Page 53
No.
"Yes."
The benefit dinner is at La Maison Aurelle, a restaurant people wait months to get into unless they’re wealthy, connected, or both. Tonight, Kauffman Enterprises is one of the lead investors, which means Everett has a reserved table near the front without so much as saying his name. Crystal chandeliers cast everything in a warm gold glow. A live harpist plays
Everett’s hand settles on my lower back as we enter. Guiding, not possessive. A touch you’d miss if you blinked.
Heads turn as we walk by. Not all of them—but enough. The ones who’ve seen the photos. The ones who know that the patriarch of Kauffman Enterprises just walked into La Maison Aurelle with a fiancée no one knows anything about. A few whispers travel through clusters of people in bespoke suits and couture gowns, and I do my best to sit like a woman who doesn’t hear any of it.
Then I see her.
Sienna Brighton.
She’s already seated at our table in a burgundy gown that fits like it was sewn onto her body. Her hair is down tonight—dark, glossy, falling past her shoulders. Next to her is a man in a navy suit with perfect teeth and the kind of polished ease that screams lawyer before he even opens his mouth. On the other side of him are two other couples I vaguely recognize from Hawkeyes charity events over the years. Rich. Connected. The kind of people who treat these rooms like a second home.
Of course Everett’s table would look like this.
Everett’s hand stays on the small of my back. I glance up at him, but his focus is already shifting across the table.
"Sienna," he says.
"Everett." Her smile is smooth and immediate. Then her gaze slides to me. Not my face first. My left hand.
The ring.
She takes it in in one quick, sharp sweep before her smile returns.
Everett gestures across the table. "Aria, this is Sienna Brighton. She works for the Harvey Group and is one of the best business managers in the city." Then his eyes flicker back to me. "Sienna, this is my fiancée Aria."
"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Aria," Sienna says. "I have to admit, I’ve always been curious what kind of woman would finally take Everett off the market."
"It’s a pleasure to meet you too," I say, because my father taught me manners before he taught me to ride a bike. "I can’t take full credit for taking Everett off the market. Sometimes timing is everything."
"That," Sienna says, her smile never slipping, "is probably the understatement of the evening.
"And this is Daniel Hart. He's a lawyer for the Harvey Group," Everett says, introducing the man sitting next to Sienna.
Daniel offers me a polite smile. "I am a lawyer, but don't hold that against me," he teases with a smile aimed in my direction.
Everett pulls out my chair and I sit. Then he takes the chair between Sienna and me.
Sienna turns to Everett almost immediately.
"Pierre Matisse just arrived," she says. "His wife is here too. I’ve been working this acquisition for four months, and he’s finally ready to have a real conversation. But Harvey Group doesn’t manage his company, so I have no leverage here."
"Meaning?" Everett asks.
"Meaning you’re going to have to charm him before he flies back to France tomorrow and decides to sell to one of your competitors."
Everett leans toward her to hear the rest, and I feel it immediately—immediately—his body angling away from me and toward her. The warmth of his hand lifts off my back and I feel the absence like a draft against my skin.
Sienna tilts toward him too, lowering her voice, and for one stupid second I hate how natural they look. How easy. Like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
Maybe they have.
Daniel notices, I think, but if he does, he gives no sign. He just reaches for his water glass and takes a sip like his girlfriend leaning too close to Everett Kauffman is a perfectly ordinary part of dinner.
"Let me introduce you," Sienna says, already pushing back her chair.
