I can’t take my eyes off all the gold features or the beautiful view from the glass doors overlooking the parklands. I’m instantly attracted to the ballroom and picture it as the perfect wedding venue.
Being pulled out of my daydream by Saxon’s small tug on my hand, I turn to him and follow his eyes to the man approaching.
“Saxon,” the short, fat, bald man croons.
“Dennis,” Saxon says as they shake hands. “May I introduce Brooke Willis?”
“Ah yes, Nate’s old girl,” the old man says not even looking my way.
“Yes, she is Nate’s wife, as well as the new owner of Argo,” Saxon tells him firmly.
“There’s been a lot of talk about that going around.”
I raise my eyebrows, not realising I would be the topic of conversation in the finance industry.
“You’ll be fine as long as you keep this man here in charge. You’re nothing without him.” Fatty chuckles, and I want to punch him right in the nose. I know he’s right, but hell, I thought there was some code of etiquette at these things.
“Actually, Brooke is picking it up like a pro. I have no doubt she’ll do great things with Argo,” Saxon says, smiling softly down at me and lightly squeezing my hand which is still clutched in his elbow.
The old guy ignores Saxon’s comment and cuts in, “How about that Matino case?”
Saxon squeezes my fingers in his grip as he and the old guy enter into a conversation about numbers, figures, and stats. All I hear is blah, blah, blah. Glancing around, I take stock of everything happening around me, mostly just older businessmen standing in small groups talking. I can tell they’re discussing business, because their faces are serious and their arms flap about wildly gesturing, just like Baldy is doing now.
There is a distinct separation between the men and women, the latter of whom are sitting around the tables. I have to assume it’s gossip they are discussing, as they lean into each other like what they are talking about is top secret. Someone should tell them their latest plastic surgery is no secret.
The only women interspersed with the men are holding onto their men’s arms and looking bored out of their mind. Arm candy I’m sure. I look down at my arm around Saxon’s as he rests his hand on top of mine and I frown. Is that what I am here for? Arm candy? The thought makes my stomach turn and my head light.
Patting Saxon’s hand gently, letting him know I’m making an exit, I pull my arm from his and turn to make my way to the balcony. I need some air.
I hear concern in Saxon’s voice as he calls my name, but I keep walking. What am I doing here?
Upon exiting through the tall glass doors I find a large decked area. There are seating areas consisting of settees and tables scattered all around, separated by potted trees with fairy lights interspersed throughout the leaves.
The only light comes from the fairy lights and the glow of the moon. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen, and not the norm for these kind of events.
It’s noticeably quieter out here. The music from inside floats out the doors, as small groups or couples mill around the railing and seating areas, chatting quietly.
Making my way to the railing, I lean on my elbows, looking over to the beautiful parklands below. It’s too late for anyone to be in the park, but the stillness brings a sense of serenity with it.
Thinking back to my introduction with Dennis, I cringe. Is that how it’s always going to be? Am I some kind of joke?
Glancing farther down the railing I notice two older men in suits looking my way. One says something while the other nods. Looking away from them, tears fill my eyes. I’m the talk of the town, apparently. How have I not noticed this at other events?
Tears fall unchecked down my cheeks as I think about all the other business functions and dinners I’ve been to. All the little comments I brushed off, not understanding their meaning. All the looks I got as I entered the restaurants or ballrooms.
I try to remember why I’m doing this. Why I thought doing this meant anything, or even mattered. Maybe Dad was right: maybe I should’ve sold Argo or been a silent owner and had a business manager run it. I’m lost.
After all these months of searching and all the hard work I’ve put in, I’m no closer to knowing where I belong. As good as it felt coming to the company and no matter how much I’ve felt a part of something, a part of a family, maybe Argo isn’t where I belong.
After wiping my cheeks I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I thought I had taken control of my life, taken steps towards the future, but it seems like I’m still at square one.
A warm hand rests on my forearm and I don’t need to open my eyes to know who it is. The distinct smell of his cologne and Saxon are so familiar to me now.