He looked none the worse for wear after our abandoned fucking in his limo. In fact, he seemed like a totally different person. He was once again the man I’d met in the Crossfire lobby, supremely contained and quietly powerful.
“In North America,” he began, “childhood sexual abuse is experienced by one in every four women and one in every six men. Take a good look around you. Someone at your table is either a survivor or knows someone who is. That’s the unacceptable truth.”
I was riveted. Gideon was a consummate orator, his vibrant baritone mesmerizing. But it was the topic, which hit so close to home, and his passionate and sometimes shocking way of discussing it, that moved me. I began to thaw, my bewildered fury and damaged self-confidence subverted by wonder. My view of him shifted, altering as I became simply another individual in a rapt audience. He wasn’t the man who’d so recently hurt my feelings; he was just a skilled speaker discussing a subject that was deeply important to me.
When he finished, I stood and applauded, catching both him and myself by surprise. But others quickly joined me in the standing ovation and I heard the buzz of conversations around me, the quietly voiced compliments that were well deserved.
“You’re a fortunate young lady.”
I turned to look at the woman who spoke, a lovely redhead who appeared to be in her early forties. “We’re just…friends.”
Her serene smile somehow managed to argue with me.
People began stepping away from their tables. I was about to grab my clutch so I could leave for home when a young man came up to me. His wayward auburn hair inspired instant envy and his eyes of grayish-green were soft and friendly. Handsome and sporting a boyish grin, he lured the first genuine smile out of me since the ride over in the limousine.
“Hello there,” he said.
He seemed to know who I was, which put me in the awkward position of pretending I wasn’t clueless as to who he was. “Hello.”
He laughed, and the sound was light and charming. “I’m Christopher Vidal, Gideon’s brother.”
“Oh, of course.” My face heated. I couldn’t believe I’d been so lost in my own pity party that I hadn’t made the connection at once.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m sorry.” I offered a sheepish smile. “Not sure how to say I read an article about you without sounding awkward.”
He laughed. “I’m flattered you remembered it. Just don’t tell me it was in Page Six.”
The gossip column was notorious for getting the goods on New York celebrities and socialites. “No,” I said quickly. “Rolling Stone, maybe?”
“I can live with that.” He extended his arm to me. “Would you like to dance?”
I glanced over to where Gideon was standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the stage. He was surrounded by people eager to talk to him, many of whom were women.
“You can see he’ll be awhile,” Christopher said, with a note of amusement.
“Yes.” I was about to look away when I recognized the woman standing next to Gideon—Magdalene Perez.
I picked up my clutch and managed a smile for Christopher. “I’d love to dance.”
Arm-in-arm we headed into the ballroom and stepped onto the dance floor. The band began the first strains of a waltz and we moved easily, naturally into the music. He was a skilled dancer, agile and confident in his lead.
“So, how do you know Gideon?”
“I don’t.” I nodded at Cary when he glided by with a statuesque blonde. “I work in the Crossfire and we’ve run into each other once or twice.”
“You work for him?”
“No. I’m an assistant at Waters Field and Leaman.”
“Ah.” He grinned. “Ad agency.”
“Yes.”
“Gideon must really be into you to go from meeting you once or twice to dragging you out on a date like this.”
I cursed inwardly. I’d known assumptions would be made, but I wanted more than ever to avoid further humiliation. “Gideon’s acquainted with my mother and she’d already arranged for me to come, so it’s just a matter of two people going to the same event in one car rather than two.”