The Pretend Girlfriend (A Billionaire Love Story #1)(40)

"No, he's not going to win," she said.

"Just stop it. It's over, Gwen. Oh, don't worry, you can keep the money. This isn't your fault..." he broke in.

She wasn't going to let this happen. Not when she knew now that this could be real.

"He isn't. We're going to go and do these interviews. We're going to go and let them snap all the pictures they want. Who cares if we don't get every question right, or have trouble answering? This has only been going on less than a week, remember. What could they possibly expect, except a couple of young people trying to discover each other?"

"I don't know..." Aiden said. His jaw started working.

Gwen squeezed his hand until he looked at her. "We're going to give them exactly what they expect. which happens to be the exact opposite of what your father expects."

"You're right," he said finally, "I've just been used to him being half a dozen moves ahead of me my whole life."

"Well tonight you're going to get your money's worth," Gwen replied.

Aiden glanced out the window. "We're almost there."

The gala took place at a Hilton. Spotlights around the building bathed it in shifting lights. And, as Gwen saw when the driver pulled the limo up, there was an honest-to-God red carpet!

The valet offered his hand and she accepted. She stepped out, instantly aware of two things. The first was the sheer number of people cordoned off behind red velvet ropes along the carpet. Most of them pointed their cameras at the car, setting off a series of flashes that left Gwen half blind, her eyes filled with multicolored afterimages.

The second was how chilly it felt out there. Somehow, she resisted the urges to throw up a hand in front of her face and hug herself. How do celebrities do this? Gwen wondered. She always saw them on live streams and YouTube videos smiling and posing, waving at people and signing autographs.

Aiden put his hand gently against the small of her back. It felt nice and warm. The only warm spot on her at the moment, really. He gave her a gentle nudge and she started forward. Her first couple steps were a little wobbly, as she'd forgotten about the heels.

Her feet didn't though. They ached and panged in protest, and she realized that she hadn't taken them off in the car to give her feet a break as she'd intended. Tonight was going to be a long night.

"Just smile for the cameras," Aiden said, "Don't worry, as soon as the next car comes up they'll shift their attention away from us."

"Okay... It's just, wow, I'm almost blind," she said, hoping that she'd twisted her lips into a smile and not a grimace. She dreaded thinking about how she must look right then, despite the dress and shoes.

"Don't worry, I'll guide you," he said. And he did, leading her gently with that warm hand of his against her back. Thankfully she just needed to keep moving in a straight line.

They walked past a pretty reporter staring into a camera lens, "And this is Aiden Manning, son of business magnate Henry Manning, coming up now. Aiden, who is this ravishing creature with you tonight?"

Gwen didn't actually expect Aiden to stop, but he did. He smiled at the camera. He was in his element now, she realized. Putting on a show for the viewers, moving people over to his side of things. She thought of how he'd held her father’s hand in his. What other little rhetorical tricks did Aiden keep tucked away?

"Hi. Please let me introduce Gwen Browning..." he started.

"Are you two seeing each other? And that is a stunning dress!" the reporter asked, shoving the microphone in Gwen's face.

"Yes, yes we are," Gwen said. She'd never been aware of the sound of her own voice in her life. Did it sound a little raspy? It was cold out, after all.

"How wonderful!" the reporter said. Then she lowered the microphone and leaned in a little, "Are you okay, sweetie? You look a little cold."

"She forget her jacket again," Aiden said. He pulled his tuxedo jacket off and draped it over her shoulders.

"So you can see, chivalry isn't dead," the reporter said, looking back at the camera.

Just as Aiden told her, as soon as the next limo pulled up and a beautiful woman stepped out, all those flashes redirected back towards the street and away from them.

She tugged his jacket closer. "I'm beginning to get quite a collection of these."

"Well, I'm going to need this one back when we get inside."

The rest of the walk up the carpet wasn't bad at all. And then they were in the hotel. Another man in a tuxedo, his black hair slicked back, came up to show them to their table, which was in the hotel's largest conference room. Inside, there had to be about a hundred round tables draped with white cloths, all with four chairs around them.

It reminded her of their "dinner" with Henry.

The large room reverberated with dozens of conversations and the occasional light tinkling of champagne flutes touching.

They were seated. Waiters came around with trays of champagne glasses and hors d’oeuvres. Gwen didn't accept any of them, her stomach still too tangled to let anything in.

And, just as Aiden said, a number of reporters worked the room teamed up with a cameraman.

A pretty woman verging on middle age, the wrinkles in her face nearly obscured by her Botox treatments, took a seat at the table. Her cameraman pointed the lens in their direction and gave her the thumbs up.