Page 61 of Wine & Dine

24

It’s a party thing

[Dolores]

“Have I told you how stunning you look?” Garrett says to me, leaning toward me in the back seat of the hired car. This car is a little different from the others I’ve been in with Garrett. More plush. More legroom. I could kneel before him and give him a blow job if I wanted to, or he could lay me across the seat and make me silly, but I’m too on edge to think of sex. Then again, sex might be just the thing I need to take the edge off.

“Yes,” I say softly, squeezing his hand in reply. My palm is sweaty against his, and I’m surprised he hasn’t complained. He’s told me at least six times that I look beautiful, starting with the moment he walked into Denton’s place and found me fully dressed and waiting for him. Of course, he looks beautiful as well in a black tuxedo with a vest. I’ve seen men wear them at weddings over the years, and I can honestly say no one wears one as well as Garrett. He’s comfortable in his own skin and equally comfortable in the formal attire. He looks ravishing if that were a word still used today.

When we pull up to the hotel where the party will be held, my nerves hijack me. The place is alight with bright lights and a line of cars. People crowd what looks like a red carpet and cameras flash. I notice the couple before us getting out of their vehicle. The man helps the woman exit the car, and they pose for a second. She’s a vision of gold with dark hair piled on her head. Slim. Young. Confident.

“What am I doing here?” I mutter.

“You’re with me,” Garrett states, leaning into me once again and kissing my neck. The hairstylist decided my hair should be up, emphasizing the textures of ink and chrome within it. I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud, and I’m too late to reply as the driver stops. Our turn to exit. “Just hold my hand,” Garrett suggests, scanning my face before telling me one more time I look beautiful.

Garrett exits first and then holds out his hand for me, like the gentleman in the car before us. The second I exit the vehicle, I’m blinded.

“Don’t look at any one light,” he warns too late. Thankfully, we pause for a moment so I can at least get my bearings on the red carpet leading into the hotel. “Keep your head up, sweetheart.”

I’m thankful for the coaching, though I’m beside myself. A little warning would have been nice. This is anything but a party. It’s a full-on event, and I feel like royalty without the tiara as Garrett leads me down the path to the entrance. A blonde in a formal gown greets Garrett before he gives his name, and then Garrett hands over an envelope.

“We don’t have your guest’s name on the list, Mr. Fox,” the woman sweetly says to him.

“Candi, you know I called and added Ms. Dolores Chance to my ticket.” The woman—Candi—scrolls down her iPad while she sweetly blushes from Garrett addressing her by name. My arm rests loosely within his, and he tugs it tightly against his side, casually keeping his hand in his pocket. He’s poised. Prepared. As though he’s done this a hundred times, and I imagine he has.

“Oh, here she is,” Candi states, all sticky sweet like her name.

“Thank you, Candi.”

“Anything for you, Mr. Fox,” she replies coyly, and Garrett leads us forward.

“Anything for you, Mr. Fox,” I mock once we are out of earshot of the waif of a woman.

“Hmm, I have so many ways I could address that request from you,” he teases me as we wait in another line. He explains the receiving line leads to the fundraising hostess, a world-famous woman who advocates for women’s rights and assists those domestically abused to get back on their feet. She has locations in New York, California, and Chicago. Ingrid Tintagel is a stunning woman, roughly my age. Her hair is an interesting shade of rust, and her eyes sparkle bright green when she sees Garrett. She’s obviously familiar with him as her face pinkens like the young thing who took our ticket information.

“Garrett,” she drones. “How wonderful to see you again. I can’t wait to hear your speech.”

What?!

“And who must this be?” she questions, reaching out a hand for me. I wait a second too long before reaching for hers, remembering too late my hand is clammy. It doesn’t matter as she only grips my fingers in an I’m-holding-a-dead-fish handshake.

“Ingrid, this is Dolores Chance.” Ingrid’s pleasant smile responds to his introduction.

“What a lovely dress. I’m so happy to see Garrett attend one of these events with a date.” Her teeth nearly clench as she says date as though she’s crunching on sour candy. I turn to Garrett, surprised by her comment. “I hope you enjoy the evening. Garrett, honey, Candi will find you during the evening and let you know the particulars.”

Garrett smiles, and I continue to marvel at this woman’s familiarity with him. He leads us forward, smiling and nodding at people as we cross the room.

“What the hell?” I mutter through my own clenched teeth. “A speech?”

“It’s no big deal. I’m the keynote speaker. I just give a little address before dinner.”

I tug at his arm to stop us from walking, forcing him to spin and face me.

“This sounds like a much bigger deal than some Christmas-themed office party.”

“It isn’t,” he says, nodding in the direction of someone off to my left, and then leans forward to briefly kiss me. I don’t think our lips even met, and I don’t like it. It’s unfeeling and cold, and reminds me I don’t fit in with these people.

“Garrett, you could have warned me. You could have told me.”