Page 69 of The Billionaire's Second Chance
“Beautiful necklace, Millicent,” I said with a polite smile.
“Oh, you’ll never guess where I got it,” she said, smiling back. “Well, where Steven got it for me.” She fluttered heavily mascaraed lashes at the man sitting next to her, who continued frowning down at an older model phone he was typing on with one jabbing finger. He didn’t seem to notice. “That was your first big fundraiser, right? What was the grand total?”
I kept my smile fixed in place. “Superintendent Lawson is very happy with the results.”
“Good for you,” she said, nudging me with an elbow. “And good for her. And good for the kids, right?” I nodded, swallowing down the queasy feeling of guilt rising in my throat. I had gotten what I wanted. I was here as an honoree tonight, wasn’t I? This was the beginning of the rest of my career. My life. “Is Charlie coming with James and Edie?”
“Sorry?” I asked, and she gestured at the empty seat next to me with one sparkling hand.
“Oh,” I said. “No. My brother.”
“How sweet. He must be very proud.”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t know if I believed that was true. My fingers felt numb. Not, though, as numb as my chest.
“Hey, Sam.” The voice was so familiar I had to close my eyes for a moment, collect myself, before turning to the man to whom it belonged.
“James,” I said. Green eyes stared curiously back at me from under wavy brown hair. How was I supposed to work with him again when he looked so much like– I swallowed thickly. “And Edie. Hello.” I smiled past the sick feeling in the back of my throat. How much had they heard when I was arguing with Charlie in their guest bedroom? Theirnursery, now. More or less than Sebastian heard that first time? The thought made me sick to my stomach. I’d rushed from the party, leaving Charlie to make my excuses. I knew, even as I sat motionless in the back of the taxi taking me home, that he would do it.
He could keep a fucking secret.
He’d kept mine.
But he’d kept a secret of his own, too.
“Congratulations,” Edie whispered to me, and I shot a smile back at her. She was wearing a dress that clung to her changing form. I supposed the news was out now.
“I have you to thank, in part,” I said, “and James.” She scrunched her nose up.
“Hardly. And anyway, we have you to thank, for everything. Without you, I don’t know what we’d have done.” Edie’s book had rescued her relationship with James, as well as launched my career to a new level.
“Probably write more novels,” I said, looking pointedly at her stomach with one eyebrow arched. She laughed, leaning into James’s shoulder. She didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, but I didn’t feel relieved, only vaguely disappointed in myself.
The chair beside me was still empty as the lights dimmed, the chair of NY Lit stepping up to the podium staged in front of the huge, carved marble fireplace. I stared at the words engraved above it, reading them over and over as the man droned on.I look to the diffusion of light and education as the resource most to be relied on for ameliorating the condition, promoting the virtue and advancing the happiness of man.Was that what made mankind happy? The diffusion of light? A vague, distant concept. I frowned.
Where are you?I typed. My finger hovered over the send button for a long time. I wouldn’t ask him again. I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone.
I wouldn’t beg.
I deleted the message and tucked my phone into my purse again.
As he spoke, the chairman held up a crystal sphere engraved with the NY Lit logo with two hands, the spotlights glinting off the surface and seeming to illuminate it from within. That’s what I wanted. Not the diffusion of light, but the distillation of it, trapped inside a crystal award that told everyone here in this room that it was notmewho was the trophy, it was me who earned them.
One by one, the glinting awards on the table to the side of the podium were placed into the hands of their recipients–save the applause for the end please–until finally, my name was called.
Samantha Scott, Agent of the Year.
I stood, making my way to the podium, where I gripped his hand tightly. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s an honor.”
“I look forward to seeing where you go next, Ms. Scott,” he said.
I turned to face the photographer, one hand clutched tight in the chair’s, and the other holding the smooth sphere. I smiled into the brief blinding flash of the camera, eyes open wide, before the chair placed one hand between my shoulderblades, ushering me back to my seat. I took a moment to blink, adjusting the focus of my eyes from the flashing camera to the dimly lit room.
The silhouette, stark against the brighter hallway, was unmistakable. It leaned against the doorframe, one hand tucked into its pocket, the other rising in a tiny wave.
I sucked in a breath and looked away quickly, letting my feet take me unthinking back to my seat. Even without looking, though, every nerve ending in my body seemed trained on his presence.
Charlie. I could feel his focused attention on me as I sat down at the table, placing my trophy between my empty plate and the empty spot next to me. It glinted there, like a sphere of ice, as the chair called the next recipient up to the podium. An older man in an ill-fitting suit–a rare book dealer, if I had to guess by the look of him–stood, making his way slowly up to the podium.
