Page 130 of Not A Whisper

Grant trudges forward, toward the masses. “Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off.”

When Jasonand Grant said I would get overwhelmed, they weren’t kidding.

It takes less than twenty minutes from when we walked through the doors into the ballroom for news of Grant’s separation from his father to make it around the room. And when they learn who’s on Grant’s arm?

We’re not left alone even for a second.

Wherever we turn, there are people there to meet me, shake my guys’ hands, and to talk business. I’m introduced to so many people that names and faces blend together. But what I can’t ignore or forget is the way in which people watch us. It’s unnerving being under such intense scrutiny. While those that surround us may congratulate my guys on their business ventures and wish me and Grant a happy life, I can see the flash of speculation, their doubts, and sometimes their thinly veiled contempt. There are some rare, genuine smiles among the crowd, but those are few and far between. The snobbery radiating off these people has a stench that thickens the air, much like the expensive colognes and perfumes they wear.

It feels like I’m surrounded by sharks.

Especially when Garry Gipson walks in just before dinner is served. There might as well be blood in the water. Eyes dart between my group and Garry’s. The buzz of conversation in the room grows louder, and I know we’re at the center of most of it.

We don’t run into Grant’s father before we’re all ushered to our designated tables for dinner.

I’m not sure if I’m relieved or simply frustrated. If we canjust get the confrontation over with, maybe the whole room can focus on something else. I’m suffocating under the stifling tension. Keeping a smile plastered on my face is more painful than the heels I’m wearing. I’m sure those used to these types of events are beginning to notice it waning.

Situated several tables away from Garry, the four of us are seated with five other people. Grant seems to know them well since conversation flows easily. Jason and Trip join in often, though the latter less so. I make small talk with the two women who are older than me by at least twenty plus years and seemingly as overwhelmed with this whole event. Cindy and Doras. They’re about the most real people in this room.

Dinner is brought out, devoured, and removed.

After dinner, Bruce Johnson gets up and makes a touching speech about how wonderful the Groveton community is because of the fine people in this room. I catch Trip rolling his eyes several times. The last time, he catches me looking at him and he shoots me a smirk, one that I mirror. Once the flattery is over, Bruce moves on to thank the highest donors. The shout outs he gives to Garry and then to Grant earn a round of applause. I smile as people look in our direction. It takes everything in me not to look over at Garry to see how he takes this.

Then the auction starts.

I don’t know what I expected. I’ve seen auctions on television, and I know what they are, but this is nothing like I’ve seen or heard of before. Spa getaways, resort stays, boat trips, and more are put up for auction and bid on. The amounts that are raised are astronomical. My hands sweat just listening. How do people have so much money to throw at such frivolous things? It’s absurd. Yes, it’s for charity but my god…

“If you want something, let me know,” Grant whispers in my ear as it goes on.

I jump, surprised, as his lips brush the shell of my ear.When I turn to him, I find Grant watching me closely—his expression unreadable.

“I’m happy just watching and listening.” Plus, there’s no way in hell I have any money to throw at something like this, and I’ll be damned if I have Grant use the money they inherited from his uncle on anything other than starting up their ranch.

Auburn eyes search my face in the darkness. I shift in my seat suddenly self-conscious.

“What?”

His mouth curves into a smirk that usually brings trouble. My stomach drops a little. What does Grant have planned now?

“You’re doing well with all of this,” he mutters. “My perfect doll.”

I roll my eyes, pretending I’m not ecstatic that he’s pleased. “Focus on the auction, all eyes are on us.”

“It’s hard to focus when my dessert is right beside me, making me rock hard.”

At this, I can’t help but laugh. Quickly, I stifle it and shoot Grant a glare. He only grins at me, completely unabashed.

“Let’s excuse ourselves,” he says, nudging his head toward the door.

I gape, looking around. “No, Grant?—”

“Next up on the docket is a five-day, four-night stay at the up-and-coming Silver Staghorn Ranch, brought to you by GBN Enterprises, LLC. This luxury ranch will have horseback riding, spas, access to?—”

Both Grant and I look toward the stage just as a spotlight lands on our table. Grant, Jason, and Trip smile and nod as people clap.

As the spotlight swings back toward the stage and auction, I turn and just happen to look in the direction of Garry. He’sstaring right at us. His mouth is curved into a smile, one that could almost look like he’s proud of his son. But there’s just something in his gaze, in that brief nanosecond where our eyes meet, that scares me.

The auctioneer starts back up and bids pepper the room, the price skyrocketing. Shivering, I lean back in my seat. Grant leans back too and turns his head so that he can whisper in my ear once more.

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