Hard Bastard(112)

“What’s up, Jules?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Do you know where your brother is?”

It took me a second to understand the question. “Lincoln? I have no clue.”

She sighed. “Typical. He was supposed to be here a half hour ago.”

“Want me to look around for him?”

“If you would, that’d be great.”

“Where do you need him?”

“Call me over the headset. I need to show him off onstage a bit.”

“For the date thing?”

“Exactly.”

“Whose idea was that, anyway?”

She laughed. “You won’t believe me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t make it up?”

“Nope. It was his idea, actually.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Oh. That’s . . . interesting.”

“He’s trying to turn a new leaf. I couldn’t be prouder of him.”

“Oh. Good. Yeah, I’ll try and find him.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Great, thanks, dear. Let me know when you find the sneak.”

She gave me a huge smile and practically floated off out into the crowd, shaking hands and smiling at everyone as she went.

I sighed. The woman was a natural politician. Except I’d be afraid to live in a country where she was in charge.

As I moved over toward the bar and ordered my wine, I couldn’t help but wonder what the heck Lincoln’s ulterior motives were. There was no way he was going through with some charity date thing out of the goodness of his heart. I could practically hear him laughing at the idea and saying how stupid and empty the gesture was. And yet Jules said it was his idea.

He was baffling. I sipped my wine, grabbing a chicken finger from the little tray, as I moved back onto the floor and looked around. I hadn’t seen him come in, but maybe he was lurking around anyway, trying to stay out of the spotlight. That would be a first for him, but apparently he was changing.

As I finished my first loop, chicken finger comfortably in my stomach and my first glass of wine half finished, there was a commotion toward the entrance. I knew even before I started in that direction what I would find.

Surrounded by people and camera flashes, dressed in a perfectly-fitted tux and holding his fancy skull-head cane, was Lincoln and his documentary crew. Jess hung back behind them as the crew filmed his entrance, fans shaking his hand and taking pictures with him, and all through it Lincoln grinned and laughed and played to the crowd like a pro.

He is a pro at this, I had to remind myself. He pandered to the crowds for a living. He was Based Carter, after all. He had to represent his clothing line.

“Found him. He just came in the front,” I said into my headset.

“Oh, that’s what’s going on. Thanks, dear,” Jules said.

I sighed and turned my back on him and the crew. I couldn’t handle watching it when all I wanted was to drag him out back into the darkness of the night and kiss his mouth and neck and chest.

Back in my spot, I gulped down my glass of wine.

Based Carter. What an asshole. I had no interest in him.

Maybe I could make it true if I kept saying it to myself.

“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, you can bid on a night with Lincoln ‘Based’ Carter himself! Check out table twenty-nine!”

Jules stood up on the stage and beamed out over the crowd. I had to admit, she looked incredible up onstage, her long legs shimmering under her dress.

She gestured at Lincoln like he was a prized piece of meat, waving her arms toward him. For his part, Lincoln stood there grinning out at everyone, and he looked just as radiant as Jules did, if not more. Despite leaning on the cane, he looked better than he ever had before.

I was shocked, though, that he didn’t make some rude gesture at everyone. I totally expected him to grab the microphone and start making crude jokes. Instead, he just stood there like he was supposed to. I had no clue how Jules managed to do it.

“He’ll take you to the hottest restaurant in Boulder, and afterward you’ll take a nice little stroll through downtown,” Jules said.

Lincoln kept smiling.

“Bid now! Perfect for a man or a woman, for any true fan of one of the best BASE jumpers in the world.”

I rolled my eyes. She was laying it on pretty thick.

“Remember everyone, it’s for a good cause, so go ahead. Trust me, Lincoln Carter is worth it.”

I nearly gagged. She was practically pimping him out. Even Lincoln gave her a little look at that last line. But before he could do anything to ruin her nice speech, she put the microphone back on its stand and ushered him off the stage and back into his adoring public’s waiting embrace.

Forget him, I thought to myself. Let him get mobbed. I don’t care.