Page 151 of I'm Your Guy
I don’t hide, though. When anyone asks, I tell the truth. But it hasn’t shown up as a news headline yet.
Newgate’s story, on the other hand, was big news…for about ten days. Then a hockey player in another city got a six-game suspension for stalking his ex-girlfriend, and suddenly nobody cared about Newgate, except for his game stats, and that’s as it should be.
He was brave to be the guy who broke the ice, and I’ll always be grateful. But I hope to live in a world where being queer doesn’t make the headlines.
For the first time in my life, I truly believe it’s possible. And even if it isn’t, being Carter’s partner is more important to me than other people’s opinions.
The bell dings, and I carry my wine glass to another table listed on the scrap of paper in my pocket. I choose the seat that gives me a view of Carter.
This time it’s Kapski who sits down opposite me. As the captain, he’s a fan favorite. So after introducing myself, I enjoy a lovely (if small) shrimp kabob while listening to my table mates asking Kapski questions.
My eyes drift to Carter once again. This time I catch him watching me. He gives me a sly smile, like maybe he’s thinking about our plans for later tonight.
I wink. He smiles. But then he does a double take, his mouth falling open as he fixes his gaze on the woman sitting next to me.
With a subtle glance, I take her in. She’s in her seventies, maybe. She’s wearing a fussy purple gown with sparkly beads on it. It’s kinda ugly but not exactly shocking.
Then I spy her event ticket on the table. It reads Agnes Clotterfeld, Table 21. But I don’t know where I’ve heard that name.
My phone chimes in my breast pocket, and Mrs. Clotterfeld gives me a look of irritation. “You could silence that phone,” she says.
Not likely. I pull it out and glance at the screen. I’ve got two texts. One is from my mother, but I don’t have to jump on it like I used to, because my mom is doing great. She’s done with chemo, and she’s back to her old tricks.
The other text is more crucial.
Carter
OMG that woman beside you is the one who almost sent me to the poorhouse last year! Can’t imagine she’d give money to charity without trying to steal it back again.
HER??? How much does she still owe you?
$19,400. But who’s counting?
I slip my phone back into my pocket and turn to her. “Mrs. Clotterfeld, are you very involved with the foundation?”
“Of course,” she says with a sniff. I’m on the board of this and several other charities.”
“Wow. That’s very generous. Did you bring your checkbook? I heard the silent auction is coming next.”
She gives me a sly grin and taps her pocketbook. “I certainly did. But I won’t tell you which item I’m bidding on. I don’t like competition.”
“Cool, cool. See that gentleman over there?” I move back a few inches to improve her sightline to Carter. “A notable interior designer. I think you might remember him?”
She looks. She squints. Then she turns away quickly. “I don’t believe I do.”
“That’s interesting.” I lower my voice. “Because he showed me a contract between the two of you, one you violated for nineteen thousand and four hundred dollars. The furniture you failed to buy almost sent him into bankruptcy.”
She stiffens. “That’s ridiculous. And keep your voice down.”
“I don’t think so,” I say. “The president of this charity might like to know which of his board members don’t keep their promises. Don’t you think?”
Her eyes bulge, and her face begins to turn more red than white. I must be getting through. Although, I’m bluffing my ass off right now. Do charities even have presidents?
“Listen,” I say quietly. “You could write Carter a check right now and hand it to him. Then there’d be no story, would there?”
She draws in a deep breath, and for a second, I think she might start screaming or something. That’s gonna be awkward.
But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Carter. So I had to try.
