Page 25 of Eternal Hoptimist

Corinthian columns greeted us on each side of a green awning at the main entrance to the historic downtown hotel. Reliefs were etched into the exterior with a patterned row of the Greek key design.

An employee directed us through a lobby with tastefully mismatched furniture to the event on the third floor. The elevators opened to a hallway lined with marble, a carpet of gold and cream, and tall ceilings with paintings I would expect to see in a Renaissance exhibit.

“This is stunning,” Ethan said as we waited to check in outside the banquet hall.

“It is.” I hadn’t taken my eyes off him.

He turned and caught me staring. His smile was teasing. “Stunning, huh?”

“If the suit fits.” Flirting with him was too easy. As I clocked the thought to rein it in, I dismissed it. It helped sell the whole charade anyway.

After checking in, we wandered into the cocktail hour in an elegant ballroom. People clustered around easels lining the walls with information about the fundraising recipient’s environmental work.

“Does your firm fundraise for the same organization every year?”

“No, it rotates. Last year, it was for an organization supporting houseless people in the city, and the year before was a local group running a shelter for survivors of domestic abuse.”

“Is that the mayor?” Ethan whispered in my ear.His cologne reminded me of a candle my mom liked with sandalwood and a floral note. It made me want to bury my face in his shirt.

“It is. You’ll likely see a few politicians, local athletes, and community leaders.” I pressed my hand to the small of his back as I navigated us through the crowd to a bar.

I appreciated that the firm did a big annual fundraiser, but it reeked of client recruitment and showboating instead of giving back.

As we worked on our first drinks, we made our rounds, chatting with several equity partners who would soon decide my fate. Ethan handled their inquisitive looks and eager questions with ease. He shared snippets of his childhood in Kansas and his father’s charity work, which made me want to know more about Ethan’s life before Dahlia Springs. That wasn’t part of our deal. I needed to know enough about him to make our relationship believable during the couple of instances we needed to put on an act, not try to get his life story. No matter how much I wanted it.

Glen made eye contact with me while talking to another senior associate and her husband. He excused himself and headed toward us.

I bent to whisper into Ethan’s ear. “The man approaching is one of the equity partners and my boss. He carries a lot of weight in deciding who will be promoted to partner.”

“Got it.”

For a moment, I lived in a world where we were in an actual relationship. Me briefing him on what he needed to know about someone so he could figuratively charm the pants off them now, then literally off me later. Going home and cuddling on the couch while drinking wine. Falling asleep together, waking for sleepy orgasms, and me cooking him breakfast, Ethan saying he needed to go to work, and kissing a dozen times before he reluctantly pulled away. I shook my head to clear the frighteningly vivid fantasy.

“Parker, glad you made it.” Glen shook my hand.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” I gestured to Ethan. “This is my partner, Ethan Jackson.” The words had flowed smoothly from my mouth from the first time I’d spoken them this evening. I nearly believed it myself.

They shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“What do you do?”

“I co-own a brewery and manage the taproom operation.”

Glen’s eyebrows shot up. “A brewery? Impressive. Have I heard of it?”

“Possibly. We won Portland Pairing last year. It’s called Tap That Brewery, about an hour away in Dahlia Springs.”

“Over near McMinnville, right?”

Ethan’s sunny smile lit with Glen’s recognition. “Exactly. We’re a great pit stop on the way to the coast.”

“My wife has been pushing for a beach getaway. I’ll have to keep Dahlia Springs in mind.”

“The coffee shop in town, A Whole Latte Love, has the best coffee in the state.”

Glen laughed. “That’s a bold claim. I’ll have to check for myself.”

“What kind of beer do you enjoy? I could make some other recommendations in the area.” He placed the edge of his hand against his mouth and stage-whispered, “Don’t tell the wine people we’ve got a thriving hops community over there.”

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