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I look around. It’s an old warehouse, near enough to Williamsburg, one that’s nestled in amongst the religious statue stores and ice cream truck places, all the little things no one ever thinks about being an actual business or supplier. But around here are artist studios and rental spaces and old school bare bones boxing gyms.
The place is done up enough. There are drinks for sale and music and all kinds of people.
Magnus makes a donation at the front door. I don’t see how much he puts in, but I make a note to do so when he’s not looking.
Cool young things with money are here. The well-heeled too. And women basically drool and follow Magnus with libidos in their gazes as he treks to the drink table and back to me.
“They have red wine and white wine.”
“White, please.”
He smiles that slow smile and flashes his dimple and my knees go weak and wavery. “Here you go.”
“There’s a lot of people.”
“I know. What’s the use of having had a career in marketing if you don’t put word out,” he says.
“You?”
He shrugs. “It’s close to my heart.” Then he looks past me. “Is that…Tuesday Harry?”
“I invited some neighborhood people.”
Harry’s deep in conversation with a slender older woman who’s very animated.
“You know what they say…great minds think alike. And thanks.”
“Word gets out and it helps good causes.” I glance about. “Do you know who’s throwing this? It’s…”
I trail off because there’s something about his expression that sets an alarm bell off in me.
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He slides his hand down to mine, but I reluctantly snatch it away.
“Oh, my God. This is that horrible man’s charity, isn’t it?”
Magnus turns a darker shade. “I don’t know about that, but the bartender just told me they’re having an art auction and there are a few Sinclair family pieces here. So I asked a few more questions and…he’s put money in it. Maybe he’s not that bad.”
“He is.” I want to go and I down half my drink. I’m being unreasonable. This is a good cause and I’m aware people like my ex, and more so, people like Edward Sinclair, are involved in everything and anything that can get them a tax break or a sympathetic public appearance. “Actually he’s worse.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“How so?”
I down another big swallow of my drink and glare at Magnus. “Because it’s all fake.”
“But it’s for a good cause.”
I sigh, defeated. “I know, but he’s causing a lot of these problems by trying to make everyone leave their homes on my block so he can add more millions to his billions to give people with lots of money a home they don’t need.”
“Billions to his billions,” Magnus says, taking a sip of his wine.
“I think I should go home.”
“No.” He captures my hand and draws me close. Against my better judgement I let him. That thumb moves slow over my flesh and I’m quivering inside. “Stay. It is a good cause, Zoey.”
