Game On

by Victoria Denault

  He kisses the top of my head. “I’m going to go find her. Be back in a minute.”

  I watch Dad retreat into the crowd as my program manager Selena walks over to the stage. Victor looks confused. “She’s announcing?”

  “Yeah. She’s so excited, she practiced her speech all week,” I explain and smile at the memory.

  Victor’s not smiling. “But it’s your show. It’s your business.”

  “It’s not a business,” I argue softly. “I’m not a CEO and besides, I speak every year. I thought it might be nice for everyone to hear from someone else. Selena’s been a dedicated employee since day one.”

  Why am I trying to justify my decision to him? Why does he care? He’s still frowning. “I’ve just been telling everyone you’re speaking. I wanted to show off my girl. It’s strange to me that you wouldn’t want that moment.”

  I just shrug. I can’t trust myself not to start a fight if I respond. I’m not a prize Pomeranian to parade around on stage so people can pat Victor on the back for having such a pretty girl. What the hell is wrong with him? Luckily Selena is holding the mic and walking to the front of the stage so there’s no time to argue.

  She gives a great speech, talking about how many young lives she’s seen changed thanks Daphne’s House and how much she loves her job and then she surprises me with a part of the speech I hadn’t heard her practice—she talks about me. Selena tells everyone that I’m the best boss she’s ever had and that she’s never met anyone with a bigger heart. I start to tear up a little.

  She introduces the MC, and I hug her as he starts the auction. Everything is going for more than I expected it to, which makes me excited. We really are going to meet our goal. The last prize to be auctioned is the entire row of seats, right behind the bench, to a Barons home game. Like with every item, the bidding starts at three hundred dollars, but this item escalates even more quickly than the others. By the time it hits two thousand dollars it’s basically a battle between two people—a sixty-ish man and a forty-something woman.

  I notice Alex in the corner of the patio, he’s holding a drink, head tilted down, surveying the bidding from under his dark lashes. I get that odd, intense wave of déjà vu for a fleeting moment. He notices me noticing him and our eyes connect, but the woman bidding says something that spins both our heads toward her.

  “Five thousand dollars, if the donor will throw in dinner.”

  “What the fuck?” I whisper as Victor and just about everyone around me chuckles at the brazen request.

  The MC looks at the card in his hand, which I know also contains the donor’s name. It was also posted on the printed card everyone was given detailing the auction items so she knows exactly who she’s asking to have dinner with. “Mr. Alex Larue?” he says into the mic. “Is this item sold?”

  I spin around so quickly I almost lose my balance. Our eyes connect, like he was looking for me too and I slowly and clearly mouth, “You don’t have to.”

  If he understands what I say, he doesn’t make it clear. Instead he slowly looks away from me and to the MC and starts to raise his glass. “Sold!”

  My jaw drops. The lady squeals at her victory and everyone claps, except me. I’m horrified. I feel like she just hired him for services, which kind of makes this event seem dirty. Ugh.

  The DJ takes over and the music starts and everyone goes back to mingling, drinking and dancing.

  “Sweetie, come meet my boss.”

  “I will in a moment, I promise,” I say and reach up and kiss his cheek to lessen the blow. “I just have to speak with Alex.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want him to feel obligated to go on a date with that woman,” I explain. “He wasn’t for sale.”

  Victor scoffs and gives my back a condescending little rub. “Honey, it’s not like he’s some innocent virgin. The man is a professional athlete.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means he has done worse than put out in the name of charity,” Victor replies and kisses the top of my head. “I’m going to offer my boss a cigar. I’ve got the expensive Cuban kind he likes.”

  I nod but he doesn’t see it. He’s already walking away. I make my way into the house because Alex is no longer standing in the corner looking broody with his scotch. I find Len in the dining room. She grabs my arm. “That was the woman who said she’d do anything for the Barons package, but in the end it’s Alex who will have to do anything.”

  She laughs. I don’t. My stomach twists. “Speaking of, have you seen him?”

  She points down the long hall toward the front door. “He went that way.”

  “Thanks.” I turn and leave even though I know she’s about to say something else. I need to find him.

  He’s standing in the hall, beside the staircase, talking to Luc. I walk over and try to give them both an easy smile, but it must look as tight as it feels because Luc asks, “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, but do you mind if I steal Alex for a minute?”

  He nods. “Sure thing. I’m going to go find Rose anyway.”

  Luc walks into the living room and I turn and look up at Alex. His expression is relaxed, but I know mine isn’t. “I just wanted to let you know I don’t expect you to go out with that woman.”

  He looks perplexed. “But she won.”

  I nod and smooth my hair. “Yes, but you weren’t on the auctioning block. I’m not comfortable with this.”

  He laughs. It’s this deep, somehow cocky sound. “Brie, I’m a big boy. I have been used for sex more than once in my life. I’m okay with it. In fact, I prefer it.”

  “Sex?” I blurt out the word way too loudly. Panicked, I glance around. No one seems to have noticed. I lower my voice. “No one is saying you have to have sex with her!”

  His laugh gets deeper and louder. An older couple holding martinis at the end of the hall look up. So does the waiter walking by. This is so not a conversation we should continue in public. Not knowing what else to do I open the door to the powder room, grab his wrist and pull him inside. I grope for the light as soon as the door is shut and flip it on. I’m startled to find a stricken look on his rugged face. Not startled, or confused by my actions but…anguished. Like he’s about to have a panic attack.

  “Alex?”

  “Let me out,” he demands in a voice so deep and choked I don’t even recognize it. I take a step back.

  He turns away from me and fumbles for the door handle. I feel this overwhelming need to comfort him so I reach out and touch his shoulder. “Alex. What’s wrong?”

  He jerks away from my touch and flings the door open, stumbling out into the hall. Now people are really staring. He doesn’t seem to notice as he storms off. I stand in the open door watching his retreating back and I realize “storm” isn’t the right word. Flee. He’s fleeing.

  Dear God, what happened to him?

  Chapter 8

  Alex

  I move like lightning through the house, onto the deck and then I keep going. It’s an oceanfront house, thank God, because I don’t even think the expansiveness of their driveway or street would be open enough to quell this hard, cold fear clogging my veins and filling my lungs. I find the stairs to the sand and run down them. My feet sink into the sand and I stumble. I close my eyes and force a deep breath into my lungs.

  Chatter, laughter and music float down from the party above, adding to the chaos in my head. Everything sounds harsh and shrill and jarring. Every breath is a struggle because it feels like there’s a building on my chest. Fucking hell. It hasn’t been this bad since I was in my early twenties. I thought it would never be this bad again.

  Fuck.

  Through the screaming in my head I manage to hear her say my name. It’s a cautious whisper that whips by me on the wind. I turn around and she’s about two feet away, at the bottom of the stairs, barefoot in the sand, her heels dangling from her left hand. The hem of her flowy, silver-gray dress billows around her and so do wisps of
her smooth dark hair that’s slipped out of her low side bun. It’s hard to make out her face in the pale moonlight, but that’s probably a blessing. I don’t want to see whatever expression she’s wearing because it’ll be one of the ones I fucking hate—fear, confusion, sympathy.

  “I’m sorry. I’m claustrophobic,” I explain tersely and move toward her. Well, not actually toward her; I’m heading for the stairs so I can finish fighting this panic attack in peace and without judgment.

  I won’t look at her as I pass. I keep my head down, fixated on the first step. But before I can step on it she’s blocked my path, moving her body in front of me. She drops her shoes and puts a hand on each railing completely making it impossible to climb the staircase.

  “Fuck,” I hiss. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” I step back and run a hand through my hair and then over my face.

  She steps right up to me, only a few inches away. “It’s okay. Listen to the waves. Inhale and exhale in unison with them,” she replies calmly. “Focus on just them. Nothing else.”

  If it will make her leave me alone, I’ll do anything. My brain feels like a hamster on a wheel, spinning my thoughts around and around. But I force myself to listen of the rhythmic pounding of the waves. I don’t know how long I’m standing there, matching my breaths to the crash of the waves, but eventually everything starts to slow. My thoughts, my heart rate, my blood in my veins, my breathing, everything begins to feel almost normal again.

  I feel her hand brush mine and for some reason I can’t even begin to analyze, I reach for it. It feels soft and fragile and I gently lace my fingers with hers. “You’re okay.”

  “I’ll never be okay,” I confess.

  “Alex.” Her voice is so soft and gentle. “Qu’est ce qui t’es arriver?”

  When she asks me what happened it’s is like a lightning bolt jolting me back to the reality of who this woman is and what she thinks about me. I’m a player, a jerk and now probably insane. At least I’m sure that’s what she thinks now. I’m not about to add “tortured,” “pathetic,” and “sad” to the list of words she associates with me. I let go of her hand and take a step back. “This was a wonderful fund-raiser. I hope it surpasses your goals. I’m going to go home now. Good night.”

  I leave her on the dark beach calling my name.

  I wait impatiently for the valet to come back with my rental. I could have stayed in the Hamptons overnight like Rose and Luc were but I wanted to make sure I was back in the city early to look for Mac. She never showed up this morning to meet me in front of the bakery.

  Brie doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight, thankfully. I turn back as another valet brings up someone else’s car. A couple standing to my left gets in. My car should be next. Everyone around me is chattering away and just like before the background noise is an annoyance.

  “This little hobby of hers is quite something,” I hear someone say. “You must be very proud of Brie. I wish we could have been formally introduced.”

  Her name cuts through the rest of the voices and I focus on that one conversation with the same intensity with which I focused on the waves.

  “I was hoping you could meet her too, but she’s just been so busy tonight running around making sure everything is perfect. What can I say, she’s a good girl with noble intentions,” a second voice replies. It’s familiar, so my eyes seek out the source. It’s that guy, Vince or something. And he’s talking about her like she’s a prized show pony instead of his girlfriend.

  “I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, Victor,” the older man commends him like he’s deserving of praise for the person Brie is. “And if you keep her around I’m sure I’ll get another chance to meet her.”

  “Oh she’s not going anywhere,” he replies confidently. “I’ll probably pop the question later this year. I’m ready for a wife and a family. I’m just giving her a little more time to prepare the charity for someone else to take over.”

  I’m riveted to this conversation now, even though I know I’m eavesdropping. They’re all puffing away on cigars and don’t seem to even notice me. The older man exhales a plume of smoke. “Good idea. It would be hard to run something so time-consuming and be a proper wife and mother.”

  I almost snort at that. This guy is straight out of Mad Men or something. Archaic, chauvinistic douchebag. But Victor is nodding. “She’s going to have to give the reins of this endeavor over to someone else one day if she wants to be Mrs. Rosenkrantz. Her friend Len will probably never marry so she could always take over.”

  Ouch. Jesus, what is wrong with Brie that she’s with this guy? “So does Brie want a big family?” the younger guy asks.

  “Right now all she thinks about are these foster kids. She’s even fantasized about possibly adopting,” he says and his words are dripping with disdain that he tries to cover with a smile. To me, it looks like a sneer. “She’s got such a big heart, you know, always trying to save the world.”

  “Very noble,” the older man says but he doesn’t sound impressed. “But kids are hard enough when they’re your own. You don’t need to take on someone else’s problem.”

  “Brie will come to realize that eventually,” Victor says dismissively. “I know once she has one of her own, she’ll come to her senses.”

  “Sir,” the valet interrupts my eavesdropping.

  I look over and he’s standing at the open door of my rented SUV. I hand him a tip and slip behind the wheel, pulling away before I say something inappropriate to that douchebag Brie is dating. Instead I settle for glaring at him in the rearview mirror.

  Chapter 9

  Brie

  I reach the driveway just in time to see his body slide into the driver’s seat of a black SUV. I open my mouth but stop myself from calling his name. The long circular driveway is filled with people. Not just valets and event staff, but guests. I don’t want to make a scene. I start to walk quickly toward the car, intent on reaching it before he can drive away but someone calls my name. I almost ignore it but then there’s a hand around my wrist and I turn and see Victor staring at me expectantly.

  “Speak of the devil,” he says with a big smile.

  “I think you mean angel,” a deeper, gruffer male voice says and I glance over Victor’s shoulder to see a portly older gentleman with a cigar wedged between his plump fingers. This must be the boss Victor wanted me to meet.

  “Where were you headed in such a rush, babe?” Victor asks me and I glance quickly over my shoulder in time to see Alex’s SUV turn onto the road at the end of the driveway. He’s gone. Damn it. I turn back to Victor. “Sorry, I was just hoping to catch Alex before he left.”

  Victor blinks, his face full of questions I don’t want to answer, especially in front of his boss, so I turn to him and extend my hand. “Mr. Lombardi, I’m Brie Bennett. Victor speaks very highly of you; it’s nice to finally meet you.”

  He smiles and does that thing where instead of shaking my hand he takes it in his and pats the top of it with his other hand. It’s both awkward and annoying to me and as he does it a big clump of ash from his cigar plops to the pavement between us. “I’m sure he doesn’t speak as highly of me as he does of you, young lady. After all I’m the one that makes him work weekends.”

  The men all chuckle like that was the wittiest thing anyone has ever said. Mr. Lombardi leans closer, as if about to share a secret with me and says, “This is a lovely party for a lovely cause.”

  “Thank you.” I struggle not to choke on his foul cigar and whiskey breath.

  Victor wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. Mr. Lombardi shoves the cigar between his lips, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “I know there are donation boxes inside but I wanted to give you this myself.”

  He hands me a check for twenty-five hundred dollars. “Mr. Lombardi, sir, thank you so much.”

  “Call me Peter, honey.”

  I bite my tongue to keep from responding with Call me Brie, not “honey,” honey.

 
; “Victor says you have a background in psychology and that you’re Baxter and Helena Bennett’s daughter?” he says. “I know Bax from my old position at LeBrun Industries.”

  I nod, not really paying attention. My mind still on Alex. I hope he’s okay. I debate texting him or calling him, but I don’t want to annoy him. If he wanted my help he would have asked for it, right? And since he thinks I’m some meddling, spoiled socialite, I’m the last person he’ll ask for help. His expression was pure torture when I saw him on the beach, and his body was so rigid it was like marble. And when he took my hand in his, unexpectedly, it was out of need. He was freefalling and looking for an anchor. That’s why I grasped it back, lacing my fingers with his and holding him in a firm and gentle grip, my thumb sliding soothingly back and forth against his wrist.

  Victor says something. Peter says something else. I keep smiling. Over Peter’s droopy shoulder I see Len standing on the front porch talking to the woman who bought the Barons tickets. I can’t believe Alex agreed to have dinner with her. And he thinks that means he agreed to sex. Does it? Does that woman think she can buy sexual services at a freaking charity auction? And would Alex really just sleep with her like it’s no big deal?

  “Gabrielle!” Victor’s sharp tone yanks me back to reality.

  My eyes refocus and I realize by the expectant look on Peter’s face that he’d asked me something. Victor’s hand slips from my shoulders to my hip where he holds on firmly—much more firmly than required. “You’ve just always had an affinity for helping kids in need, right Brie?”

  I blink. He smiles sharply at me, barely containing his annoyance. “That’s why you started the charity right?”

  I look back at Peter. Oh. “Well, I’m adopted and actually spent a year in foster care before I was placed with my parents. I was very young and was blessed to be adopted out of the system and into such a loving, strong family. But I’ve always been aware that not all kids have been blessed like me, by no fault of their own, and so it’s just always been important to me to try and help them. Change their luck, you know? And this charity is my way of doing that.”