Page 32 of Acquiring Ainsley
“Fine, I get it. You don’t want to talk to me about it, so I’ll stop prying. I’ll refrain from making an assessment about this. But…” Luke crossed his arms. “I just want you to know that being with Trevor McNamara comes with some… extras, and I’m not sure you’re prepared to handle it.”
I frowned. “Like what?”
“Well, there are at least—”
The door jangled again, and a crew of class attendees strode in from the parking lot. I recognized a few of them and said hello before giving Luke my attention again. “What were you trying to say?”
“Just that you need to be careful.”
“Why?” I frowned, and the look on Luke’s face made my stomach twist. “What makes you say something like that?”
As a few more people walked into the studio, Luke leaned over the desk, fixed his gaze on mine, and lowered his voice. “Trevor is a complicated man with a checkered past, Ainsley. Just make sure that you think this over before you do anything stupid, okay?”
I nodded as if I understood, but I didn’t. I couldn’t have. A ball of dread began to grow in my stomach.
What in the world had I gotten myself into?
By the time I picked up Ainsley for the International Refugee fund gala that following Saturday, any concerns about Olivia had faded from my mind. I’d digested that email over and over, before finally deciding I didn’t have anything to worry about. It was all in my head, and only as bad as I made it.
I still had control of the situation. If I had that, I had everything.
“You look gorgeous,” I told Ainsley when she opened the front door of her condo. It was a huge understatement—no words could really describe the way she appeared that night. Ainsley wore a long, beaded, silver gown that hugged her hips, and she’d piled her hair on top of her head. A silver bracelet accented the dress, and she carried a black-beaded clutch. “I mean…”
“Thank you.” She smiled, and her red lipstick showed off her straight teeth. “I tried.”
“I appreciate the effort.”
She locked the door behind her, and we walked together to the elevator. I could hardly stop staring at her. She must have noticed because as we rode the car to the bottom floor, she said, “I feel like you’re counting every sequin on this dress.”
“No,” I said. “But I’m hoping I can memorize this moment, and you in it.”
She cocked her head. “Why?”
“Because I’ve never seen anyone or anything so beautiful.”
The words slipped out of my mouth before I even thought about what I was saying, but once I heard them, I didn’t regret it, either. It was the truth.
“I mean that,” I said. “More than I’ve ever meant anything.”
We stared at each other, and a pulse of electricity seemed to pulsate between us. I wanted to hold onto that energy, whatever it was, and wrap it around the two of us, and it was right then that I realized Ilikedthe way it felt to have her in my life. I liked the way she complimented and brightened an existence that, for years, had been so focused on what I could acquire.
I took a tentative step toward her and grabbed her hand. She didn’t pull away.
“I want us to have fun tonight,” I said. “Not because you’re my fiancée on paper, or because you need my money to save your family from bankruptcy. I want us to have fun… just because.”
“Just because?”
I nodded. “Will you do that with me? Just for one night?”
Her eyes seemed to search my face, and she waited a moment before the replied, “Okay, Trevor. You’ve got a deal.”
“Wonderful,” I said as the elevator doors opened to the Palm Beach Towers lobby.
The organizers of the International Refugee fund gala spared no expense with their décor of the Phillips Estate, turning the property into Vienna for the night. The home was one of the few in Palm Beach to span the width of the island, starting with private beach access and ending with a breathtaking view of West Palm Beach and the Intracoastal Waterway. When we arrived, liveried valets wearing powdered wigs and short pants greeted us, and models wearing large, hoop-skirted gowns and exaggerated makeup lined the steps to the entrance of the mansion.
We checked in by the front door, and I led Ainsley to the cocktail hour in the smaller of the estate’s two ballrooms.
“I always wonder if they’re going to kick me out at check-in,” I whispered to her as we swept into the room. “But they never do.”
