The rest of week dragged, painfully slow; she was still completely rushed off her feet now she’d added Harper to her active accounts, but Tori was counting the seconds until Saturday.

The only thing keeping her sane was her phone. Tori had never been much of a ‘phone person’, preferring face-to-face interaction to texts or calls, but that Tuesday night, receiving a Thank you, love. Feeling much better. I owe you something pretty for this from an unknown number, she changed her mind.

Texts rocked.

I have found that payments in fancy coffees are more than suitable, she shot back.

She stared at her phone, watching the three little dots move as he typed a reply, all the while recalling how many times she’d rolled her eyes at her friends for doing just that. Staring wasn’t going to make the reply come any faster.

Pretty sure most gals would prefer something from Tiffany’s.

I don’t like jewelry. Not even diamonds. They all look fake, don’t you think? Especially the big ones.

Marry me.

She laughed, and they carried on chatting about irrelevant stuff for the rest of the week. She was doing so on Thursday at the Rooftop bar, a stupid smile plastered on her face, when Cassie, the traitor, remarked in front of all their friends.

“Fucking hell, Tori, are you texting?”

No one had paid attention to her at all until the annoyingly observant novelist picked up on her action.

“No,” she lied, putting her phone down. A telltale beep betrayed her, though. “Why are we meeting in such a touristy place anyway?”

“Because I’m seeing a friend who’s visiting NYC for the first time for dinner here. Anyway, stop deflecting. You totally are texting.”

“What’s the big deal?” asked Cali, a bubbly, pretty brunette Tori didn’t know well. She rarely made it to their meet-ups. “I text all the time. You know, now Wren bought me a phone.”

“The big deal,” Piper smirked, “is that Victoria Brown is completely against texting.”

Lucinda Warner nodded emphatically. “Yes, she’s above such things. You text her? She calls you back to say that yes, she will grace us with her presence.”

“I couldn’t say something half as haughty if I tried,” she replied, glaring at Lucy. “But yes, I’m not too fond of texting. Doesn’t mean I never do it.”

Another lie, and, unfortunately, one person amongst them knew it.

“Not buying that. See, Tori was dumped by text junior year of high school. Then, second year of college, she was informed that the office where she was working part time was closing - basically, fired - by text.”

Cassandra knew better than to speak about the third strike: when Sandra had texted her to let her know her dad had died.

Tori shrugged. “I maintain that texting is the coward’s way out for bad news. That doesn’t mean I can’t text about irrelevant stuff.”

“And who are you having this irrelevant conversation that makes you blush like that with, Ice Queen?”

She tried to glare until they dropped it, and failed: the half dozen women looking at her eagerly, expectantly, leaning forward, finally managed to make her laugh and spill the bean.

“James’ younger brother.”

“Would this younger brother happen to be hot, by any chance?”

Hot didn’t begin to cover it, but all she said was, “Maybe.”

* * *

Finally, it was Saturday.

Tori spent the morning shopping. She’d decided on her dress days ago, but looking at it when she’d woken up, it had seemed inadequate, boring. Plus, she’d already worn it once at a gala.

Coming back home a few thousand dollars poorer, and with a bunch of pretty bags weighing her down, she then freaked out about underwear. Dammit, why had she agreed to let Bryant pick what she wore after the benefit? How was she supposed to choose panties now?

Reaching for her phone, Tori asked him, what am I wearing later?

The response was almost instant. Surprise.

That just won’t do. I need to know what underwear I should wear; you know, so they don’t show or anything.

Simple. Don’t wear any. :)

Tori rolled her eyes, taking it as a joke at first, but then, she remembered the dress; the one she’d had all along. It was backless, sleeveless, so the design came with some padding; she didn’t need a bra with that. The long skirt hid her ass well enough. Blushing and grinning, she resolved to take that bait.

Terrible idea. She’d forgotten how wet she got around the guy; just seeing him was enough for her to embarrass herself. Four hours later, when he picked her up wearing a black tux that fit him in a way that should be illegal, she felt her thighs get sticky. Fuck. What if there was a wet patch on her damn skirt now?

“What’s with the limo?”

He grinned in response. “I figured you could get changed in there later.”

“Into what?”

The look in his eyes made her fear the worst.

“Let’s get this benefit out of the way and then you can find out.”

Tori had started attending benefits right out of high school. Not that she wanted to, at first, but Sandra had met William at a benefit, and she was insistent that her daughter should show her face until she reeled in a decent suitor.

Like, seriously. That was actually what had come out of her mouth. The reason why she’d caved the first time was because going to school was expensive and time consuming; Tori could have taken a part-time job like many of her fellow students, but Sandra did offer to pay a decent allowance as long as she went to those damn benefits. In an appropriate dress.

Needless to say, eighteen-year-old Tori had definitely dragged her heels. But her first benefit had been for teenagers living on the streets, kids who were just a few years younger than her, and who had nothing. That had been humbling, to say the least. She’d started volunteering to help them out when she could. Then, the second benefit had been for teenage mothers. And survivors of a hurricane, right here in the US. And other things which actually mattered.

After years of faithfully turning up each time she was invited, she was noticed by some of the organizers, and they now had lunch a couple of times a year, sitting at a table and discussing the next charity they wanted to help. Tori had been a nobody; mainly there to take notes for a couple of years. Now that she’d convinced James and his checkbook to attend, she had a better standing amongst the society women.

“Tori, dear,” Jessamine Abraham, the mayor’s daughter, greeted her, kissing her cheek, and peeking behind her shoulder. “Is this hunk with you? Tell me he’s with you, darling. If anyone deserves all those shoulder muscles, it’s definitely you.”

She probably should have said that Bryant and she weren’t an actual thing, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the stunning American Sweetheart who would have, no doubt, jumped at him.

“Yep, he’s with me.”

“I need me one of those. Now, fair warning: your mother’s already here. She’s put her hooks on daddy, and, no offense, but she strikes me as Evil Stepmother material, so what do I do?”

“Throw a bucket of water at her. Wait, no, better go for a sure thing and just hit her with a house instead.” If it worked on the Wicked Witch of the East, it ought to be efficient on her mother.

They were laughing when Bryant, done talking to his contact, joined them.

“Jess, this is Bryant, James Croft’s brother. Bryant, Jessamine Abraham.”

She fully expected him to flirt with her, she was ready for it; that was what he did with everyone, right? But Bryant said, “Nice to meet you,” and took Tori’s hand. Not one flirtatious smirk, not one glance at Jess’ generous cleavage. What the hell?

“Are the others coming?” Tori asked, then she explained to Bryant, “There’s a lot of regulars here, but only a handful of us are in our age range, so we stick together if we can.”

“I heard from Vanessa; she’ll be late but she’s stopping by. Keira hasn’t talked to any of us since she got jilted at the altar.”

Tori couldn’t blame her. She hadn’t made it to the wedding, but everyone knew that the groom had gone for her stepsister.

“Unfortunately, her ex and her sister are coming, and we’re stuck at their table. We basically can’t talk to them, out of solidarity.”

How she’d missed fourth grade. Not.

The ex and the sister were wise enough to request a different table, which meant that the next two hours were mostly drama-free.

Bryant fit in; his suit and his job title meant that the guys around the table accepted him, his accent and his prettiness swayed everyone else.

Halfway through the dinner, after listening to way too much gossip, Tori was ready to sell her soul to get out of there. The food was always exquisite, although he wouldn’t have minded portions twice as large.

“So, is this your version of a fun weekend?” Bryant asked in a hushed tone.

She wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or be offended. Probably both.

“I’m bored to death,” she whispered back.

“So, what are we doing here?”

She opened her mouth, but it was Jess who replied, from the other side of the table. Damn. She was still good at reading lips.

“In half an hour, they’ll be auctioning a bunch of stuff we don’t need, and a bunch of rich blokes like you are going to bid on them in an epic pissing contest. We,” she pointed to her chest, “are the witnesses. Without us, and by that I mean the sexy women they can’t have, and the successful, hot, and young guys who get to fuck us, they wouldn’t try to piss nearly as far, sweetie. They don’t want to give money to charities; they want to be seen doing so.”

That pretty much summed it up.

Bryant seemed amused. “I never saw it that way.”

“Of course not. Men prefer to think we’re here to try to bag us a sugar daddy. Makes them believe they have a chance.”

Out of all the socialites she knew, Jessamine was probably her favorite person, because she was one of the very few who said it like it was.

Finally, the auction started.

Tori never participated herself; sometimes, she did it on behalf of Croft Advertising, but she could see James raising his sign at the other end of the room.

Instead of paying attention to what the auctioneer was saying, she started freaking out. The auction part of the evening never lasted too long; there generally was just a dozen items. So, this was it. In less than an hour, Bryant was going to take her to his club.

Fuck. She was biting her lip, stressing out, imagining the worst, and crossing her legs, wishing she’d worn some goddamn panties. The one thing she wasn’t doing, though, was trying to back down.

The notion never even crossed her mind. Tori knew that if she didn’t at least try things out, she’d spend the rest of her life wondering if Bryant Parker was the one who got away.

Finally, the last bid was accepted.

“Ready?”

Was she?