They’re frozen on my hand.

“Tell me, Mother, is a man like that worthy of your name?”

Her eyes begin to lift, but I don’t stand there to find out what’s within them because it doesn’t matter.

She’s about to leave and I don’t get to.

Chapter 29

The furniture in the great room has been moved in favor of small cocktail tables and random seating is scattered throughout.

The music is low and some classical bullshit the rich only listen to because some uppity asshole along the way decided it was to be part of the process.

The hors d’oeuvre table is fit for a rabbit cage and the gift table could rival a mall’s Christmas display, but I smile and play polite as I’m introduced to Anthony’s staff and who the hell ever the rest of these people are.

I know I sound like an ungrateful brat, maybe he’s trying to be nice and he absolutely didn’t have to do any of this, but considering the circumstances, I have not a grateful bone in my body.

My soul purpose is getting through this evening so I can slip back inside the room I’ve been assigned.

I’m basically Anthony’s shadow for the night, stuck to his side to smile, to play polite, and to laugh at jokes I don’t get while making small talk with women I’ll never fit in with. We didn’t discuss a story to share with his crowd, so I let him tell a tale of how we met through mutual friends and our connection was instant.

It’s true if the friend is my mother and the contract she put together within a few days’ time counts as the connection.

Either way...

Smile, smile, smile.

Thankfully, Anthony’s friends are his coworkers who all have work tomorrow, so they’re out by eleven-thirty.

As he closes the door behind the last guest, I spin away, but he catches my hand and walks me up the stairs.

“I have a gift for you,” he shares. “I was planning on waiting, but the circumstance doesn’t quite allow for it.”

“You didn’t need to get me anything, Anthony. I appreciate you setting this up for me tonight.” Lie.

“Of course, I figure it’s best we start off on a strong foot, one where we understand each other.”

I try to play coy, but suspicion swims in my gut. “Should I be following what you’re saying?”

“A better question, I think, would be, do you think you should?” he counters, lowering into his chair, leaving me standing before him.

“I get the feeling you wish the answer were yes.”

“But it’s not.” He cocks his head. “Is it?”