Page 52 of Silver Fox's Secret Triplets
I chose jewelry carefully—pearl earrings that had been my grandmother's, a delicate gold bracelet Mom had given me for my twenty-first birthday. Nothing too flashy, nothing that would draw attention to itself or raise questions about where it came from.
By six-thirty, I was ready and waiting by the front window, my heart hammering against my ribs. Every car that passed made my pulse spike, even though I knew Duncan wouldn't arrive for another fifteen minutes.
At exactly six-forty-five, his black sedan pulled into the driveway. I grabbed my clutch and headed for the door, but froze when I saw Dad's minivan turning onto our street. He pulled into the driveway behind Duncan's car, and I could see the kids' faces pressed against the windows, tired but happy from their extended grandparent time.
I stepped outside, closing the front door behind me, and walked toward Duncan's car. He was already out of the driver's seat, looking devastating in his black tuxedo, his silver-streaked hair perfectly styled. He stood by the passenger door as I walked to my minivan and grabbed a small bottle of perfume from the glovebox. When I straightened I noticed him staring.
Duncan gave the minivan a thorough once-over as I spritzed my perfume and walked toward him, his expression thoughtful. When I joined him, he smiled, but there was something curious in his eyes. "Didn't picture you as a minivan girl," he said, his tone light but probing. He opened the door for me and I slid in, though my hands were shaking a little.
I forced a smile, my chest constricting around the lie I was about to tell. "Got a good deal on it. Hard to pass up reliable transportation."
The words felt wrong in my mouth, another deception added to the growing pile between us, and I only prayed he didn't ask about the baby on board sticker clinging to the back window. This was a bad idea, but it was too late to back out now.
20
DUNCAN
Iadjusted my bow tie one final time as the elevator ascended to the hotel's ballroom floor. The doors opened to reveal Ivy waiting in the hallway, and I smiled warmly at seeing her without her jacket. She wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, the fabric flowing elegantly to her ankles. Her auburn hair was swept up in a sophisticated twist, revealing the graceful line of her neck. When she turned toward me, her hazel eyes sparkled with nervous excitement.
"You look stunning," I said, offering her my arm as I leaned in to kiss her cheek.
A blush crept across her cheeks. "Thank you. I wasn't sure about the dress."
"Trust me, it's perfect."
"Thank you for dropping me at the door… So chilly out tonight."
"Speak nothing of it, just let me get you a drink." I winked at her and she slipped her arm through mine, which was more than I expected from her this evening, with everything being so public.
We entered the ballroom together, and I felt the familiar shift of attention that came with these events. The space glowed with warm candlelight, crystal chandeliers casting prismatic light across the crowd of tuxedos and evening gowns. Soft jazz filled the air while guests mingled with champagne flutes in hand.
I'd attended dozens of these charity galas over the years, but tonight felt different. Tonight I had Ivy beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, and I found myself standing straighter, smiling more easily than I had in months.
"Duncan Walsh," came a familiar voice. Nick Martinez approached with his wife Miriam, both beaming. "Good to see you here."
"Nick, Miriam, lovely to see you both." I placed my hand gently on Ivy's lower back. "I'd love you to meet Ivy Whitmore, my executive assistant."
Ivy smiled gracefully and shook their hands, falling into easy conversation about the charity we were supporting tonight. I watched her navigate the small talk with natural charm, asking thoughtful questions and listening intently to their responses.
"Your assistant seems delightful," Miriam murmured to me while Nick and Ivy discussed the silent auction items.
"She is," I replied, unable to keep the warmth from my voice.
Miriam's knowing smile told me she'd caught the subtext.
We moved through the crowd, stopping to chat with colleagues and donors. Ivy handled every introduction with poise, never seeming overwhelmed by the wealth and influence surrounding us. She laughed at appropriate moments, asked intelligent questions, and somehow made everyone she spoke with feel heard and valued.
I found myself stealing glances at her throughout the evening, captivated by the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear or how her eyes crinkled when she genuinelysmiled. The months of professional distance had only intensified my awareness of her every gesture.
"You're staring," she whispered during a lull in conversation.
"Can you blame me?"
Her cheeks flushed pink again, and she looked down at her champagne glass. "People will notice."
"Let them."
The boldness of my response surprised us both. For months, we'd maintained careful boundaries, but tonight felt different. Tonight felt significant.
