Not sure what he’d find when she came to the door, he sucked in a breath before he knocked. When the door opened, she stood before him looking beautiful in a simple straight gown. Red and shiny, it complimented her hair, which she’d put in some curly creation on top of her head and spun thin tinsel through.
“You look great.” The words popped out naturally, and he almost shook his head in wonder that just seeing her had him feeling better.
When she smiled, relief poured through him. It would have been a long night if she’d been as depressed as she had been on Sunday morning and in their phone call. Instead, she’d pulled herself together. He admired that.
He returned her smile. “Every dress gets better.”
She laughed as she handed him her black cape. “That’s because the closer we get to the actual holiday, the more Christmas-y I feel. Just wait till you see what I’m pondering for Christmas Eve.”
They walked to the limo and, when Norman opened the door, they slid in. With the advanced stage of the season, more and more shops and apartment windows were decorated for the holiday. Bright lights winked. Tinsel blew in the bitter breezes. Because it was cold, everything had a sparkly, icy look, but it wasn’t quite as pretty as if there had been snow.
“I like snow too.”
He spun to face her. Had he said that out loud? “I...um...grew up near the Finger Lakes.” Damn. So much for trying not to be personal. “By now, they’re probably knee-deep in the white stuff.”
“Probably? You don’t know?”
He peeked at her. “If there’s snow?”
She nodded.
He winced. “I haven’t talked to my parents in a while.”
She said, “Oh. Okay,” as if she understood. And he supposed if anybody understood complicated relationships with parents, it would be her.
But that only reminded him of how difficult her life was, and when she turned away from him, that ridiculous sadness for her filled him again. Fighting it, he squeezed his eyes shut. She would be fine. Once he helped her land a job, she’d be ecstatic. He did not have to feel sorry for her.
They walked into the hotel, and he dropped off their outerwear at the coat check. Just before they entered the ballroom, he saw her shift her face and change her countenance. She formed a smile big enough to remove the sad expression in her eyes, but he saw no light in them. Then she slid her hand in the crook of his elbow and they walked into the ballroom.
Guilt buffeted him. She was going the whole nine yards for him and he wasn’t really doing anything for her.
Seated with another group of his friends, he held out her chair as he made quick introductions, and the discussion immediately zoomed to stock options.
This was why he’d never worried that anyone at any of the parties they attended would tell Eloise about Blake. His friends didn’t talk about anything but business. And the wives who didn’t join in on the discussion of stocks and strategies generally sat dutifully at the husbands’ sides or chatted among themselves about inconsequential, party-worthy topics, not ridiculously sad things that would bring everybody down. He wasn’t saying they were fake. They were more like courteous. Proper.
Still, with his mission in mind, he tried to work human resources into the conversation but couldn’t. Frustration wound through him. No wonder Eloise couldn’t find a job. No one seemed to care about the administration of their projects. All they cared about was the project itself.
When the dancing started, he and Eloise moved to the dance floor. He slid his hand across the smooth material covering her back. Attraction slithered through him. With every inch of his heart and soul, he longed to pull her to him and just give her what she needed. A little bit of affection. But although he might be able to hug her tonight, maybe kiss her, who knew what he’d be like tomorrow? And if he held her tonight, kissed her tonight and then couldn’t get out of bed the next day because of debilitating grief...wouldn’t he hurt her?
Yes. He would. And he refused to do that to her.
Needing to get his mind off how good she felt, he said, “So this is a pretty nice party.”
She met his gaze and smiled. “They’re all wonderful.”
“I’m glad you enjoy them.”
“I do.”
His conscience tweaked again. While he took all this for granted, she was happy to get a good meal and a nice glass of wine, even though he basically ignored her. With the exception of dancing, he was generally occupied with his friends, and when he wasn’t, his fear of getting too close kept him from really talking to her.
“Even with a grouch like me?”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, you’re not so bad.”
But he was. He knew he was. Ever since she’d told him about being alone and made him realize he had an abundance of things to be thankful for, he’d seen the signs. Short temper with his staff. Nothing but cool professionalism with Norman. Presents for his friends and his family bought by David. Hell, he didn’t even know what he’d bought his own mother for Christmas. Since Blake’s death, he’d insulated himself inside a bubble of sadness. He didn’t think that was wrong, but he did see he was letting Eloise down. He’d made a promise that he couldn’t seem to keep. And suddenly it became overwhelmingly important that he at least do something for her, even if it was only make her happy for one night.
“We should do tequila shots.”
She laughed and pulled back so she could see his face. “What?”
He’d surprised himself as much as her with the suggestion. But now that he’d said it, it sort of made sense.
“Tequila shots. This party might be nice, but we’ve gone to six of these. They’re getting boring. Tequila shots would liven up this place.”
Another laugh spilled out of her, causing his heart to tug and his chest to tighten with something that felt very much like pride that he’d made her laugh for a change.
“I’m sure the hosts would be thrilled.”
“Why not? Isn’t the purpose of giving a party to make your friends happy?”
“Yes.” She said the word slowly, as her eyes rose, and she met his gaze. Soft but curious, the light in her crystal blue orbs told him she was cautious about the shots, but the idea appealed to her.
Pleasure rolled through him. He spun her around, mentally thanking Tucker Engle for forcing him to take ballroom dancing classes so he wouldn’t be awkward at these parties. Not only had it turned out that he loved to dance, but tonight he loved seeing that light in her eyes.
“So, if we asked the bartender to set up shots, maybe eighteen or twenty, we could probably get that many people to join us. I’ll bet with every shot, our crew would grow.”
“Our crew? Are you nuts?” She shook her head, but her eyes glowed.
He spun her around again. “Maybe. But I see at
