The Trouble With Quarterbacks(46)

I slip right behind them then wait my turn at the side entrance. A group of people dressed in black with headsets on and tablets in their hands asks each guest for their ID before they’re allowed past. I’m shaky with nerves as I pass mine over.

“Hopefully my name’s on your list! I was only added this week, I think,” I stammer, though she’s paying me no attention.

“Williams, Candace. You can go in.”

Then she hands me back my ID and looks behind me toward the next person.

Right, well, I’ve breached the defenses rather easily!

The joke makes me smile to myself as I join the small crowd of people heading inside Gotham Hall. The building is huge, but it’s easy enough to follow the carpet-lined passage toward a huge set of double doors, which are open so people can flood into the main event space. The gala is housed inside a huge round room covered with a dome made up of ornate stained-glass. Wowzers, it’s quite a venue, all tinted blue with snazzy lighting so everyone looks their absolute best. There’re loads of attendants hovering around in tuxedos, ready with trays of canapés and flutes of champagne. I grab one and take a heavy sip, smiling with delight as the bubbles fill my mouth.

“Delicious,” I say, smiling at the waiter.

He grins back and I think he’s about to say something, but then another guest catches his attention and asks for two flutes of her own.

I drift around the perimeter of the space, taking in the crowd. Since it’s still early, not many people are here yet. I sort of hate it because it makes it harder to blend in. I look for someone else standing off by themselves, like me, but it seems like everyone else belongs more than I do. I try not to stop walking for long, aware that if I do, I’ll really look like a sad sap. I sip my champagne and try to take my time looking around the room at the stained glass and the night sky showing through it.

It’s lovely, really, and I’m trying hard to admire it and forget about how self-conscious I feel when I sense someone stop near me.

It’s the waiter from earlier, a young guy about my age with floppy blond hair and a huge smile.

“Nice party, huh?”

I laugh and nod. “Very fahn-cy,” I drawl.

His grin widens. “Yeah. Never been at an event like this.”

“Neither have I,” I admit, feeling better having gotten the confession off my chest.

He nods and volunteers, “I don’t usually work these things, to be honest. I’m a grad student over at NYU and needed some spare cash.” He shrugs. “Thought it’d be fun.”

“That’s great. You’ll probably make great tips.” Then I hold up my hand in warning. “Not from me, mind you. I’m one of the poor ones. You’ll have to spot the guests whose purses and trousers are sagging from all the cash they’ve got loaded in them.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “It’s cool. Tips aren’t really necessary. They’re paying us pretty well.”

“Really? That’s good. I sort of wish I were working the event with you. I think I’d feel loads more comfortable.”

His gaze falls on my lips, as if he’s finally caught on to my accent. “You’re British?”

I shrug. “Guilty.”

“Cool. I like the accent. It’s…” His gaze sort of falls down my dress for a moment, and I think the word “cute” dies on his lips. “It’s cool. I like it.”

I blush like a bloody buffoon and take another sip of my champagne.

“You should finish that quickly so I can hand you a new one. That way it looks like I’m supposed to be hanging around you.”

“Ha. What a ploy! I’ll be tipsy if I go too fast. Kind of a lightweight.”

His brow quirks. “Yeah? All right, then I’ll go easy on you.”

He’s definitely doing some proper flirting, and it feels so odd considering I’m waiting for Logan to arrive. It’s not like I want to lead this guy on, but it feels nice to not be standing totally alone.

“Ah hell. That’s my boss waving her hand, telling me to circulate. You stay put. I’ll be back soon.”

I laugh and promise him I won’t be far. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go.

The minutes drag while I stand alone, damn near close to twiddling my thumbs. I check my mobile and see a text from Logan. My heart skips a beat.

LOGAN: Be there soon. Leaving my apartment now.





Thank GOD.

I might leap on him when he arrives.

My waiter friend comes back a few minutes later with a tray of food. Little crab cakes preloaded on spoons and crackers with something lovely and savory heaped on top. I take one of each, and then another, and then tease him that he’ll have to leave or I’ll finish off the whole tray by myself.

“That’s okay. As long as I come back with it empty, they won’t care.”

I grin and take another sip of champagne.

I ask him about what he’s studying at NYU, and he asks me how long I’ve been in the States. I try to give him my full attention, but truthfully, my gaze keeps leaping back to the entrance of the room, waiting for Logan to pass through the doors.

A real crowd is starting to gather now, and I’ve seen more than one notable person walk in: the mayor of New York City, Billie Eilish, Lester Holt. The crowd is quite diverse, and I’m giddy from how many celebrities are circulating the room now. One actress from Modern Family, the one who plays the older sister, even compliments my dress as she walks by me! Ace! I can’t wait to tell Yasmine and Kat. They’ll die!