Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(37)

I pat his arm and kindly say, “It’s called panic. Welcome to the show that is my life. Strap in, it’s going to be bumpy.”

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath just as Roberts and Gloria come back to sit down.

“Sorry about that,” Roberts says while placing his arm behind Gloria.

It’s odd to see your boss outside the workplace because if I didn’t know Roberts professionally, at this moment, I’d believe he seemed like an easygoing guy. He’s relaxed, in his element, and enjoying himself. There’s no crease between his brow, no pep in his step to yell at someone for doing their job inadequately. He’s . . . dare I say it? Chill.

I honestly don’t think I like it. It’s throwing off everything I ever believed in.

“Have you two thought about what the season will be like and the toll it will have on your relationship?” Roberts asks, the question quite specific. Makes me wonder if he’s fishing for anything.

Is that why he seems so relaxed because he’s trying to loosen us up, make us feel comfortable so we say something we might not want to say?

Well, too bad for him. The boning of this dress has released from its confines and is digging into my side, putting me on high alert.

“We’ve spoken about it,” Silas says, clearly wanting to take the lead now on answering questions.

Go ahead, man. I’m exhausted.

“She understands the schedule and that I’ll sometimes be gone on longer trips, but the days I’m in town will be spent with her when I’m not required to be at the arena.”

“Balance is important,” Roberts says and smiles. “But so are championships.”

“They are.”

“Think you’ll win another one this year?”

“That’s the goal,” Silas says while taking a very tiny sip of his Scotch, something I appreciate since he’s the one who has to drive me back to my dorm. After the chicken tender–donkey debacle, he could be guzzling it.

“Mr. Roberts,” another assistant says, “the chair would like to speak with you about your speech.”

Roberts sighs and places his hands on his legs. “Duty calls. I’ll let you two have some time with the rest of the crowd. Thank you for coming, and we’ll catch up some more later.”

“Sounds great,” Silas says, and together, we all rise. Silas and Roberts shake hands one more time. I smile at Gloria, she nods at me, and then we part.

Silas takes my hand in his and keeps me close as he walks us through the crowd and over to the far wall, where we can scrounge up a touch of privacy.

“Was it worth it?” he asks when we’re finally out of range of other ears.

“Was what worth it?”

“Embarrassing me. Was it worth the minuscule leap you must have taken in his eyes?”

“Hey,” I say, pushing at his chest. “Don’t be mean. It’s a stupid story about your fly being undone. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It is when I have people all over this goddamn city trying to find information to print about me.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, Ollie. I’m not like you. I can’t float around this world without a worry or care. I have to watch my image at all times.”

“I don’t float around without a worry or care. I care very much, hence why I brought you to this stupid thing. And I panicked. I didn’t say those things to purposely embarrass you. It just happened.”

“Well, control yourself. Jesus. If you’re going to make moves in this world, in this career, then you’ll have to grow up, Ollie.”

I take a step back, his words hitting me harder than I expected because they sound like something my dad would say.

Journalism? Grow up, Ollie. Pick a real job.

And just like with my dad, it’s not something I take lightly, nor will I let slide.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I say. “Just because you think you’re wiser than me doesn’t give you the authority to treat me like a child. I fucked up tonight because I thought Gloria could see right through us. That panic made me try to think of a more elaborate story that seemed more believable. I’m sorry that I didn’t paint you as the golden boy of Vancouver. My apologies. I didn’t know you needed your ego stroked that badly.”

I pick up my skirt and turn on my heel, heading in a different direction. Any direction to get away from him.

“Ollie, wait,” I hear him call out, but I ignore him.

I then spot the buffet.

Bingo.

This girl needs a freaking crab cake.

With one thing on my mind, I bolt to the buffet where I pick up a plate and examine all the fine foods expertly crafted.

Fruits, cheeses, crackers, fancy vegetables cut to look like flowers. Mini beef things that look tempting, shrimp in a dollop of cocktail sauce, and . . . crab cakes.

Come to mama.

Don’t mind distracting the hurt Silas just caused by a delicious, perfectly fried crab cake.

“I heard the beef Wellington is delicious,” a familiar voice says. I glance up to find Yonny standing beside me, plate in hand.

“Ah, beef Wellington, I couldn’t think of the name. Doesn’t that take a while to cook?”

“Apparently, that’s why it’s such a delicacy to have as an appetizer at a buffet. Although, I’ve never seen it like this, in bite-size nuggets.” He smirks at me, and it feels . . . odd. The last time he smirked at me was when he found out he could eat prepackaged cookie dough and not get sick.