Page 131 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“P—pick out whatever you want, Wes.” Winnie is visibly choked up, and Colton wraps his arms around her. “We’ll go tomorrow to buy them.”
Thane reaches back into his pocket and removes a business card, then hands it to Weston. “Can I offer one more piece of advice?”
“Yes.” Weston’s voice is about three times too loud for this event, but no one bats an eye.
“Take the next two years to experiment with anything and everything that interests you. Even if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable, or maybebecauseit makes you uncomfortable. Try everything. And then, if you haven’t outgrown me, call this number when you turn sixteen, and we’ll have a spot for you in the office right next door to mine.”
All three Westbrooks stare at Thane in disbelief.
“He reminds me a lot of myself, except…” Thane tugs on the collar of his tux, and Weston mimics the movement. “He appears to have very supportive parents.” I study the Westbrooks, hoping they take that as the compliment it is. “And Weston, you’re a hell of a lot more social than I am even now. I’m excited to see how you change the world because I have no doubt you will.”
Weston practically bounces on his toes as Winnie steers him away after a lot of thank yous.
“Weston is a special kid,” Colton says after his wife and son are out of earshot. “I sincerely hope you meant everything you said. If you crush my kid’s dreams, I will destroy everything you love.”
“As you should.” Thane takes my hand in his. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m only here tonight for my girlfriend, and we have some other business to attend to.”
“You know how rumors run in our circles.” Colton lowers his tone. “Well, Weston is technically Winnie’s little brother. We’ve raised him since he was very young, so we have a lot more in common than you realize. If we can ever be of any assistance to you, please reach out. I do truly appreciate you taking the time to speak with him tonight. You’re basically a superhero in his world.”
Thane nods, then ushers me toward our table, where everyone’s waiting for us.
After brief introductions, we take our seats, and dinner is served. The Westbrooks sit at a table directly in front of the stage, and halfway through the meal, Colton changes seats with Weston, who has spent the entire evening turned around in his chair to stare at Thane.
“You have a superfan,” I whisper in between speakers.
Thane drops his gaze from the stage and lands directly on the little boy. They wear matching dopey grins that make my stomach turn somersaults.
“He is exactly the type of kid you’re going to help, Charlotte. Who knows, maybe he’ll be the one to take your ideas to the next level.” He waves his fingers at Weston, who immediately looks away, does a double-take, then taps his temple.
Winnie puts her arm around him, and he finally faces forward as the lights dim.
The emcee stands center stage, speaking about Thane as though he’s Taylor Swift and Steve Jobs rolled into one mythical creature. Thane sits tense and silent at my side, but every one of his employees at our table is nodding and clapping with the rest of the audience.
He’s truly Bruce Wayne, and this is where his superpowers shine.
“No.” Thane growls loudly enough that people from three tables over turn to us.
I’m so absorbed in the atmosphere that I’ve tuned out the actual presentation. But when the bones in my hand crackle under the pressure of Thane’s grasp, I know something is drastically wrong.
“Thane?” I pry his fingers off mine with my free hand, but he doesn’t appear to hear me.
“Thane, get up here,” someone says into the microphone.
He agreed to come but was very clear that he wouldn’t be the one accepting the award. His team, as previously planned, would accept on his behalf.
Uncomfortable silence spreads out across the room as the emcee calls him to the stage once more.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
I’m on my feet before my mind registers my movements. I’ll accept the damn thing. I was raised to thrive under this type of spotlight.
But first, I need Thane to release my hand. “Why aren’t you moving?” I hiss to the gentleman across the table from me. I’m almost certain he’s the CIO and was supposed to accept the award.
“Ah, even better. Charlotte Sinclair.” The spotlight glides through the room to land on me, and I freeze. Why would the emcee know who I am?
I narrow my gaze at the man who is about two seconds away from being emasculated in a room full of people by all five foot two of my pissed-off attitude, but the air is knocked from my lungs when recognition sinks in.
Jonah Wilder stands on stage, the picture of smug assholery as he takes pleasure in Thane’s reluctance.
