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“You going to write it down or run a background check onhim?”
“Both,” I say as I put the final touches on thebanner.
Her teeth flash white against her red lips as shegrins.
It’s cute that she thinks I’mjoking.
We finish what we’re doing, and on the way back, I glance over ather.
“I like your earrings,” I say, nodding at the drops dangling from her ears. I didn’t notice them at first, but now I can’t stop looking. They reflect the light, like every silver surface in this kitchen but a million timesbrighter.
“Oh, these? They’re onloan.”
It takes me a minute to catch up. “They’re realdiamonds?”
“Uh-huh. Jake always lends me some for theparty.”
My father wanted me to move up in the world. I thought I had, with a PhD and everything. But as I watch Rena as we reenter the ballroom, I realize I’ll never be like these people. They live in a world of possibility, of delusion. Where money buys advantage and the ability to screen out the pain and loss anddisappointment.
As we get back to the booth and I set up the banner, Jake reappears. “Wesley, I need to introduce you to someone. This is Ben. He collects interesting things, and I was telling him about yourapp.”
The man in question can’t have more than a few years on us. He’s impeccably dressed with curlyhair.
I shoot Rena a look, but she shoos me. “Go talk shop. I’ll stick to selfies fornow.”
I watch her trail through the crowd before I turn back toBen.
“I understand you have a technology,” Ben says, stepping out of the main pathway and between Rena’s booth and another so we’re notdisturbed.
“It’s an algorithm,really.”
I explain it to him as best I can. For a non-expert, he seems to follow theconcept.
He sips his drink, eyes brightening with curiosity. “What’s the platformlike?”
“Right now it’s a website. It’s not fancy, but it’s functional.” My gaze drifts back to the booth, where Rena’s got anotherclient.
“This a badtime?”
My gaze jerks back toBen.
I’m tanking. I hate feeling like a total amateur. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want these people’s approval. But I needit.
Champagne appears at my elbow. I drink gratefully, pretending the vanilla scent accompanying it doesn’t trigger a Pavlovian tightening of myabs.
“Hi, Ben,” Rena says easily. “Wes is working on a demo. Give him your card, and he’ll give you a call when it’sready.”
Ben raises a brow but reaches into his inside pocket for a card. I take it and murmur a thank-you as he walksaway.
“What’s your problem?” Rena turns into me,hissing.
I yank at my collar. “I don’t know how to talk to thosepeople.”
“You’re being adick.”
My jaw drops, both at the description and the easy way she saysit.
“I’m not being a dick. Nobody understands my work. Nobodyunderstands—”
