“Ah, so not a friend.”
“More like a defensive tackle these days, just trying to keep her out of his life. And then you come along.”
She held up one hand. “Stop. Wait. I don’t know what he told you—”
“Damn near nothing since he got back from London and you didn’t. For a week I thought you were still there negotiating the deal, for God’s sake. And now, he barely says a word to anyone unless he’s snapping it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not me you should be saying that to. Now I don’t know about that charity thing you mentioned, if that’s all you wanted, but I think you got more business with Mason than that if you don’t mind me saying.”
She nodded. No reason to hide it. In fact, it was looking up on that score, though there were still some unanswered questions. “Has Mason gone to any PR parties since he got back?”
“Parties! Girl, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”
“I have, and thank you.” She patted her hand. “And as to Special Friends, I think I know what happened. I think Mason donated that money to my brother’s charity.”
“I just told you he didn’t.”
“No, I think he did. On his own. Anonymous and not even through you because he didn’t want anybody to know.”
“Honey, I hate to burst your bubble, but I don’t think Mason’s capable of that, the mechanics I mean.”
She stood up. “I think Mason’s capable of a lot more than you, or I give him credit for.”
“Well, I’ll ask him.”
“No! No, you don’t. I’ll ask him. Is he in town?”
A long pause indicated Marcia was on the fence as to whether to let Camilla into her boss’s life again. Finally, she said, “He is in town. And you might be interested to know where he’ll be tonight.”
Mason didn’t trust himself to pick up his wineglass his hand was shaking so badly. There were a dozen people sitting on the dais in the ballroom, and as if the whole setup wasn’t bad enough, they had insisted he assume his place up there with them. So now the entire audience at tables on the main floor, one hundred and twenty guests, all the women in their long, glittery dresses and jewels and men in their tuxedoes, had paid five hundred a ticket to see that he could barely touch his chicken dinner. They could probably hear his stomach growling as well, not from hunger but from nerves. Every pulse in his body urged him to flee, but he remained rooted to his seat.
The young man next to him, barely out of his teens if he had to guess, reached over and scooped up a French fry from Mason’s plate and popped it into his own mouth with a big grin. Dressed in a tuxedo, too, his neighbor looked infinitely more comfortable in the evening wear than Mason did, not even bothering about the dollop of ketchup he had dropped on his lapel, though his outfit probably fit him about the same as Mason’s, too short in the sleeves and loose in the waist. Mason tried to remember the guy’s name as the woman on the other side of him leaned over and said, “Nathan, you know that’s not polite. That’s Mr. Talbot’s plate.”
Nathan. That was it.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m not hungry right now.”
“Can I have all your French fries then?”
“Nathan,” the woman remonstrated. Mason couldn’t remember her name, either, but he was pretty sure she was on the board.
He pushed the plate toward Nathan. “Go for it.”
The young man dug in, his own plate clean. Between bites, he said, “Why aren’t you hungry?”
Mason yanked on his bowtie. The board member had turned away to the woman on the other side of her, and he leaned a little toward his co-conspirator. “I’m nervous.”
“You are?” Nathan started in on the chicken, picking the lightly basted piece up in his hands. Mason was glad the board member had turned away. He for one thought hands were the only way a person should eat chicken, but not everyone agreed. The woman on the other side of Nathan had already insisted he use a fork on his own chicken breast.
“Why are you nervous?” he asked. “Because you have to sit up here? I’m not nervous. They said it was because I was so good that I got to sit up here, next to you even.”
Mason smiled. “Next to me, huh? What’s so special about me?”
Nathan paused, his fingers buttery from the chicken, and Mason handed over a napkin, which he took and put the chicken down, wiping his mouth and his fingers. “I don’t know what’s so good about you, but they said you were the guest of honor.”
“Apparently.”