I nod toward an older man peering over a nearby display case and whisper his name into my date’s ear. I feel more confident in heels, so I can easily keep up with Hayes’s long strides as we approach the gentleman.
Before we reach our target, I catch Peggy’s eye from across the room where she’s entertaining a circle of familiar guests. She looks absolutely lovely in her floor-length purple gown. She gives me an enthusiastic thumbs-up, and before long, half the room’s eyes are on me. Not only on me . . . on Hayes. It occurs to me that I probably have the most handsome date in the room.
I squeeze his arm tightly as we approach Gene Westwood, CEO of one of the city’s most well-respected investment firms, known for its involvement in various philanthropic efforts.
“Gene?”
He turns around with a look of interest, his white eyebrows raised. “Yes?”
“My name is Maren. We spoke on the phone earlier this week. It’s so lovely to meet you in person,” I say as I extend one hand.
Gene accepts with a hearty shake, a wide smile stretching across his kindly, aged face. “Excellent. So nice to meet you. And this is your husband?”
My heart leaps into my throat but I recover immediately, masking my blush with a smile. “No, Hayes is . . . the inspiration behind the evening. And a very close friend of mine.”
The man on my arm shoots me a sly look that says—Inspiration, huh?—before outstretching his own hand toward Gene, who accepts it with another firm handshake.
“Happy to meet you. Are you enjoying yourself?” Hayes asks, exuding confidence and hospitality.
God, he’s sexy like this.
“Why, yes. What a fantastic event you’ve both put together,” Gene says, gesturing toward the auction items.
“Thank you,” I say, almost positive now that I can convince him to bid generously. With a grateful look around the room, I murmur, “We’ve been very lucky. Everyone has been so compassionate.”
“Now, now, don’t let anyone take the credit for your hard work,” Gene says, leaning in to give me a secretive wink. “My wife and I were just talking about bidding on this World Series treasure you’ve landed. She’s a bigger baseball fan than even me, so you can consider us sold.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.” Honestly, I’m just relieved that the subject came up so naturally.
“That jersey in particular will become a sought-after collector’s item in fifteen, twenty years,” Hayes says, waving Gene over to look more closely at the worn fabric. “The patch on the sleeve is what makes it priceless. It belongs in the hands of someone who will truly cherish it.”
“Indeed it does,” Gene mutters, nodding enthusiastically.
Seeing the excitement in his eyes, I reach over to squeeze Hayes’s hand. Thank you.
The night continues like this, with the two of us making casual but purposeful conversation with some of the biggest moguls in Chicago, only pausing to fill our plates with food from the buffet.
When the band on the corner stage starts playing some soft, crooning jazz, Hayes extends his hand to me. “May I have this dance?”
“Absolutely,” I say, taming my grin into a casual smile.
I slip my hand into his and follow his lead to the dance floor, a slightly upraised stretch of shiny, polished mahogany. Hayes stops, one hand sliding down my arm to lift my hand into his strong, sure grasp, and the other wandering around to the small of my back.
I allow myself to be tucked into his swaying embrace, resting my temple against his shoulder. He smells sweet and earthy, like a spring morning after a full night of rain. Closing my eyes, I sigh deeply, the stress of Riverside’s fate loosening its claws around my heart.
“We make quite the money magnet, don’t we?” Hayes says, his voice rumbling against my hair. His fingers trace shapes along the silk of my dress, scorching the skin beneath with hot excitement.
“It helps that you have the charisma to carry the conversation,” I say with a chuckle. “I can’t improvise like that. Just the thought of it gives me hives.”
Hayes snorts. “My charisma wouldn’t do shit without your earnestness. You’re very easy to fall for.”
I lean back to look him sternly in the eye, which proves to be a mistake. Making eye contact with Hayes is like diving headfirst into a vat of the sweetest, stickiest honey. Good luck getting out.
“That sounds like a charmed existence,” I say, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “What do you think? Should I quit my job to become someone’s sordid mistress?”
“I’d laugh, but let’s be real. You’d never leave Riverside.”
Surprised, I blink. “Why do you say that?”
“You did all of this. You spent the last month working your ass off to, what, quit and move on to something else?” he murmurs, releasing my hand to cup my cheek. Our feet stop moving, our eyes dancing as we gaze at each other. “That’s why you’re special. Work has never been about money to you. It’s always been about how much you care, dove.”
When I’m speechless, Hayes smirks and goes back to swaying with me in his arms.
How is it that every time I try to have a light, casual moment with Hayes, it always turns into this? This smoldering, heart-on-fire, can’t-catch-a-breath feeling?
“You know me pretty well, don’t you, Hayes Ellison?” I whisper, searching his eyes for some sort of sign, some clue that I’m not imagining this all-consuming fire between us.
“I pay attention, Maren Cox.” His thumb caresses my cheek, his eyes fixed on my lips.
Please kiss me. Please kiss me.
“Hayes—”
“Maren!” calls a female voice from behind me.
I swallow my words, turning around to see Peggy waddling toward us, waving a legal pad in the air.
“Maren,” she says, panting, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying my best to ignore the sensation of my date’s fingers, still pressed against the silk of my gown.
“Nothing is wrong.” She beams, her teary eyes threatening
