Page 144 of Faithful

“Move.” I gesture at his car. “I’m already running late.”

He smacks his lips. “Ah. Yes. The charity gala, of course.”

“You don’t need to recite my own itinerary to me. I know you know everything I do. Gavin has had you spying on me for years. Now, get the hell out of my way.”

I try to slide past him, but his hand grips my arm right above the elbow. He squeezes his fingers, applying pressure. I’m not a snowflake, but I recognize a hidden threat when I see or—in this case–feel one.

“What you did, my dear,” Glasses whispers, “was very stupid and very reckless.”

“You’re on that video too, so I suggest you let go of my arm, man,” I reply calmly. On the inside I’m raging, of course, but I can’t allow myself to show my true emotions in front of this pig. Any sign of weakness, and he’ll find ways to destroy everything that I built to protect Kai.

Glasses complies with my request and releases me. Again, his expression is blank.Yep, this dude isn’t human.

“I hope you’ll understand your mistake and be on your best behavior tonight, Dylan,” he says and then gets behind the wheel and leaves.

I need a few minutes to gather my wits before I set out.

My adrenaline spikes and I’m a fucking blizzard when I arrive at the hotel. Since I’m working, I get to park in the adjacent lot in the rear of the building and use the event staff entrance. A friendly security guard verifies my name and hands me my pass. He then explains how to get to the north wing where our home base is located.

Turns out it’s quite a walk and if not for my running habit, I’d be choking halfway to my destination.

The hotel is already buzzing with energy. There are people everywhere, most sporting typical black-and-white uniforms.

The gala itself is held in the Golden Ballroom, thousands of square feet of magnificent space offering stunning views of the sunset over Elliott Bay. There’s a patio area too that’s facing the city and guests are able to enjoy both–the serenity of the clean landscape over the waterfront, untouched by civilization, and the dazzling heartbeat of Seattle’s nightlife. I allow myself a moment to peek into the hall and drink in its magnificence. I know in just a few hours it will be filled with lots of mostly hypocritical rich folks who are rolling in money, but the money will go to a good cause, mainly equipment for the new Children’s Hospital in Renton. Some will be allocated to specific departments to help jump-start the operation as soon as possible.

I haven’t done much directly. My responsibilities included reaching out to potential donors and doing small errands for the rest of the team, but I feel good about being a part of this event, despite my father being a part of it too.

There are some things I can’t change, but if I can be content with the little things I get to do in order to achieve something great together with other people, then this time isn’t wasted.

“Excuse me?” a voice calls from behind me while I linger by one of the catering tables. “You can’t be here just yet.”

I turn around.

A woman in a black pantsuit with a walkie-talkie clipped to her belt is staring at me with suspicion.

“Sorry.” I readjust the garment bag with my tux over my shoulder. “I was on my way to meet up with my coworkers and saw what they did to the room. It’s beautiful.” It really is. I remember seeing photos of this space, empty and uninviting, on the hotel’s website a few months ago when we first found out we would be helping with this event.

The woman’s gaze lands on the pass hanging around my neck and something a lot like recognition crosses her face. “Dylan Watson? Aren’t you Senator Watson’s son?”

“I am.” I could deny it, of course, but what’s the point? It’s a fact impossible to erase.

“Apologies. I didn’t realize who you were.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m actually not here as the Watson family representative. I’m working the event. Our nonprofit is one of the sponsors.”

The woman finally smiles. “Blue Sun Project?” She gestures at my pass that has all my info printed on it.

“Yep, that’s us.”

“Well, I hope you have a good time and won’t work too hard, Mr. Watson.”

We part ways and I rush over to the north wing through a warren of busy corridors.

The room we’re given is small and the only window provides a rather dull view of some kind of courtyard filled with members of the hotel crew.

A dozen volunteers, mainly students and all very eager and overcaffeinated, are already here, along with the rest of our team.

Gin is so happy to see her iPad, she pulls me into a tight hug in front of everyone. I’m not huge on PDA with my colleagues, but surprisingly I find this sudden burst of affection pleasant.

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