Page 75 of No More Billionaires

“Momma,” I hissed, trying desperately to sound stern and threatening.

Could I just grab Larson’s arm and whisk him away now? I glanced around and spotted him. He was engaged in deep conversation with Georgia’s senior senator, with Tom looking on like a proud father.

Momma’s loud exclamation pulled my attention back to my immediate surroundings. “Oh, Mitzy! There you are. Come say hi to Kenley. I know y’all haven’t seen each other for a while.”

Mark’s mother joined us, looking about as uncomfortable as I felt.

We’d come within weeks of being related by marriage. When Mark and I become engaged, she had insisted I start calling her “Mom.” It made things a tad uncomfortable now, to say the least.

“Hello Mrs. Fitzsimmons.” I gave her the best smile I could muster. “How have you been? How’s Mr. Fitzsimmons?”

I expected some update on his golf game and her never-ending redecorating of their house. What I got was quite different. Her stiff expression crumbled, her eyes glistened with accumulating tears.

“Oh, Kenley, honey—we miss you—and Mark misses you. He’s miserable. He knows he made a terrible mistake. He can’t stop saying how much he wishes he could take it all back.”

I leaned against the nearest table, staggering under the shock and the jolt of adrenaline the news caused.

“What?” My voice was rubbed raw with sandpaper.

Mrs. Fitzsimmons nodded. “He’s here tonight—alone—he and Trina broke up last week. Maybe the two of you can talk. Maybe—”

“Excuse me. I need to find the ladies’ room.”

I fled their presence, forcing myself to walk and not run to the sanctuary of the poshest public restroom I’d ever seen.

Inside, I stared at myself in the large mirror of the lounge area. My face was pale, causing the coral lipstick I’d applied earlier to stand out in almost a clownish way.

My pupils were so wide and dark, I could hardly detect any of my eyes’ normal light blue color.

He’s here. Alone. And he wants to talk.Not helping my ghostly skin tone.

The door opened, and two women came in together, chatting brightly about the food. I went into a stall and sat down, in spite of my empty bladder. I needed some time to calm down, to think.

Do I want to talk to him?

I had thought the answer would be an emphatic ‘no,’ but then why was my heart racing like I was on a haunted hayride? What if he really was sorry? What if he wanted to get back together?

Right, like I’d ever—

No. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter whathemight want.

But shouldn’t I at least talk to him?

I washed my hands and checked myself in the mirror again, glad to see a bit of color returning to my cheeks.

I pulled out a paper towel then another, slowly rubbing them over and around my hands. I wouldn’t approach him—no way. But if he came to me… maybe I’d agree to let him apologize.

Yes. Iwantedan apology, the humbler the better. I headed down the hallway toward the event room, passing a wall of glass doors that opened onto a lush courtyard dimly lit with landscaping lights.

As I was about to step back into the party room, a man came through the doorway and nearly ran into me.

Mark.

He looked handsome as always, his elegant form complimented tonight by a midnight blue tux.

His strawberry blond hair was perfectly in place, as if he hadn’t danced or even moved all evening. Not like Larson’s hair, which was perpetually a little messy, except for the two hours per day he was on the air.

Looking past Mark into the party, I spotted the top of Larson’s head, turning, surveying the room… searching for me?

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