eye contact so that we ended up on opposite sides of the room, my sister and her boyfriend/my hook-up/my client had still managed to track me down like a pair of socially awkward bloodhounds.
Dammit, if only I didn’t have to stump so hard for Hunter and my plan tonight. I could have hidden in the kitchen, drowning my sorrows in champagne and savory canapés.
I gave what I hoped was a convincing imitation of a smile. “Ah, hey guys. How’s it going?”
Hunter made some noises that were probably words saying that it was going great, or poorly, or that everything had exploded. I couldn’t tell, because my eyes were too busy watching the way his arm curled possessively around Paige’s waist, pulling her as close as physically possible, the way Paige was leaning into him, two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly…
“—and that’s basically the long and the short of it,” he finished.
“Oh,” I said. “That’s interesting.”
Paige’s face was concerned. “Are you all right, Ally? You’ve been on your feet for hours now, are you sure you’re not getting tired? You look a bit pale.”
“I’m fine!” I said, tossing off a laugh to prove just how fine I was. “Just need to refuel.”
I snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and tossed it back, barely tasting the cloying, bubbly sweetness I usually hated.
Hunter snagged a couple of glasses as well, and offered one of them to Paige.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not a fan. The bubbles go right up my nose.”
Hunter gave her a dazed little grin and bopped her on the nose with his finger. “That is just too adorable.”
Paige giggled.
Meanwhile, I felt like I might explode. Did I say might? Would. Definitely would. Explosion imminent, self-destructing countdown commencing, and I was powerless to stop it.
“Well,” Hunter said, still wearing that stupid love-struck smile, “let’s go find something that won’t bubble up that little button nose of yours. I think I saw a nice Merlot earlier…”