Page 14 of Fight for Me

The coordinator backstage told her she was supposed to greet the winning bidder and graciously thank them for their generosity, then mingle with the attendees at the cocktail party, being sure to drop the designer’s name as often as possible. The organizers of the event would take care of dry-cleaning and delivering the dress after the event.

She glanced around and saw Maria animatedly talking with a middle-aged couple who were the buyers of her dress. Anne wondered how long she’d be and shifted from one sore foot to the other. She was starving.

“Well, so we meet again.”

Startled, Anne turned to see the one person she’d dreaded. Blane Kirk. Heat climbed in her cheeks.

“Thank you for your help,” she said stiffly, “but I’m waiting to greet the winner of the auction.”

He gave a shallow bow. “And so you have.”

Anne’s brows climbed. “I don’t think this comes in your size.”

Blane’s smile showed the dimple in his cheek. Her stomach flipped. Damn it.

“I have a niece who’ll enjoy it, though perhaps not her parents.”

Anne’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a lot of money to spend on your niece. I’d like an Uncle Moneybags, please.”

Blane laughed, his eyes twinkling. “I’m not always so generous, but the charity is a good one, so I thought I’d splurge.”

“Aren’t all charities good ones?” Anne countered.

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” He held out an arm for her to take. “Are you hungry? They have hors d’oeuvres and cocktails.”

A whisper of warning made her hesitate, but she couldn’t very well let him stand there when he’d shelled out over thirty grand for the charity. She took his arm, stuck on how surreal this was.

“Food would be great. I’m starving.”

Anne took a moment to discreetly look him over as he led her through the throng of people. He was dressed in his usual impeccably tailored two-thousand-dollar suit, the width of his shoulders softened by the clean lines as only a good tailor could do. It was somewhere between black and charcoal gray, contrasting starkly against the white of his shirt. His tie was a deep burgundy with a tiny silver design woven through it. The shine on his shoes gleamed and Anne wondered if he polished them himself.

Doubtful.

Politicians were the wannabe A-listers, but weren’t pretty enough to make it in Hollywood. So politics was the next best choice for fame and fortune. Though Senator Kirk could give Brad Pitt a run for his money, Anne thought. Actually, he was better looking than Brad (sacrilege).

Finally, the crowd thinned as they crossed from the foyer to the ballroom. People were gathered in small clumps here and there as uniformed waiters drifted among them, carrying silver trays filled with various delectable treats. Anne’s mouth watered.

A waiter passed by and Anne unabashedly flagged him down, pulling her arm from Blane’s.

“Hey, wait, over here!”

She took a napkin from the waiter and piled four canapes on it, taking a fifth and popping it directly into her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed as she chewed, and Blane’s lips twitched.

“Ah, thank you,” Blane said to the waiter. “Perhaps if you’d send a few of your other servers this way?” She apparently hadn’t been kidding when she said she was starving.

He nodded and hurried off, sending a slightly disapproving look towards Anne who was still enraptured with the canapes, which were quickly disappearing from her napkin.

“Delishush,” Anne said through a mouth full of canape, delicately touching the napkin to the corners of her mouth. Blane stifled a grin. She was a refreshing gust of clean air in the stuffy, perfumed corridors of fake people and ulterior motives. Not to mention looking sexy as hell in that dress and with the hair, even if her cheeks were bulging like a squirrel hoarding nuts as she ate. How a woman could look sexy and darling at the same time was beyond him, but she managed it.

Another waiter minced up to them and Anne’s face lit up. Blane could practically see her eyes widen at the mini-lobster rolls. She piled two onto her napkin and took a third to eat, much to the waiter’s chagrin.

Blane snagged two glasses of champagne from another passing tray and handed one to Anne.

“Feeling better?” he asked as she devoured the lobster rolls.

Her cheeks turned pink as she glanced at him, then swallowed the last roll, nodding. “Much, thank you.”

“How did you get involved in this?” Blane asked. “I wouldn’t have thought it was your sort of thing.”

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