Ready for tonight?
Though I’m tempted to sit on my bed and wait for his response, I toss my phone back on the duvet and head for the bathroom.
The hot water from the shower eases the stress in my shoulders and neck, a small relief that I don’t take for granted. Lathering up some shaving cream in my hands, I cover my legs one by one. I love the repetitive action of drawing a razor ever so gently over my skin. When I’m cleaning up my bikini line, the memory of Hayes’s eyes flashing up to mine from between my legs sends a shock straight to my core.
I let the water turn cold before I get out of the shower, a rush of reality to remind me of my first priority—making nice with the rich friends of Riverside tonight. Not having life-altering sex with Hayes Ellison.
When I return to my room wrapped in a damp towel, a buzz-buzz draws me back to my bed.
I’ll pick you up at seven.
His message is short and to the point. It does nothing to ease the anxiety stewing inside me.
Sitting in Hayes’s Lexus that evening, I periodically check my phone to make sure the venue hasn’t burned to the ground or the caterers haven’t forgotten the vegan options.
Since the fundraiser was my brainchild, Peggy insisted that I leave all the extra event prep to her and her team of student volunteers. When I called her just hours ago to suggest I could arrive early to coordinate the auction arrangements, she stopped me cold.
“No, no, no, enough of that. We’ll take care of the setup. You take your time. Arrive in style!”
This is about as stylish as I get, but it’s certainly not an outfit to be ignored. The fancy dresses in the back of my closet were looking a little worn from too many semi-formals and weddings, so I turned to my good friend the internet for some consignment designer options.
My tanned legs peek out of the long slit along the side of the creamy silk gown. The gold accents around the bodice frame my neck and breasts perfectly, neither too subtle nor too gaudy. My long brown hair is pulled to the side, a waterfall of curls secured over one shoulder with an elegant clip my grandmother once gave me. My makeup is all natural except for a matte-nutmeg lipstick I bought on a whim during a downtown shopping spree. It may have taken three hours to get ready for tonight, but I look good.
And my date, well, he looks like he belongs on the cover of GQ magazine, his hair slicked back into a natural wave, and his well-tailored tuxedo accentuating those broad, sexy shoulders. When Hayes’s impossibly sharp eyes meet mine, I have to remind my lungs to keep breathing.
“What’s the game plan for tonight?” he asks, glancing between me and the road. “You’re courting some pretty big money, so does that make me your wingman?”
“That’s the idea,” I say, pulling a binder from the very unstylish tote bag I plan to leave in the car. “I’ve memorized every guest’s name, vocation, and relationship to Riverside, but if you want to take a look before we go in, there should be time.”
Eyeing the binder, Hayes chuckles. “I trust you. We’ve still got another forty minutes to go, so give me the SparkNotes version.”
“Sure.”
After a half hour of my describing each guest, from most influential to least, Hayes reaches over and closes the binder with a firm hand.
“You’re killing me,” he says with a groan. “I can’t hear about one more philanthropic entrepreneur who prefers the White Sox to the Cubs. How the hell did you find time to put all of this together?”
“A few late nights,” I say with a shrug. “It’s all online if you know where to look.”
He sighs, sounding bored already. “I bet.”
I reach over to place a hand on his forearm. “This is going to be fun, okay? I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly having a glass of champagne.”
“Or twelve,” he mutters with a smirk.
“Or twelve. You can drink as much as you’d like. Just in case, I reserved a hotel room at the venue, in the event we don’t want to risk the drive home.”
The air between us is suddenly charged, my fingertips on his jacket sleeve electrified. Neither of us has dared mention again what happened at the lake house, but I can feel our attraction in every heated look, in every tension-filled stare.
Hayes finally grunts, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Probably a good idea.”
I breathe out a soft sigh of relief.
Reserving only one hotel room was a big move on my part, but he doesn’t seem upset or uncomfortable. Truthfully, my bank account would never recover from a purchase of two reservations this close to when rent’s due. Also truthfully, the idea of sharing a room with Hayes after a fancy night like this really excites me. More than it probably should.
When we arrive, Hayes and I stride past the coat check and a gathering of young volunteers, straight through the double doors. The view is astonishing.
The vaulted ceiling is dripping with tiny Edison bulbs, casting a deep glow upon all the arriving guests. Tall cabaret tables are decorated with simple, but eye-catching floral centerpieces. On the far side of the room sits an expansive table where the buffet will take place, all the catered food warming over wick fuel cans. Situated around the perimeter of the room are displays of the auction items—coveted Chicago memorabilia and collectibles, and experience packages from popular massage studios, luxury cruise lines, and prominent theater companies.
I must be gawking because Hayes puts his warm palm against the small of my back and gently urges me forward.
“Let’s get to work, shall we?” he whispers in my ear.
When my wide eyes meet his confident gaze, his sensual mouth slides into a relaxed smile. Straightening his shoulders, he hooks my arm into the crook of
