Page 293 of Sin Bin

Chantal laughed.

Lucien frowned.

Callum appeared in the doorway. “All the guests have been seated, sir.”

Lucien nodded. “Thank you, Callum.”

As everyone rose and moved toward the door, Chantal suggested to her husband, “Why don’t you escort Meadow and Logan can escort me?” Before anyone could object, she tucked her arm through Logan’s and gave him a simpering smile. “Goodness, how tall are you?”

“Six-four.” Logan glanced back at Meadow. “This okay with you?”

“Of course,” she said through her teeth, accepting Lucien’s arm. She didn’t miss the satisfied smirk on Chantal’s face. The bitch was really trying her.

Callum escorted them to the formal dining room that opened off the main salon. A hundred or so guests were already seated around linen-draped tables.

As the newcomers entered the opulent room, excited whispers swept through the crowd. Everyone was staring and pointing at Logan.

Anxiety made Meadow’s stomach flutter as a tuxedoed attendant led them to their table. Along the way, Lucien smiled like a politician and shook hands with several guests without ever releasing Meadow’s arm.

When they reached their table at the front of the room, Logan pulled out his stepmother’s chair for her while Lucien did the same for Meadow. She half expected Chantal to pull Logan down beside her. She looked like she wanted to. Fortunately her husband sat next to her while Logan joined Meadow on the other side of the table.

The remaining seats were claimed by Callum and another couple who were introduced as Pascal and Hazel Tremblay, Lucien’s oldest friends. The way they beamed at Logan left no doubt that they knew he was Lucien’s son. Meadow wondered if any other guests knew or suspected.

An orchestra began playing as the waiters served the first course, a Belgian endive salad tossed with crème fraîche and Beluga caviar.

After asking Meadow a few perfunctory questions about herself, the Tremblays wasted no time engaging Logan in conversation about hockey. They sat to his left so it was hard for her to hear what was being said, which meant she couldn’t really participate.

Callum, seated to her right, saved her from feeling excluded. “See that gentleman right there.” He nodded discreetly across the room. “That’s Edward Rogers of Rogers Communications, one of the biggest media giants in the country. If you live in Canada, there’s a pretty good chance that your cable, phone and Internet provider is Rogers. The company also owns a number of TV and radio stations, magazines and sports teams.”

“Wow,” Meadow said, suitably impressed.

As they ate, Callum pointed out several more people. Not surprisingly, the room was filled with the crème de la crème of Toronto’s high society. They were scions of the richest families, real estate barons, media magnates, tech oligarchs. Whether they were old money or new money, no one there had a net worth below one billion.

Meadow felt as if she were watching herself from a great distance. It felt surreal to be there, sitting at a table with one of the most powerful men in Canada. A man who was an heir to a family fortune worth billions, a man whose close friends included Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and several other world leaders. It was hard not to feel totally out of her depth. She was the daughter of schoolteachers, a former ward of the state. And there she was dining on Royal Copenhagen porcelain plates, eating the finest caviar and drinking the most expensive champagne.

Definitely surreal.

Needing to connect with Logan in some way, she reached under the table and put her hand on his, which was resting on his thigh.

Without pausing his conversation, he turned his palm up and clasped her hand, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. A reassuring warmth spread through her, loosening the knot of anxiety in her stomach. But all too soon he pulled his hand from hers to reach for his glass of wine. When he didn’t reclaim her hand, her chest tightened with disappointment.

Callum leaned over to ask her something about her job, which broadened into other topics. Lucien had probably done a thorough background check on her, but she answered Callum’s questions anyway. He seemed to appreciate her responses, and he didn’t mind sharing his own background as a working-class boy who graduated from Oxford and became Lucien Brassard’s right-hand man.

He was intelligent, warm and witty. Not to mention good-looking. Ironically, with his green eyes and red hair, he looked more like Lucien than Logan did.

During a lull in their conversation, Meadow turned her head to catch Chantal openly studying her, jealousy hardening her expression.

When Meadow lifted a single eyebrow, Chantal turned away and took a sip of her wine, holding the glass by the stem. Her nails were flawless. Meadow found herself checking her own elegant manicure in comparison.

Halfway through the main course, the Tremblays were still monopolizing Logan. Every time his father entered the conversation, Logan would withdraw and brood over his plate, lost in his own dark thoughts. He didn’t talk to Meadow. It was almost as if he’d forgotten she was there.

Despite Callum’s best efforts to keep her company, she felt increasingly isolated and disconnected. On top of that, she was acutely conscious of other guests watching her, scrutinizing every move she made. She’d never been more grateful for the etiquette lessons she’d taken with her sorority. But knowing which fork to use didn’t lessen her growing angst, and being ignored by her boyfriend only made it worse.

She ate very little and drank more champagne than she probably should have. She lost count of how many times the waiter returned to top off everyone’s glasses. The wine was flowing and all the guests were drinking their fill, so at least she wasn’t alone.

“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Callum noted, gesturing to her plate. “Aren’t you enjoying the meal?”

“I am. It’s delicious.” She smiled ruefully. “I guess the first three courses were more filling than I thought.”

---