It's like something out of a movie. It’s how the other half parties.
The ballroom glows like the inside of a dark amethyst.
Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over the downtown Manhattan skyline.
Two women hang suspended from the ceiling, twirling slowly in long, white silk, graceful and breathtaking and no one even pays them any attention—and they’re just one component of the opulent background. Guests mingle in their finery, sparkling crystal champagne flutes pass by on trays. The air is the perfect temperature, sensually scented. The room is lit just enough to see the faces of the people around us, but dark enough to give a sense of…permission.
“I had no idea the union rolled like this,” I murmur to Gabe.
“They do during election years,” he replies, gesturing to a man mingling on the other side of the room. After the crowd parts slightly, I see it’s the actual mayor of New York City. “My father was a 401 member, too, back in the day. He used to say the unions elect the mayor, not the people. This is how they court us.”
“Or in this case, make amends.” I tip my head toward Jameson Crouch who is clear on the opposite side of the room as the mayor. “Doesn’t look like it’s going too well.”
“The night is young,” Gabe says, following my line of sight. “It’s going to take more than one drink to get those two on better terms.”
My fingers itch to take out my phone and tap out a few notes for my story, but I don’t. That’s not why I’m here. Tonight is about Gabe.
Primarily, at least.
There’s a warm buzz on the side of my neck and I follow Gabe’s attention toward the bar where, sure enough, Tobias and Banks are standing. At opposite ends. I watch long enough to witness a woman approach Tobias and I’m surprised when he gives her a curt shake of his head without looking, sending her away. For Banks’s part, he sets his drink down slowly when he sees me and tugs roughly on the collar of his starched white shirt.
Good lord. I only stepped off the elevator a minute ago and already I’m having to focus on my breathing, commanding my pulse to remain steady.
What are these men doing to me?
Gabe’s fingers jolt within mine, drawing my attention.
He’s no longer looking at the bar. Instead his eyes are locked on a couple across the room. There’s no doubt the man is his brother, though there are obvious differences. Both of them are tall and husky, but Gabe is firmer. Packed tight in the muscle area. But after a moment of observation, it’s easy to see Gabe’s brother has a certain devil-may-care charisma that attracts people like flies to honey. Men slap him on the back as they pass by and he snaps out a greeting that makes them laugh every time. He’s loud and attention grabbing where Gabe is more of a strong, silent type.
The woman his brother is dancing with—presumably Gabe’s ex, Candace—enjoys the attention he draws. Basks in it even when she’s not directly addressed. There’s nothing wrong with liking attention. I like it, too, depending on the situation. But bottom line, if this woman was the one who hurt Gabe, we aren’t going to be friendly.
I didn’t wake up this morning and decide to act as a bodyguard for a man twice my size, but here we are.
Murmurs on all sides of us draw my notice. Eyes shift from one brother to the other, whispers are passed between sips of drinks. There are two very distinct groups in attendance. Men and women who look at ease in their finery. And construction types who seem very uncomfortable in their tuxedos. Half of them already have their bow ties dangling from their pockets. It’s that latter group splitting their attention between Gabe and his brother, watching to see what will happen. How he’ll react to his ex-wife and brother cozied up in public.
“Are you still in love with her?” I ask Gabe, surprised to find my stomach knotted.
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m not sure I ever was. I think I…”
“What?” I prompt him after a few moments of silence.
“I got my growth spurt a lot earlier than my brother.” He ducks his head slightly and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe he’s telling me this. “Growing up, I was only called outside to play if the football got stuck in a tree. I had this broom handle I kept by the door, so I could dislodge the ball from between the branches. Then we got older and I started sneaking everyone into movies, claiming to be eighteen when I was only fourteen. The lady at the ticket counter knew we were full of shit, but she let us in anyway.” He tips his chin at the dancefloor. “And then one day, he was as tall as me. I wasn’t needed for anything and I didn’t…I wasn’t as quick with the comebacks and jokes. I just stayed out of the way, so I wouldn’t have to feel like I was…out of place, I guess.” Very briefly, his gaze flickers to the woman on the dancefloor, before finding my gaze. “It just felt good to be chosen. By someone. Maybe even anyone. Is that terrible?”