“Oliver Kingsley Hollingsworth at your service,” he said and bowed his lips to my palm.
I raised an eyebrow and then fluttered my eyelashes. “Aren’t you the charmer? Giada Valentina Santella.”
It was rare for me to whip out my full name, but something about this man and his own pretentious-as-fuck last name demanded it. Then I noticed the man beside him.
“This is Charles Wellington,” the older man said.
Charles stuck out his limp hand, and I shook it. He was a looker. He had swooping dark hair, full, voluptuous red lips, and a beak-like nose that only made him seem more aristocratic.
“Charles has the lead role in The Death of Engleberg,” the older man said and puffed out his chest.
“How lovely,” I said. “I just met Miss Von Beef.”
Charles furrowed his brow and didn’t answer.
Interesting. Maybe the two didn’t like one another. That could make some dramatic chemistry on stage. It could be really bad. Or really good.
“Yes, Nicoletta is a good girl,” Hollingsworth said.
I didn’t smile. What a fucking schmuck. Good girl? An accomplished professional opera singer was not a girl. I was biting my tongue and finally couldn’t stand it any longer.
“You must mean ‘woman,’ my dear Mr. Hollingsworth,” I said and plastered a smile on my face.
He guffawed. “Oh, yes. I forget that ‘girl’ is no longer acceptable. My apologies, Miss Santella. I’m eighty-nine years old, and sometimes it’s hard to keep track of how things change. My memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”
I smiled back—a genuine one this time and dipped my head.
Old fart managed to charm the fuck out of me and defuse my prickly side.
I kind of liked him for it.
“It’s definitely a lot to keep track of,” I said. “I always try to be aware of my words so I don’t offend anybody, and yet, when I had a teenager at home, she’d point out about every other day something I’d been saying for years that was now offensive. It’s definitely hard to keep track. I appreciate your open-mindedness to my comment.”
“But of course.”
The man on the other side of Dante stood up and cleared his throat.
“I think we’ve all had time to catch up, so I’d like to start the meeting,” he said. “As many of you know, I’m Dick Carriger, vice president of the San Francisco Opera Association.
He was a distinguished-looking man with long dark hair in a ponytail and wore a three-piece black suit with a purple tie.
“Before we get started, however, I do want us to take a moment to remember Samuel Glass. He was found dead this morning, as most of you know. The police are investigating.”
A murmur ran through the group. I’d nearly forgotten. Fuck. Oops.
But there were no gasps of surprise, so I assumed everyone already knew about the man’s death. People bowed their heads. I didn’t. I didn’t know the dude. I noticed that Nicoletta didn’t, either. She was staring at Mr. Hollingsworth. It was so strange.
Then Carriger spoke again.
“I’d also like to introduce our newest committee member, Gia Santella.”
He gestured at me and I smiled. “She will be taking over Tiana’s role as the head of the speaker and entertainment committee now that Tiana is on maternity leave and busy with those two bundles of joy. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said. As soon as everyone looked away, I shot Dante an alarmed look. I already had an assignment? Nice of him to warn me.
“Our first order of business,” Carriger said, “should, sadly, be on filling another now-vacant committee head. Would anyone here have time to take on Mr. Glass’s responsibilities? I know that’s asking a lot, but I think since he’d already organized most of the auction items, it would just be following up. Do we have any volunteers?”
“I can do it,” a handsome man with a deep tan said. He met my eyes and I looked away quickly. I was not in the mood.
At that point, I began to tune out the meeting.
It was pretty damn boring. I tried hard to pay attention, but was really only interested in sliding over to the bar and pouring myself a drink. At one point Dante caught my eye, and I jutted my chin toward the bar. He shook his head in exasperation.
There was a short break called, and I walked over, stepped behind the bar, and made myself a tall tequila straight up. I downed it and was back in my seat before the meeting began again.
Finally, what felt like hours later, the meeting was over.
After, while I looked longingly at the bar with all the booze, we said our goodbyes as people filed past where we stood by the elevator.
“It was a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Hollingsworth said. His boy toy, Charles, dipped his head at me but didn’t speak. He was a little odd.
People milled around two separate doors that I realized were elevators on opposite sides of the room.
“What’s behind the other doors?” I asked Dante.
“Stick around. I’ll give you a tour as soon as everyone leaves. One is to the kitchen. One is a stairwell.”
“Nice.”
“First, let me introduce you to some of the key players. You met Mr. Hollingsworth and Charles.”
“Match made in heaven,” I said dryly. I thought it was appropriate that Hollingsworth was called by his last name with “mister” and his fuck boy was simply called “Charles.”
Dante shot me a warning glance. “Oliver Hollingsworth is one of the richest and most powerful men in San Francisco. I’m sure he has his choice of boy toys,” he said in a low voice.
“I get it. But he’s a hell of a lot more charming than his boy toy. I figured he could be pickier. Fuck someone with a little more personality.”
“Gia!”
“What?”
Then Dante plastered a broad smile on his face.
“Gia, may I introduce you to Mayor Anthony Ferraro.”
It was the man with the deep tan. He looked like
