Page 46 of Honor

“I think I’ll use the ladies’ room before dinner,” Evangeline interrupts.

She starts walking away before anyone can stop her.

“She’s exactly as you described,” Randall says to Charlotte. “She moves with the grace of a ballerina.”

A ballerina? Miss Starling?

I glance to my left to catch a glimpse of her almost falling forward as a waiter carrying a tray tries to get the hell out of her way since she’s practically running through the crowded restaurant. He pivots to the left. She skirts to the right.

She ends up in the arms of some guy wearing a bespoke navy blue suit. It doesn’t quite put the one I’m wearing to shame, but the man holding onto my assistant does have great taste in clothing.

This entire evening has to be a goddamn joke.

“Evie studied dance for years when she was a kid,” Randall tosses information at me that I’ve never heard before.

Charlotte adds to it, “I’ll never forget the look on her face when we were in Paris a couple of weeks ago. She had tears in her eyes when we walked past the ballet school she was accepted to.”

Miss Starling went to school in Paris?

Before anyone is hired at Vidori, an extensive background check is run on them. I’ve looked at Miss Starling’s file more than once because I wanted to know what day her birthday is (February 1st), and I was curious about where she lives (in a shitty building in Murray Hill).

Since her full educational record was included in that, I know she graduated high school in Connecticut before starting at NYU just a few months later.

“That bike accident cost her a lot.” Charlotte shakes her head. “She had to give up a big dream. That can’t be easy.”

It’s not easy feeling like the outsider in a conversation about a woman I spend hours with each day. I’ve learned more about Evangeline in the past three minutes than I have in the fifteen months I’ve known her.

I shoot another glance at where she is, and this time, my executive assistant locks eyes with me.

I may have spent countless hours with her in the office, but I can’t read her expression. All I do know is that I need something strong to drink right now.

My hand pops up as a waitress breezes past our table. “I need a glass of vodka.”

She stops to glance at me. “I’m not assigned to your table, sir.”

“He’s thirsty,” Randall says, chuckling softly.

“Or in a hurry to toast to our happiness,” Charlotte adds.

I dig in the inner pocket of my suit jacket and yank out my wallet. Once I have a one hundred dollar bill in my hand, I shove it at the waitress. “Get the vodka. I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She snatches the bill from me and tucks it inside her white button-down shirt into what I presume is a pretty bra judging by the glimpse of white lace I get as she tugs on the fabric to line the buttons back up. “I’ll be back in two seconds flat.”

That’s an exaggeration, but I don’t give a shit. I’ll down the drink as soon as it’s in my hand. I hope it will erase the sudden urge I feel to learn everything I can about my executive assistant.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Evie

This situationI’m stuck in is why my dad always told me to ask questions before I sign on the dotted line.

Even though Lottie didn’t literally make me sign on a dotted line when I agreed to be her maid of honor, I did decide to do it without knowing all the facts, including the big one.

My boss is the best man.

I stare at my reflection in the large mirror hanging above a trio of sinks in the washroom I’m currently hiding in.

The irony in the fact that Mr. Hunt is the best man isn’t lost on me. I consider him one of the worst men I’ve ever met, and now that he knows that I’ve labeled him as the boss from hell, he’s going to live up to that.

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