Page 62 of Secondhand Secrets

So for all her wishes of love, maybe love wasn’t meant to be so complicated. So full of sacrifices. And as much as she’d come here thinking she’d gain enough insight to make a choice, she had no real choice at all.

Thirty

Ally’s fingers tightened around Chip’s hand, and she allowed him to guide her through the cavernous hotel ballroom where the Encode gala took place. Her breath caught at the monochrome interior, all the ultra-modern black and mirrored surfaces in striking contrast to the white tables and chairs, and the chandeliers supporting linear-shaped crystals that hung like icicles from the roof.

This ballroom looked closer to an upscale nightclub. Not that Ally had been to one of those either, but she’d seen interpretations in TV shows and movies, and this was pretty close to those.

All around, people gathered into close groups, the dark and bold theme repeated in the clean lines of tailored suits and perfectly fitted dresses. A hint that even the lowest paid person here likely earned more than most anyone in Harlow.

Chip’s hand suddenly seemed no longer enough. So she clung to his arm instead, which prompted him to turn and tip her chin upward so she looked at him.

“You’ll be fine, Kid.” He smiled and landed a kiss to her forehead, the action soothing the churning in her tummy.

Even though she was supposed to be supporting him, he pulled away and slid his attention down her sapphire blue silk dress’s low neckline. “I know I’ve already told you you’re beautiful tonight—”

“About ten times, at least.” She matched his smile, hoping her joke would help him relax too.

“Then, make it eleven.” He touched his nose to hers but didn’t go so far as to kiss her. “And add to that, the blue of your dress doesn’t even come close to surpassing your eyes.”

He ran a finger where her dress met her shoulder, and although she opened her mouth to point out that she’d picked her dress specifically because it brought out her eyes, her chance to say anything never came.

“Hey!” Greg bound toward her and Chip, Chip’s expression shifting to a quick frown.

“Hi, Ally.” Greg gave her a quick wave and then focused on Chip. “You have to come meet my friends from work. They want to hear about Stonewall and what you’ll be pitching to the execs tomorrow.”

Chip directed a pained look to Ally, indicating that he’d be pulled into a conversation she’d not enjoy, much less understand.

“Can we have a minute?” He spoke to Greg. “We’ve only just arrived.”

As much as she breathed an internal sigh of relief, her stronger desire remained on not holding him back, which meant not getting in the way of him making new connections.

“No. Go.” She gave a short giggle, like being left alone in a strange room with strange people was all fine by her even as she backed away and pushed him toward Greg. “Go talk shop. I’ll grab a drink and find something else to do.”

Though his brows drew heavily, she smiled wider and nodded for him to walk on, not to make her the reason he shied away from the new life awaiting him.

Her smile began to wobble, and she spun away, pretending she knew just where to go in this huge room. A server stood ahead with a tray of champagne flutes, and she strode straight over, swiping up a glass, the delicate stem fittingly cold in her hand, the effervescent, golden bubbles inside, offering a somewhat unwanted cheerier vibe.

The crowd surrounded her, and the occasional person bumped into her, as though standing alone made her invisible. Or maybe because she tucked herself away so that Chip wouldn’t see her sipping and staring at the empty stage with two big, pull-up Encode banners on either side.

If he did see her, he’d drop whatever he was doing to save her, and she wanted his saving less than she wanted the awkward solitude.

“Now, here’s a new face!”

Ally startled and snapped her attention to a woman to her left, the woman wearing a loose white shirt tucked into her tight pencil skirt, the sharp line of her ice-blonde hair at her jawline, and her stark red lips, intimidatingly meticulous.

The woman lifted her hand and hooked a finger in a gesture for Ally to join the three other women gathered near her. Like a stupefied puppy, Ally did as commanded.

“Angeline.” The woman raised her champagne flute in welcome. “And you are?”

“Ally.” She stared ahead, not sure what else to say.

The woman looked her over, as though she hadn’t been the one to see Ally first, the muscles over her face slightly stiff. “You don’t work at Encode, do you?”

The question sent icy shivers through Ally’s veins, but she shook her head and answered anyway. “I’m here with a Graduate grant candidate. Chip Overton.”

Angeline raised her chin in a that figures sort of way. “My firm has been sifting through the legalities of his Stonewall idea. Impressive. And what is it you do?”

Stalling for time, Ally took a long sip of her drink, the years having taught her that most people didn’t know how to react when she talked about her art, Chip’s dad’s reaction being case in point. “I’m a potter.”

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