America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(81)

My knee’s hopping the entire ride. Mom’s beaming. Dad’s shaking his head and smiling ruefully. Ellie’s rambling about how much Tucker would’ve loved this car, especially with all the buttons next to the seat.

And I’m feeling like a dumbass for using a stretch Hummer to haul around three environmental engineers on our way to meet a fourth.

But it’s not like we could take the light-rail.

Okay, technically, we could’ve. But not without causing a scene.

Made enough scenes this week, and I’d like to put off the air of competent fashion mogul tonight instead of complete and total dumbass.

“Work mode, Ryder,” Charlie reminds me quietly when we pull up to the planetarium where she set up this last-minute fundraiser. There’s a red carpet rolled out and photographers and video cameras lining the ropes giving us a path inside the glass-and-steel domed building.

“Holy shit,” Wyatt mutters. He reaches for his bow tie, but Ellie grabs his hand before he can mess it up.

“Smile for the cameras,” she tells him. “They’ll love you.”

“A few more than there were in Milan, aren’t there?” Mom says. She’s also shrinking back some.

“It’ll be quieter once we’re inside,” I tell her. “Ellie’s right. Just smile. They’ll love you.”

“Of course they will,” Dad agrees.

Charlie climbs down first and steps aside. Wyatt’s next, and he waits just outside the door to help Ellie. Cameras flash, and shouts of It’s the Ryders! go up in the crowd.

“Are you this popular, or are they all hoping you’ll fall on your face?” Dad asks me with a wink and a grin.

“Both,” I reply.

I hope I’m not wrong about the reporters inside.

Charlie vetted the media and my team hired extra security for the night. Once we’re in the main space for the semi-private dinner, there are exactly four reporters authorized to join us in the building, and since we personally vetted every one of the seventy-five guests—mostly Copper Valley businesspeople, some athletes and musicians, and local politicians, and I bought most of their tickets and just asked them to be here without doing anything other than dressing up for a show and dinner—I know everything will be fine.

I think.

I hope.

This week hasn’t exactly been an exercise in smooth sailing, and I know Vaughn’s waiting on the final reports out of tonight to decide if the foundation is still on. We invited him, of course, but he couldn’t make it.

Or possibly didn’t want to be here if I blow it again.

But it feels like the stakes are so much higher than getting to help some kids and reclaim my image.

Because of Sarah.

I hope like hell tonight’s not torture for her.

Dad climbs out of the Hummer and helps Mom down, and I can see her blushing all the way down her neck as she smiles at the waiting press.

I follow them all, tug my cuffs down, and flash the smile that landed me my first modeling contract before stepping to Mom’s other side and offering her my arm. “Two escorts for the belle of the ball?”

She laughs and tucks her arm into my elbow. “You are such a charmer.”

“I learned from the best.”

She smiles up at Dad. “I know.”

He winks at her, and the six of us head inside past shouted questions about if I’ve learned my lesson, if Sarah’s here, if her parents arranged all this to revive Sunny’s career, if I’m paying off the picketers at my factory in Hoboken, how much I’m paying Sarah to date me, how much she’s paying me to talk about Persephone, and is it true that I’m selling out to finance a rocket ship to Mars so I can offend all the little green men too?

“Is it always like this?” Mom mutters.

“Usually they’re asking him to flash his underwear,” Charlie tells her. “So this could be considered an improvement.”

“They’re just looking for reactions,” I assure her as the glass doors part and let us into the cool lobby.

And I do mean cool.

Not only is it ten degrees cooler than the summer evening outside, but it’s also just wicked awesome.

The rounded walls are black velvet with stars sprinkled like glitter, and the recessed lights of the ceiling three stories above illuminate an artist’s rendition of the solar system in brilliant colors and textured paint that makes you think you could reach up and feel the flames in the glowing sun.

There’s a compass designed into the marble floor, and the ladies’ shoes click-click-click subtly amidst the murmur of the distinguished guests who could make it on such short notice.

Wouldn’t be here at all if there hadn’t been a wedding cancelation. The bride’s a former Sweetheart though—that’s what the Bro Code fan club was called back in the day—and she agreed to let us take over the venue on the stipulation that she get to attend.

Easy enough.

I greet the other last-minute stragglers, then cast my eyes upward again, scanning the cantina lofted on the second floor at the top of a staircase that hugs the curve of the wall.

My daughter will accompany you, but only if she’s allowed to make an entrance in style, Sunny said during negotiations for how tonight would go down.

Fuck.

Not even a week ago.