If the shock of him acting like he’s had any part of Quinton’s launch shows on my face, neither of the men in front of me acknowledge it.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Carlin.”

“Yes.” His clammy hand takes hold of mine in a very firm handshake. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“I’ve been thinking about that project we’ve been discussing.” Mr. Mahler directs all of his attention to Charles, as if he didn’t just call me over. “What do you think about having her plan the event?”

Now, I have a lot—and I mean a lot—of pet peeves, but people talking about me like I’m not standing right there is at the top of the list.

“Oh yes.” Charles looks around the room, stopping on the balloons cascading across the ceiling before looking back at Mr. Mahler and nodding his head. “Yes, I think she would do very well.”

He nods once before the pair turns to face me. “I have been tasked with hosting a very important event. It’s a fundraiser, much like tonight, but a little more . . . traditional. Does that sound like something you could handle?”

“Yes, of course.” A traditional, formal sit-down would actually be easier for me to put together. “Does this mean that you want me to stop working with Quinton?”

For some reason, the thought of not working with him anymore—not seeing the aftermath of this event—makes me hesitant to accept this offer.

“Oh no.” Mr. Mahler and Charles laugh like they’re both in on a joke but don’t want to fill me in. “This will be separate from the Mustangs and as such, compensation will be separate as well. Or will this be too much to do while you handle Mr. Howard?”

I ignore the way he seems to growl Quinton’s name. Been there, done that.

“No!” I almost jump at the opportunity. “I would love that!”

Because my mom died when I was young, my dad made sure he had life insurance to help me out if anything ever happened to him. That, along with the money I got from selling a house in Denver, was enough to pay off hospital bills, give him the funeral he deserved, and put a down payment on my place, but I’m not rolling in money . . . not even close.

“Wonderful, just wonderful!” He clasps his hand on my shoulder. “Stop by my office on Friday and we’ll go over some things.”

“I’ll be there.” My cheeks hurt from smiling. Tonight is going better than I ever could’ve imagined. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“You’re welcome, now just don’t let me down,” he says before someone calls his name and he wanders in their direction.