Page 88 of The Frog Prince
“I am hot. I’m sweating like a pig.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” he says delicately.
Brian has always been able to make me laugh, and I laugh now. His humor is such a relief. It’s wonderful to feel light, easy. “So what are you doing here? I didn’t think this was your kind of thing.”
“It’s a good cause.”
“So people say.”
“And I’d hoped I’d see you,” he admits.
I blush, suddenly shy. “It’s a lot of money if you just wanted to see me.”
“The ticket was donated.”
“Well, there you go. I’m a cheap thrill.”
“You’re a thrill, but cheap… no. This outfit cost a fortune.”
“Never mind the castration.”
Brian’s blue eyes glint. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about that.”
“Sensitive subject?”
“Very.”
“Pointed comments getting to you?”
“You’re a funny girl, Holly Bishop.”
“I try.”
He takes my hand, fingers wrapping around mine. “Come on. Let’s dance.”
And we do.
Brian and I spend the rest of the night dancing, and it’s close to two thirty when he finally puts me into the back of a cab. We don’t make any plans to see each other again, but somehow I know we will. I just don’t know when.
ChapterSixteen
Halloween is anticlimacticafter the outrageousness of the Leather & Lace Ball. I stay home Halloween night in case I have trick-or-treaters, and there are just a handful, which leaves me alone with a big bowlful of miniature Butterfingers, Milky Ways, and Baby Ruths.
November third I throw out what’s left of the candy, which isn’t as much as it should be.
*
At City Eventsit’s always intense and frazzled, and even though the Leather & Lace Ball is over, Olivia is tougher than nails on me and even less forgiving of errors.
I hit the gym frequently, not just for my hips (well, those chocolates have made an appearance on my butt and thighs) but also for my sanity. Nothing seems to make Olivia happy anymore, and I’m constantly biting down, holding back, hoping that eventually she will lighten up.
The Beckett School’s seventy-fifth anniversary celebrations are organized. The details for Bloomberg, Bloomberg and Silverman’s holiday party are set. Oracle’s big shindig, scheduled for January, is nearly complete, and I’m spending one day every week meeting prospective clients, showing the City Events portfolio, telling them how we can help and what we do.
The weather has been mild in San Francisco—the fall is always one of the city’s nicest times of the year—and before I know it, it’s Thanksgiving week, and I’ve just two more days of work before I head home for turkey and cranberries and stuffing.
Tessa shoots me an e-mail Tuesday: “What are you doing this weekend?”
I answer without thinking, “Going to Mom’s.”