“Alayna,” he says, sinking into his chair. “I’m sorry. I meant to be home before now. I got caught up. Have you gotten any sleep?” He pauses for her response, and I can imagine that as a mother of two newborns and a preschooler, the answer is no. “Can Roxie take Mina to the park while Jenn takes the twins for a little while so you can get a nap?”
Another pause, and I realize that my sister-in-law isn’t the only one who isn’t sleeping—Hudson looks terrible.
“Yes. I know, precious,” he says now. “It’s not easy. But I have to go to that awards dinner I told you about. Maybe I could send Chandler home to entertain Mina.”
“Or you could send Chandler to the dinner in your place,” I prod, unconcerned that he’ll now realize I’ve been listening to his conversation. Also unconcerned with that stack of work I’d meant to get to. It can wait another day.
“Right. It’s not the same. I understand.” He glares up at me, and based on the tightness in his jaw, I think I might actually have won. It almost makes up for my previous loss with Genevieve.
Okay, not almost. Not even close. But it’s something.
I sit up, my brows raised.
“Tell you what,” he says to his wife. “Give me a few minutes to shift things around. Then I’ll be yours for the evening.”
Uh, wow. Not sure how that happened, but right on.
He hangs up, and I cross back to the desk.
“So what is this dinner thing I’m going to, anyway? Please don’t tell me it’s black tie.”
“It’s black tie.” Ignoring my groan, he digs in his desk and retrieves an invitation that he hands over to me. “It’s the Annual Award Banquet for Advances in the Media. While I don’t want it made known that I’m talking to anyone else in the industry, I’ve arranged to be seated next to Nathan Murphy tonight. He’s a key player at Mirage. I’d like you to take my place at the dinner and use the opportunity to feel out what Murphy could bring to Werner Media.”
It’s hilarious how quickly he’s changed my idea into his own. But whatever. It’s something.
He stands and why do I have the feeling it’s because he wants to take a power stance? “It’s critical that you keep this on the down-low. Do you think you can manage that?”
I want to roll my eyes. Instead, I study the paper in my hand. “The invite has a plus one.”
“Do not bring a plus one.” There’s that scowl again. I’d be drunk if I’d been taking shots. “I need you at your best tonight. No distractions.”
“Stop worrying, bro. I got this.” Before he can change his mind, I pocket the invitation and head out the door, calling over my shoulder, “You won’t regret it.”
“I already do,” he mutters behind me.
I’m facing away, but want to bet he’s scowling? Life is good.
The Broad Street Ballroom is in the Financial District, and by the time I’m dressed and get down to that part of town, the dinner is just about to get started. It’s perfect timing though, because I walk in behind a familiar gorgeous, leggy brunette.
Man, my luck just got a whole fuck-lot better.
I follow Genevieve without making my presence known. So this was what her plans were for tonight. It totally makes sense that she’d be at the media awards.
I distract myself from the idea that she might have a date with how hot she looks, even from behind. Her hair is pulled into a thick knot at the base of her neck. Teardrop jewels dangle on silver chains from her ears, a nice contrast to the dark brown of her tresses. Her shoes are strappy, high-heeled, mixed metallic sandals that lace up her toned calves.
The best is her outfit, though. She’s wearing a black trapeze dress that falls unevenly along her mid-thigh, and all I can think about is how easily that style lifts up, how little work it takes to get underneath.
(Yes, I know what a trapeze style is. I wasn’t kidding about learning fashion basics from my sister. Did I mention she used to use me as her model to practice her design skills? I picked up a lot along the way. I mean a lot.)
Genevieve pauses, and I duck back as she looks around. She’s definitely waiting for someone. Imagine my relief when I see her father walking toward her.
Though, there’s also a younger man at his side. A tall, broody looking gentleman. Exactly the kind of guy who gets the eyes of the prettiest girls in a room.
I immediately hate him. Obviously.
“Genevieve, what are you doing here?” Edward Fasbender seems both surprised and irritated to see his daughter. “I specifically told you I didn’t want you interfering.”
Her spine straightens, and I feel the air bristle. “And then you brought Hagan?”
Hagan. Her brother she’d mentioned earlier. Yeah, now I don’t hate him, but he irritates me for another reason—namely, because he’s competition for her with her father, and though I don’t know a lot about her yet, I know that she’s better than this asswipe.
Maybe that’s an unfair judgment. But I know what it’s like to have a holier-than-thou older brother.
And then he says, “Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?” and I reinstate my first opinion. Hagan Fasbender is definitely an asswipe.
“Very professional,” Genny says, and I give her points for refraining from the name-calling I’ve resorted to in my head.
Edward ignores the exchange between his offspring. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he says, “Thank you for stopping by, but there isn’t a spot for you, princess. Why don’t you go join your stepmother at the nail salon?”