“All right. Just make sure you save a dance for me.” He swats her ass, and she squeaks. To my surprise, Mr. Simons wraps his arm around my shoulders as he watches his fiancée walk away. “I want to thank you for finding that event planner to help Bethaney with this. I know she can be… overly enthusiastic at times, but this was important to her. She sees this as her coming out to all the employees at the firm and she wanted to do a good job. So thanks for your role in making that happen.”

I don’t know why the love I hear in his voice surprises me, but it does. I figured she was nothing more than a good time and a hot piece of arm candy for him, but it’s clear that she’s much more than that. He might love her.

“You’re welcome.”

He squeezes my shoulder and lets his arm drop. “That partner position is looking better and better for you, Wainwright.” Without another word, he walks off.

My pulse picks up and I have to bite back a whoop. Of course, I know nothing is set in stone, but having his endorsement is key to convincing the other partners that I’m the one who should make partner when Berns retires next year.

Rather than rush right over to Kenzie, which is what I want to do, I decide to detour to the bar. I see that she’s speaking to Bethaney anyway. They each have one of those pink drinks in hand and are smiling and clinking their glasses together.

I make some small talk on my way over to the bar, doing my damndest to avoid Darla. I despise having to talk to my assistant on a daily basis at work, and I certainly don’t want to do it at a social function. No such luck though. She corners me while I’m waiting for the bartender to make my drink.

“Hi, Andrew. I mean, Mr. Wainwright.”

I give her a small smile. “Hi, Darla. How are you this evening?” I don’t bother to turn toward her, hoping she’ll catch my hint.

“Great! Didn’t the party turn out amazing? Bethaney really outdid herself.”

I want to tell her that it had nothing to do with Bethaney and everything to do with Kenzie and her ability to steer Bethaney away from her asinine ideas, but instead I say, “Everything looks wonderful.”

The bartender slides my drink toward me and I throw a bill in the tip jar.

“What’d you get to drink?”

I wrap my hand around the cold glass. “Scotch on the rocks.”