Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
I’m seated between Trevor and Henri. Fortunately, Fleur is across the table. Maybe it isn’t fortunate, because she has an unobstructed view of us beside each other, and for the life of her, she can’t seem to look away.
Conversation floats around me, giving me clues to this woman Trevor almost married. Apparently she works for an organization that supplies clean water to developing nations. Of course she does. I’m probably the only person at this table who’s never dug a well. What am I doing here? I’m so out of my depth. Oh, I can follow the conversation about foreign policy, even though I don’t contribute much. I’m not an imbecile. But everyone here has given their lives to service of some sort, and the only thing I’ve served in fifteen years, besides the Walsh Foundation, is myself. I feel Trevor’s eyes on me, probing my reticence, but I only offer a smile over my wineglass. I’ll just get through this and try not to draw attention to myself.
Trevor leans in to whisper in my ear, and I feel Fleur’s eyes on us instantly.
“Are you okay?” His eyes run over my face, his concern an intimacy in itself.
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I take a sip of my white wine and give him a smile. It’s phony, but maybe it will fool him and the others at the table.
It doesn’t.
Throughout the five-course meal, I feel his eyes picking at the edges of the mask I drop over my face. The force of his stare pries at my façade until I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on to the image I’m so used to projecting, like a front on a theater stage. Painted beautifully, a backdrop for drama, but flat and propped up by spindly wood.
“Trevor,” Henri says as the servers set dessert on the table. “They’re signaling for the honorees.”
Trevor takes one last sip of wine and tosses his napkin over his plate.
“Guess I better go.” He dips his head to study my face, and I turn to look at him. “You’ll be all right?”
I can’t help it. He’s found a way to, with just a look, tear down my defenses. I can feel my expression softening. Everything that’s been pulled tight under Fleur’s steady scrutiny all night loosens and gives when he looks at me.
“I’ll be fine.” I reach under the table to squeeze his hand. “Good luck.”
He has that look he gets on his face just before he kisses me, and I will him not to. I will him to remember and to consider the heartbroken woman across the table. He narrows his eyes for a second, squeezes my hand back under the table, and walks off.
The table is silent for a few moments, and I realize that everyone understands the small drama playing out. These people knew Fleur and Trevor as a couple. This is their world, and I’m some exotic bird swooping in to light on the shoulder of one of their own.
“So Sofie, Ernest Baston is your father, right?” A gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair asks between bites of his cheesecake.
“Yes.” I sketch a quick nod and smile, pushing away my dessert even though my panties-only photo shoot is behind me.
“He and Martin Bennett have done an astounding job with Bennett Enterprises.” He gives a slow shake of his head, his mouth turned down in disapproval. “It’s a shame that the young pup is going to take it after all your father has done.”
Surprise makes me go still, hand poised over the cheesecake to at least bring the strawberry on top to my mouth.
“You mean Walsh?” I chuckle. “He’s no pup. More like a Doberman. He and I grew up in Bennett Enterprises, and he’s been working with his father since he was fourteen years old preparing for this transition. He’s more than ready.”
“But your father—”
“Has contributed greatly, and has always known Martin wanted his son to succeed him,” I say firmly, steadying my eyes on the man questioning something he knows nothing about. “Walsh is a man of integrity, conviction, and unerring competence. I have all faith he’s the kind of forward-thinking leader to take Bennett further than it’s ever been.”
End of story. My stare and tone tell him so, and he drops it, but I can’t help but wonder how many others in the business community share those sentiments.
And if my father is the fire fueling them.
“I forgot you’re the goodwill ambassador for the Walsh Foundation, right?” he asks.
“Yes, have been for many years. It’s one of my favorite things I get to do.”
“What does that entail exactly?” Fleur interjects, addressing me for the first time since our introduction. “Posing with some orphans and starving children, a few strategically placed flies buzzing around?”
I’m stunned. I literally gasp as her words dig into me like tiny talons. This woman, who almost married Trevor, who I’m sure does good all over the world, just hurled malice at my head like a snowball, hard and icy. I’m not the only one taken aback. Henri and Harold stare at Fleur, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. Henri slides her eyes to me, and I see the closest thing to kindness she’s ever shown me.