Page 15 of Worth the Wait

“Thank you for walking with me.” I smiled.

He grinned, and I just knew that grin made women all over Manhattan trip over their own feet. He was that striking.

“It was my pleasure.” He kissed the top of my hand before the doors closed behind us and the press was locked outside. “You’re Sarina’s sister, right? The chef?”

I nodded. “I am, yes. And you’re…”

“Okay, Jamison. Thanks for the escort. I’ll text you later,” Sarina said, interrupting our conversation before whisking me away from the guy.

“Jeez. Is he a creep or something?”

Sarina looked at me like I was from another planet. “What? No. Jamison is rich as sin. Old money. Nice guy, but definitely not your type. He likes to party a little too much,” she said, tapping the side of her nose.

“Ahhh. Big fan of the coca?” I said, referring to one of cocaine’s many nicknames.

There were plenty of people in my industry who partook in cocaine, said it helped them get by and stay awake during our long shifts, but I’d never been one of them. Drugs of any kind were definitely not my scene.

“Huge fan of the coca,” she repeated, and I was grateful that she knew that little tidbit about him. It helped me know who to keep my distance from.

“That’s too bad,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean it.

What Jamison did or didn’t do had no effect on my life whatsoever. But he was nice to look at.

“Let’s go mingle. I’ll also need you to snap a few pictures of me for my socials. That’s okay, right? If not, I can always ask someone else.” Sarina started to backtrack her request, like it was a big deal when it wasn’t.

“Of course I’ll take pictures of you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I just didn’t want you to feel like you were working for me or something,” she said, shifting her weight from one sparkly bootie to the other.

I touched her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “I definitely do not feel like I work for you. I’m your sister. I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks. Mom always gets pissed whenever I ask her. Tells me that I should have staff for that kind of thing.”

Our mother could really be a bitch sometimes.

“She probably gets mad because she doesn’t know what a good photo looks like and doesn’t know how to take one,” I snapped, and she threw her head back as she laughed.

Sarina reached for my hand and weaved us through the crowd effortlessly, including me in the conversation with each person who stopped her. They were enamored by her, hanging on her every word, complimenting her dress and shoes. Everyone extended equal courtesy in my direction, but it wasn’t quite the same. Sarina commanded them without even trying. And she seemed to know every single person in this place, which was fascinating to me, considering that the guests were of all ages.

“Do you know everyone in here?” I asked after she introduced me to, like, the tenth person in as many minutes.

“Pretty much.” She glanced at me. “There’s kind of a ‘fundraising circuit.’” She made air quotes. “It’s basically all the same people at these events.”

“They all love you,” I complimented.

She shook her head. “They pretend to at least,” she said.

I didn’t believe that for one second, but I wondered if she truly did.

“Oh. There’s Jakob and Colter.” She pointed toward a room in the distance. “They’re in the silent auction room.”

Sarina took a step forward, but I grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Who are Jakob and Colter?”

Her perfectly full lips pulled together in a straight line.

“Sarina,” I pleaded.

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