All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(29)

The other seats at her table were filled with familiar, famous faces. Carah Brown. Maria Ivarsson. Peter Reedton. A couple of other people she vaguely remembered from movie screens at her favorite local theater.

She didn’t pay them a bit of attention beyond a single glance, because she’d finally spotted Alex. He was walking beside Desiree and ascending the steps to the stage. Just a few words from him, and the publicist began laughing as she took her position at the edge of the platform. Because he was a natural-born charmer, that man. The Pied Piper of too-serious women.

He stood behind a lectern on the brilliantly lit dais, the microphone positioned perfectly for his height, his midnight suit sleek, his face and body beautiful enough to make her teeth ache.

He was brighter than any spotlight.

The wattage of his star power left afterimages behind her eyelids, and that was before he even opened his mouth.

“Good evening,” he said, voice rich and confident and amused. “I suspect you know who I am already, but if you don’t, please let me introduce myself. I’m Alexander Woodroe, and I play Cupid on Gods of the Gates. If you haven’t seen the show, you likely think I fly around in a diaper for a living, but no. I save that for the weekends.”

The guests chuckled, attention rapt on him.

He cleared his throat, and that wicked smile faded. Gripping the edges of the lectern, he looked out over the audience. “I got involved with tonight’s charity five years ago, and there’s a reason I’ve put nearly all my efforts and donations into this one organization. They do good work. Real work. I’ve toured the shelters and offices, I’ve met their employees and clients, and before I ever joined their cause, my friend Marcus forced me to do my research.”

She frowned. Where was Marcus?

“With his help, I made certain the organization ran as efficiently as possible, so any money donated could go as far as possible,” he told the sea of tables before him. “I also made sure they reached out to LGBTQIA+ women—especially trans women—and women of color, because we all know our most vulnerable communities often find themselves excluded from the support they desperately need and deserve.”

At that point, she began to calculate how much of a donation she could realistically afford, because Alex was a damn effective spokesperson for the charity.

He continued, “The workers are kind, and they treat their clients—abused women and children, people with urgent needs on so many levels—with respect. They—” From this close to the stage, she could see his throat bob as he swallowed. “They listen. They pay attention to what those women and children say, so they know how best to help. How to reach more people in need, and how to support those people in rebuilding lives free from violence.”

His knuckles were white with strain as he held on to the lectern.

“In our world, not—not everyone listens.” His voice—it cracked a bit. Wavered. “Not everyone pays enough attention.”

He looked down at the floor of the stage for a moment, silent, and Lauren couldn’t hear a single whisper of sound from the audience either. As a group, they seemed to be holding their breath as they watched him struggle with … something.

This was personal. She recognized guilt and grief when she saw it.

She wanted to rush up onstage and comfort him. Protect him, as yet another threat—this one invisible—tried to take him out at the knees tonight. But she was his minder, not his actual date. They’d known each other approximately eight days, and she had no right to demand his story, no right to offer herself as a bulwark against his pain.

He was a distant star in a midnight sky, and she could do nothing.

When he raised his head again, he flashed that sharp-edged, sardonic smile. “I mean, we’re Hollywood types, right? We’re self-absorbed. At least, I certainly am. I miss things. Even crucial things. Like, say, when I should stop drinking and leave a bar.”

He leaned in close to the microphone, speaking in a faux whisper. “Hint: It’s before the fight breaks out.”

A few gasps, and more laughter.

She rubbed her temples. Had Ron approved a reference to Alex’s arrest? If not, if that was an ad-lib, she and Alex were sure to hear about it in the near future.

“In just a minute, Mariela Medellín, our local director, will tell you more about what the organization does, whom it helps, and how it works, because that’s important information.” He inclined his head toward the dark-haired woman standing to the side and slightly behind him on the stage. “But I’m here tonight as a representative of self-absorbed Hollywood. I’m here to tell you what’s in it for you if you donate and donate big.”

Was Alex self-absorbed?

When they’d first met, she’d have said yes. Without hesitation.

Now, she wasn’t so sure.

“I’ve played heroes on television and movie screens. Demigods. Firefighters. Doctors. Spurned lovers of French mimes.” More laughter. “But I’ve never felt more like a hero than the day I associated myself with this organization and handed them my first check. The day I realized more money meant more resources for those suffering abuse. My money—your money—ensures local survivors know their options, know how to get help, know they can leave, know how to build a new life, and know they can do so safely and with ample support.”

He raised his brows and leaned forward again, and most people she saw at surrounding tables leaned forward too.