Page 2 of The Betrayer
Leaving the empty whiskey tumbler on the table, I checked myself one more time in the mirror to make sure everything looked perfect. I mopped at the dampness on my brow with a few tissues and headed downstairs.
The enormous event space had transformed since I’d been there this morning. The bones had been there, but what had been a small glimpse into the future had become a space worthy of a magazine.
Rows and rows of round tables took up the majority of the space, the less expensive in the back, the more expensive close to the stage. The room looked richly elegant between the flowers, the décor, the draping bunting, and the lavish accents. I stopped halfway down the stairway to admire it from the high vantage point. The museum in which we were holding the gala and to which the charity money was going had generously donated several displays to act as centerpieces for the night. From what I could see, they were magnificent. I would have to have a closer look later when I had the chance.
For a hopeful moment, my spirits rose. This was precisely what I’d been envisioning—in fact, it was even better.
Tara, my assistant, met me at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes were shining, and she clutched her clipboard folder overflowing with paper to her chest. She was already dressed in her gown, a deep jewel purple, her immense number of corkscrew curls piled on top of her head and held back with clips that winked with diamond. I had made sure she had what she needed to look good for tonight because it meant a lot to her.
“How do you like it?” Both of our gazes wandered up and around, taking in every aspect of the transformation from museum space to gala.
“I’m incredibly impressed,” I said, still looking around, and I meant it.
Tara let out a sigh of relief. “I’m so glad to hear it. I was worried it would be too much. But we’re almost through double-checking the list. Everything is in place, the food will start coming out as soon as the first guests begin to arrive, along with the champagne, and the band is setting up now.”
The musicians were on the stage, some sitting, some standing around talking. One tuned his trumpet, another was sucking on the reed on his clarinet as he assembled his instrument. The drummer set up his kit and chatted with one of the event planner’s staff.
“Have you heard them play?” I asked.
“Yes, Kacy took me to see one of their performances. They’re wonderful.”
“Kacy is the event planner?” I asked. “You look fantastic tonight, by the way.”
“Yes, Ms. Tannahill. And thank you.” A pleased pink dusted the apples of Tara’s cheeks.
As if the use of her name had conjured her, the young owner of the company strode toward us at that moment, her steps hurried but sure. She seemed young to be the owner of one of the most popular event-planning companies in town. But then again, youth didn’t mean incompetence—I was young.
“Mr. Finlay.” Kacy Tannahill shook my hand.
“Ms. Tannahill. You’ve really outdone yourself.”
The woman looked pleased. “Thank you, Mr. Finlay. It’s been a pleasure working on your inaugural event. I hope it all comes out to your standards.”
“Well, so far, I like what I see. But if this is any indicator, I can’t imagine the rest of the night won’t be spectacular.” I flashed the event planner a warm smile, and she smiled in return.
“Thank you, sir. Everything is here and in place, and I have no doubt it will.”
I left both women talking, their heads bent over their lists. There, at least, I had people I could count on, something I didn’t have to worry about.
Tara, too, had been young to be an executive assistant to the COO, but my instincts had been correct. I could rely on her to see the job done.
Who I couldn’t rely on was the one person I needed to really pull this night off. I needed my father to show up for the night and for the date night auction. He was the star of the show, the dashing, fifty-one-year-old CEO of the company women still swooned over, and he was supposed to bring in a lot for the charity.
My gaze swept the room, finally finding the figure I had been searching for at a far table—my girlfriend, Angela, who was typing away at her phone.
I was glad I had a built-in excuse not to be in the auction and not to be on stage. My father had always been the face of the company. That meant I didn’t have to appear in public myself, with which I was entirely uncomfortable, and instead focus on my job.
Unfortunately, my father had no such excuse, and hewasthe face of the company.
I didn’t know whether that face would show up tonight or not.
