Page 71 of The Golden Scoop

Halfway through the main dish I hit it off with Camila, a Puerto Rican native who moved to New York during her teenage years. She met Alonso—a telenovela star—during a conference and they’ve never looked back.

Time flies after that. We exchange numbers in case she’s ever over on the West Coast, and before we know it, the auctioneer is taking the stage, getting the bidding set up.

Paddles are handed out, including to me, even though I’m pretty sure whatever it is they’re auctioning costs more than my rent for a year. We turn our chairs to face the stage, where there’s a homemade film being played onto the backdrop.

Matt’s arm never leaves the back of my chair.

I shouldn’t notice it. But I do.

A blonde woman in her fifties spots us from afar and calls out his name. He stands up immediately, his posture straightening as he closes the button on his jacket. I turn my attention back to the screen when his hand wraps around my arm and gives me a gentle pull up.

“Matt!” she says, enveloping him in a tight squeeze. “I didn’t know if you were going to make it with the storm and all.”

“What storm?” he asks, frowning. I do the same.

“They’ve been talking about it for days. It was supposed to veer south, but it ended up coming straight for the city.”

That doesn’t sound promising.

“Explains the turbulence on our way in.” He laughs. “Kathy, this is Emma Miller. She’s one of the best editors in L.A. Works for Golden Magazine. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. Kathy’s on the fundraiser committee.”

A pang of guilt lands sharp in my stomach and I have to force myself to stay composed. Here’s Matt, introducing me like I belong here. And he doesn’t even know what he said is not true. I need this article to work. I can’t keep being a secret myself for much longer.

“I have! That’s impressive.” Kathy grins. “Nice to meet you, Emma. I hope you’re enjoying the evening.”

She pulls me into another hug.

“Did you get my check?” Matt says, voice lower, almost a whisper.

Kathy nods.

“Anonymous, like you wish.”

“Great. The art is next level this year,” he comments.

“Let me know if there’s any that caught your eye,” she adds with a wink. Matt laughs. It sounds like a brush-off, but I catch it: he’s actually considering it.

“Is my house in Aspen not enough?” he jokes.

“Will be for whoever gets to stay in it!”

With that and a couple of pats on his shoulder, she moves on to the next table.

“Your house in Aspen?” I repeat when he sits back down.

“For a week stay. Super cozy, perfect to ski in the winter.” He’s nonchalant, like it’s no big deal. I guess not for someone like him. “I’ll take you.”

I’m a surf girlie at heart, but fresh powder is hard to say no to. And even with that little voice in the back of my head reminding me I can’t fully trust him yet, Matt’s not that bad of an adventure buddy after all.

“I’ll be waiting,” I say. He scoots his chair closer to mine, draping his arm over it again. From the corner of my eyes, I notice a cheeky smile pull at his mouth, satisfied.

The numbers thrown out for every item are even higher than I expected. We’re already in six-figure territory for some pieces.

We’ve only made our way down the list when Matt gets a call. He picks up, keeping his voice low, but not low enough I can’t hear him. I watch his expression shift as he listens. Confusion at first, then mild annoyance.

“No worries. Morning works.”

“Everything okay?”