CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Tabby
Walking into the swanky reception room this time was unlike the last two completely. I came in the same door with my arm in Owen’s, wove through the same crowd to the same bar, and waited while Owen ordered us a couple of drinks like usual, but the entire atmosphere was different. Rather than the relaxed, slightly buzzing climate of socialization and secrecy, The Club was laden with a tension so thick I was basically wading through Jell-O. Eyes turned to me with recognition instead of Owen, and the stares were much less of a lecherous nature and much more of an aggressive one. While I hadn’t necessarily thought Owen was exaggerating when he’d told me repeatedly that the members were prepared to come at me with torches and pitchforks, I felt it viscerally now and almost wished I’d heeded his warnings.
“Come on,” Owen muttered after handing me a much-needed cocktail and grudgingly signing me up — along with himself as a bidder — for the auction. He took me by the elbow and steered me into the nightclub-style room, which I hadn’t been in before. It was empty tonight, but the music was still thumping and the lights still swiveling around in an unattended dance party.
“I don’t get it,” I told him once we were out of earshot of the other members. “Why are all these men here? I’d think they’d want to lay low and avoid The Club at all costs since it went public.”
He smirked very slightly and shook his head. “Avoiding The Club suggests there’s something to hide, and there isn’t,” he explained. “That’s why there’s still going to be an auction tonight. If we put a halt on everything, it looks like we’ve been caught doing something bad. If we continue normally, it looks like we don’t care about the article because we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“So, isn’t hiding out in here sending the wrong impression then?” I pointed out. “Shouldn’t we be out there mingling? Because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The frown creasing his face was marred with dark amusement, and I could see my logic turning him on. Without a word, he flattened his hand against the small of my back and steered me into the reception room again.
Seeing the dark looks on the many faces made me want to climb up onto one of the blackjack tables and shout to the crowd I hadn’t done it, I hadn’t outed them to the press, but I knew such an impulsively grand gesture like that was fruitless. The only shot I had to clear my name, and Owen’s, was going through with the auction, though I was feeling significantly less confident about it now that I was able to witness the various stages of disgust, fury, and utter hatred around me. The plan still wasn’t set in stone, either, because the entire thing would fall apart if my prime suspect didn’t make an appearance.
I didn’t see Pippa anywhere.
There was a great possibility she wasn’t going to show. After all, different people came to The Club on different nights and she might have just decided to forego this particular one. Plus, as she’d been the one to set the secrets on fire, she probably had no intention of sauntering into the middle of the hornets’ nest for fear a tidbit of truth would leak out and she’d be thrown in front of a firing squad. To be honest, if it had been me to do the tell-all, I wouldn’t have come within a mile’s radius of this place.
“Can you text Pippa?” I whispered to Owen. “Find out if she’s coming tonight?”
He stared at me incredulously. “You want me to speak to her voluntarily?”
“Well, it’s not like you’re doing it to hookup,” I snapped, irritated with myself for making the suggestion in the first place.
“Yeah, I don’t think I need to text her.” He pointed across the room with the hand holding his glass. “She’s right there.”
I followed his indication and realized he was right. She was standing in a cluster of men, lashes fluttering and mouth open in a painfully fake laugh. She repeatedly pressed her fingers against the forearm of the youngest in the group, a guy who couldn’t have been older than me, and made a point to swing her hips each time she turned to address another. Looking at her, I felt a deep, penetrating loathing. The pictures she’d sent of her and Owen together played a slideshow in my head, and my nails dug into my palms.
“Let’s go,” I snarled viciously.
As I started beelining for Pippa, Owen reached out and snatched me back by the waist, hooking me with his entire arm. Liquid sloshed over the edge of my glass from the jolt. “Have you gone insane?” he hissed into my ear. “You can’t just storm over there and blow this up.”
He was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. “Everyone needs to know the truth. They need to know she’s the one who outed them, not me.”
“Yes, they do,” he agreed. His voice was velvet steel, his grip on me unyielding. “And your causing a scene in a room full of people who are ready to tar and feather you isn’t the way to get the truth out. They’re going to think you’re trying to shift blame. You need to remember your credibility is zilch here. Evidence or an admission is the only thing capable of changing these people’s minds.”
“I know,” I grumbled, surrendering to his restraint.
His arm loosened around my midsection. “You’re going to have to do the auction.” I could hear the effort it took for him to say that. “And you need to get Pippa to say she orchestrated the outing in front of a witness.”
“Should I march on Canada and take over too?” I asked sarcastically.
“It’s not impossible.” He turned me around to face him with a faraway look in his eyes. “A long shot, but not impossible. Maybe get her talking in the back before the auction starts while some of the other women are around. I’m sure she’ll be happy to strip you down with some verbal degradation.”
“Yeah, I’m sure of that, too, but I doubt she’s enough of an imbecile to do it loudly enough for anyone to overhear.”
Owen snickered wryly. “Anything’s possible with this woman when it comes to egotism.”
I looked around the room, hoping to see a large neon sign pointing to anything that could help me nail Pippa for her crime. Over the invisible speakers, the smooth voice of the auctioneer said, “Good evening, gentlemen. The auction will begin in fifteen minutes. Ladies should report to the gathering room in five minutes, so please finish your drinks and conversations, girls.”
A lightbulb went on in my head. Literally. I actually saw a lightbulb illuminate in my mind’s eye. Grabbing Owen by the back of his head and yanking him down, I muttered, “I have an idea. Can you get ahold of a microphone? Not a regular microphone. I’ll need one of those tiny pin-on ones the auctioneer uses.”
He pulled back and stared down at me thoughtfully. Comprehension dawned on his face. He kissed my forehead and disappeared into the ballroom without a word.