They chatted on the ride uptown. He was always easy company even if they weren’t in love. Over the past two years their relationship had evolved slowly, more toward friendship than romance. They both knew they had no future together although they didn’t talk about it. She had talked to Marcy about him, and she reminded Spencer that continuing to date Bill was keeping her from meeting someone she might really care about. She was wasting years if she really didn’t love him. Spencer knew that they’d have to stop seeing each other one of these days, but she wasn’t quite ready to let go yet, and she wasn’t on the hunt for a serious relationship. Her life seemed full enough as it was, and love seemed like such a high-risk endeavor. In a way, dating Bill kept her from taking any risks, which suited her.
When they got to the Met, they walked up the long flight of stone steps to the main door, where security guards and young men in tuxedos were checking people in from a list. They had Spencer’s name and Bill’s, checked them off, and wished them a good evening. There was a crowd of people just inside the main door, waiting to go up another flight of stairs. It took a few minutes to filter through the crowd, to the French Impressionist wing where the party was being held. Spencer noticed the beautiful gowns the women were wearing and was happy she had picked the gold dress. It felt appropriate in the crowd.
Many of the guests were older, as big donors often were. She saw a number of familiar faces she knew from the press, including the mayor and a senator, and several socialites, some of whom she knew were customers at Brooke’s. There was no one she knew well enough to go up and speak to. Bill went to get them each a glass of champagne at the bar. There were round tables set up, laden with silver and crystal and fine china, seating charts in various locations so you could find your seat, and there was a dance floor and a band set up. There would be dancing after dinner, which Spencer hadn’t expected. She thought the invitation was only for dinner. She hadn’t been to a party with dancing in several years. It always reminded her of how much she had loved dancing with her grandfather when she was a little girl.
Bill returned with their champagne and handed her glass to her, as Spencer continued to look around. Bill told her about the famous actress he’d seen at the bar. As she listened, she noticed a tall handsome man with a neatly cut mane of dark hair. He was looking at her, and he smiled. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t think of who he was. A moment later he disappeared into the crowd. The woman at his side was holding a martini and vanished with him.
They milled around with the other guests for an hour and moved toward the tables just before nine o’clock. Everything was on schedule and running smoothly. She and Bill consulted one of the signs on an easel and saw where their table was located. They had been given escort cards at the door when they checked in, and she’d been reassured to see that they were at the same table, but she saw on the chart that they weren’t seated together and were on opposite sides of a table for twelve. She didn’t bother to read the other names, since she didn’t know them anyway.
When she and Bill got to their table, she was surprised to see that the tall dark-haired man was seated next to her. The men were all standing, waiting for the women to be seated. Spencer noticed that the dark-haired man’s companion was seated next to Bill on the opposite side. Husbands and wives and couples who had come together were seated at the same tables, but not side by side. The man smiling down at her still looked familiar. She knew she had seen him somewhere but couldn’t remember where. She had a feeling it might have been at the store.
Spencer was seated at the head table, to the right of the dark-haired man. He was impeccably dressed in a tailor-made tuxedo she guessed had been made for him in London. She could recognize a custom-made suit anywhere. He introduced himself as Mike, they shook hands, and she sat down and glanced at the place card in front of him, as all the men took their seats, since the last of the women had taken theirs. Her eyes opened wide when she saw the name “Mr. Weston” on his place card, and she stared at him in disbelief, just as she remembered where she’d seen him. It had been at the store. He was Mike Weston, the potential investor she had refused to meet. For an instant, she thought about walking out before the dinner started, but she didn’t dare, it would have been too rude. She wondered if he had tricked her into coming, so he could convince her to let him invest in her business. If he had, she would have thought him a total boor to take advantage of a social situation to corner her. She was trapped, seated next to him at the table for the next several hours.