Page 11 of The Betrayer
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THE GUESTS HAD BEGUNto arrive.
It was a thrill as much as it was anxiety-inducing. The people coming through the doors were in their resplendent best. Outside, I could see the carpet and velvet rope—both blue in this case—with the graphics of tonight’s foundation pasted across the temporary wall erected for tonight. As each individual or couple passed, they would stop and preen in for the photographers, their smiles bright, their poses practiced, their gowns and jewelry and tuxes noticeably expensive. They were here to see and be seen.
Angela and I had already gone outside to walk it, posing while cameras flashed. The photographers called our names to get our attention and reporters yelled out questions. My girlfriend had seemed in her element, shining under the praise and the lights. I, on the other hand, had hurried through it as fast as possible, praying my expression didn’t seem half as wooden and fake as it felt.
In preparation for taking on a more public role of COO, and thanks to my father’s comments about being a dead fish on camera, I had brought someone in to help me learn to be more natural on camera. Even though my father was the face of the company and the one more often in the limelight—or on TV—I couldn’t lurk in the shadows. I had to do my own circuit of interviews, magazines, and blogs. This had been especially true when the company had gone public, and every tech publication had wanted me on their cover—my father and me, anyway.
The consultant had helped me learn how to pose, look relaxed, and show off my best side. I hadn’t realized I had a good side, much less all that went into looking natural on camera.
How my father had been the easy, breezy face of the company for so long, I never knew. He hadn’t had any “model lessons,” as he put it, making me instantly regret having told him about the sessions despite the fact he was the impetus for them. Yet, somehow, he was always picture perfect—the mischievous half-smile, hair perfectly tousled with just a touch of gray, beard and mustache always trimmed perfectly while looking like he hadn’t spent any time on it.
He was the envy of men half his age and the object of affection of women more than half his age. I would never understand why for the life of me. Could they not see past his façade to the man underneath? The one who would rather chase women than be there for his son?
Because the guests were here, but he still wasn’t.
And the people here mattered: they were the investors, the women who sat on the biggest and most important charity boards, the hedge fund managers, the politicians, the celebrities. They were the people who would help put our business on the map. But we had to make a good impression first.
“I cannot believe he’s not here yet,” I bit out between clenched teeth. I managed to maintain my smile while I greeted a city councilor and her husband, followed by a famous socialite who had come with her assistant.
“Relax. He’ll be here. If not, it’s your show anyway,” Angela whispered, smoothly moving to meet the double cheek kisses of a foreign dignitary, greeting the woman warmly and with familiarity.
I was grateful to have Angela at my side, really. She was easily keeping her cool while my temperature had been steadily climbing. Her steadiness and inability to be fazed gave me an anchor I could cling to, and I appreciated it.
Angela and I had been dating for a few months. The attorney had come into my life unexpectedly, and though I knew I didn’t have time for a relationship, our connection had grown without me even trying. It was, I had to admit, nice to have someone to share what little time I had outside of work with. More than that, I could talk to her about the business, and she wouldn’t run away screaming.
Unlike the few women I’d dated who had been my age or younger, Angela was older. But I liked that. It meant she was mature and established, not looking for someone to carry her feelings or her life. She was confident and understood my dedication to my job, unlike others who had grown tired of all the hours we didn’t see each other. In fact, she had her own job to which she was highly dedicated, so she understood what was happening during the weeks we barely saw each other, if at all. Like now, she was always beside me when I needed someone to go to one of these dreadful dinners or galas. More than that, she was supportive and would lend an ear.
Angela was also a knockout. The woman was tall with curves in all the right places, with thick chocolate hair and large brown eyes. Her self-confidence showed in everything she did, and I loved how she never let anyone push her around. If there were times she got a bit pushy with me, she didn’t crumble the moment I called her on it, either. We had similar political beliefs and enjoyed the same types of music and food.
We made a good couple and a good team.
So why didn’t I have actual feelings for her?
At first, I’d been fascinated. That fascination had turned to something more along the lines of interest, but not love. Not even like. I liked being around her, but I couldn’t call my feelings romantic. Angela filled a specific need I’d had but nothing more.
The question was, did it matter at all? She represented what I needed from a partner. Did it matter that it wasn’t love? That sparks didn’t fly when we kissed or when she walked into a room? She was beautiful and had been there every time I needed her for the past few months. She was steady, and our relationship seemed like everything I’d wanted—perfect.
Almost perfect.
But at least she was here.
The evening started well, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves outwardly. Tara had been right—the band was good. Wait staff in black were already distributing the canapes and champagne, and multiple people browsed the auction items. A loud hum of indistinct chatter filled the room beneath the music.
I made my required rounds, shook the right hands, greeted the right people, and said the right things. Despite my earlier nerves, I was able to turn on the charismatic COO, flashing smiles, making small talk, and laughing when jokes weren’t particularly funny. I even deflected answers about my father, making smooth excuses I hoped no one could see through. I hoped my shirt wasn’t see-through at this point.
Glancing at my watch, I calculated the time until dinner would begin, followed by speeches and the auction. I would need to be at the table with the other large donors, the ones who had paid out the nose to sit at the main table, but the thought of food made my stomach turn.
I leaned over so I could murmur in Angela’s ear. “I’m going to go over my speech.”
She looked up, both eyebrows rising faintly. “Again? You’ve already gone over it multiple times.”
“Just need to make sure everything is perfect.”
My girlfriend’s dark eyes watched my face for a moment, her mouth pulling into a line.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I promised, fidgeting with my watch before I realized and stopped myself. My gaze swept the crowd to find Tara.
