Page 59 of White Collar Rancher

“Finish,” Justin growled.

“Well, you were a big-shot business guy. Get out your finest suit, knot that tie, and go close the deal.”

Close the deal. He’d never been one to back down when his future was riding on the outcome.

Chapter 17

The gala fired up all her senses. Natasha had really outdone herself this time.

As Priya lingered in the entrance, she took it all in.

Now she knew how Cinderella felt. The room had cathedral ceilings and a Renaissance style, with swooping chandeliers, and—was that a stained-glass window? Natasha must have connections to have secured this lavish location.

Cream tablecloths and servers wearing crisp white shirts with black vests and bow ties glossed through the room. The lack of a suit coat set them apart from attendees. Men strode around in black tuxes from all the big names. Tom Ford. Stefano Ricci. Burberry.

The evening gowns were dazzling eye candy. She wished she could park a seat in the corner and make the attendees stroll past for her own personal fashion show.

She glanced down to double-check her neckline. Or lack of. The Carolina Herrera gown, borrowed from Natasha, was sleeveless, sleek, and glossy black. A leafy pattern picked out in crystals curved around her bustline and down one side to the top of her thigh. The style was simple and elegant, and the dress was unusually comfortable.

Her shoes were not. The heels had a small platform on the bottom to give her a boost, so she wouldn’t have to look up to talk to everyone about challenges in rural health and how bigger children’s hospitals like the one her dear friend was raising funds for were critical to her population.

Priya’s heart fluttered and nerves fired up her belly. She almost patted her hair, but she dropped her hand and clasped it with her other. She’d have to burn off her adrenaline another way. Given how much she’d paid for the elegant twist secured at the back of her head, she didn’t dare touch it.

A familiar face appeared in the crowd. Her stomach clenched, but not in an ooh, there he is way. More like oh, it’s him. Funny how the last six months had made her breakup seem decades old.

Emmett’s gaze landed on her and he lifted his chin. The hint of a smile and the sparkle in his dark brown eyes used to turn her insides to goo, but tonight, the mess in her belly was just indigestion.

Only she hadn’t eaten, because Natasha was half a size smaller than her. Priya could’ve afforded a brand-new version of this dress, but she’d rather use a loaner and write a check for Natasha’s hospital.

She stiffened. Emmett approached, and since she hadn’t left the doorway, she couldn’t swoop away and grab an appetizer without it being obvious she was avoiding him. Making him eat his heart out wasn’t happening. Happiness wasn’t bursting out of her in rainbows and unicorns. She’d been nursing heartbreak for almost a month and a half.

“Pri.” Emmett’s gaze dropped to her feet and took its time coming back up again. “Gorgeous as always.”

She gave the perfunctory smile expected of her. She resented his use of her nickname. But this night wasn’t about her. She had no revenge to get. Being with Justin had shown her that she and Emmett were wrong together. When she was with him, she wasn’t comfortable enough to be herself. It was when she was with Justin that she’d rediscovered who she really was.

But then, they’d never been together. That was the problem.

Tonight is not about me. And she had to be nice to Emmett. She was here to raise money, and she couldn’t risk pissing off Emmett, the star of the night. Rising transplant surgeon on the obsidian edge of technology, with his adept fingers in the latest procedures? He was the one those with deep pockets sought out. Not her.

She gave him her most tolerant smile. “Emmett. Charming as always.”

He stopped in front of her, a hand tucked smoothly in his pocket. With the pose he struck, he could be mistaken for a model instead of a talented surgeon. No wonder he was the star of the show. People automatically glanced his way, assessing him, tilting their heads as they planned how to get close to him. Emmett looked like someone you should know.

He thrived on it. And she used to be his, had thrived on being his one and only. He also thrived on being his one and only.

“How’s birthing babies?” he drawled in a slight Southern accent. It wasn’t fake, but he’d worked effortlessly to neutralize his speech. He’d always worried that a kid from Mobile, Alabama, wouldn’t be taken seriously as a world-renowned surgeon.

“How’s swapping hearts?”

He didn’t bother looking at the server as he snagged a champagne flute from a tray. “Good, according to the thirty-five-year-old mother of two that will probably live to see them both graduate.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. Take the higher ground. His work was important. So was hers, and she wouldn’t demean herself by arguing about it.

A woman who topped her by five inches, wearing a dress that cost at least three grand more than this one originally had, sidled next to Emmett and plucked the glass from his hand. Her dazzling smile brighter than the diamond on her finger. “Are you regaling this poor woman with your stories, dear?”

Emmett chuckled and slipped an arm around her. “She’s heard a lot of them. LaShay, this is Priya. She’s one of the group I told you about. Pri, this is my fiancée.”

LaShay’s eyes brightened. “Oh, the group with Natasha?”

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