Beau nodded his approval and then looked around. Already, nearly two hundred people swirled around, talking loud over the dulcet murmur of a string quartet. “Somebody needed to liven up this joint. When is the big announcement?”
Sadie’s face went cheerful-blank. May saw Beau’s lips quirk. Now the lies would begin.
“We’re so glad you agreed to do this. And the changes yesterday, they’re all approved, as we said in the email.”
“Which didn’t have many specifics.”
“Minor details, only.” Sadie waved the foundation’s perfidy away with a flick of her hand. May saw a new flash on her finger.
“Sadie. Did you get engaged?”
She spread her hand out, showing a diamond in a classy oval setting. “Last night. We had a big fight, about Mr. Kurck but really not. I threatened to walk, and it wasn’t ’til then that I realized I really didn’t want to. Really, really didn’t want to. And neither did she. So, I proposed.”
“You?”
“We both got rings. It was only fair.” Sadie’s grin was nearly ear to ear, but then she seemed to remember who she was talking to. The smile vanished, and she looked at Beau.
Who was still smiling. “Excellent. You will be very happy together.”
Sadie’s smile crept upon her again, growing to small-sun wattage. “She’s here, somewhere. We haven’t set a date yet. Have to wait for Rhode Island to make it legal.” She looked at her hand again and then her watch. “Ten minutes, and up in front of the stage, there. Have a drink and enjoy yourselves.”
They pulled flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing server, and walked into the center of the hall. Triple-story high, the ceiling sat on columns almost better suited for the outside. With the balcony ringing the open space, it looked like an upscale version of the foundation’s own office, without the stairs marring the effect. May wondered if that was why Edmondsson had chosen it. Sadie had had quite the negotiation to secure the place, and get the special permissions for drinks and food.
“What happens to all this cloth after?” Beau stroked one of the pieces on a column. “It’s good quality.”
“The best. It’s rented. This is the same setup as for the last inaugural ball here. But don’t tell the boss, please.”
“So long as the food isn’t from the last inauguration.” He reached for one of the wooden skewers of chicken satay a server was offering up. He bit over the stick halfway down the little strip of saucy chicken, pulling the rest of the piece toward the end of the stick before biting half off. Then he held the stick out to her. She locked her gaze with his as she opened her mouth and leaned in, pulling the meat off the stick gently with her teeth. He growled, low in his throat.
“Ten minutes,” she teased.
“They should play dance music, so I can touch you. Looking at you is sweet torture.”
She licked her lips, smiling as his hips moved in that way. “I could use some more champagne.”
“How about something stronger? You might need it.”
The bars were set up on the sides, under the balconies. They headed for the far side, with fewer customers.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re going to do.”
“That’s because I’m going to vamp.”
“Is that a good plan?”
“I really wish you had a dress like Miss Hawking’s. I miss your breasts.”
“Don’t distract me. Besides, you have the whole of my back.” The halter-style dress had only a band behind her neck, leaving all bare to the base of her spine, covered only by her frothy shawl.
“How could I forget?”
She shook her head at him. “White, please.”
He got himself a red wine. They walked in the relative quiet of the under-hang until May saw Sadie gesturing to them from the stage. She pointed her out to Beau.
“Showtime,” he said. Setting their glasses aside, he twined his fingers in hers and walked toward the base of the stage. But he didn’t stop there.
Taking the stairs quickly, he strode straight to Sadie and her microphone. Before she had a chance to call for quiet, he had the mic—and the floor.
“Friends, friends,” he said, and May watched the transformation from crazy-quiet inventor Beau to multimillionaire crowd-pleasing Beau Kurck. He seemed a foot taller, his voice a quarter-octave lower. And the crowd, jaded politicos and do-gooders alike, fell silent so quickly that the only sound was the stomp of Markus Edmondsson, racing to the center of the stage. He must have been behind the scenes, waiting for his cue, like usual.
Beau ignored him and started in. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Beau Kurck, the creator of those pesky penguins that drive your kids batty.” He waited for the titters to fade. “I want to thank the Penguin Foundation, especially Markus Edmondsson, for inviting me here today.” Now he nodded and smiled toward the blond man, who’d skidded to a halt beside Sadie. Red-faced and vibrating visibly, Edmondsson slowly nodded and bared his teeth in a shadow of a smile.