But Eve had had enough negative experiences in her past to know better than to trust first impressions.
Pot calling the kettle, she thought, since she did her best to make a stellar first impression. It was important to her.
Thanks to her penchant for sniffing out sales and spending her pennies on quality pieces, Eve knew what to wear. She also had no problem holding her own in social settings. One of the great aunts she’d lived with had been a stickler for etiquette. Eve knew how to sit with her legs crossed demurely at the ankle. She knew how to walk—head up, shoulders back. She knew which fork to use for the various courses served at dinner. And when it came to the art of small talk, she could hold her own with the best of them.
But she was a fraud. An absolute and utter fake underneath all of her props and polish.
She had not been born into money, and, as she’d learned with her last boyfriend, when it came right down to it, for some people it was the pedigree that made all the difference.
Eve notched up her chin, crooked her arm through Dawson’s and in her best haughty voice, asked, “Shall we go forth and mingle?”
He heaved a sigh. “I’d rather not, but yes. Just let me do most of the talking.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m a regular chameleon,” Eve assured him. “No one will ever suspect that I don’t belong here.”
He sent her a questioning look, which she ignored. Despite those noxious self-doubts, she continued to smile brightly.
Everyone with whom they stopped to chat seemed surprised to see Dawson and, oddly, a little tongue-tied around him. Eve might have thought that was because he was the sort of man who exuded power. Some people found that intimidating. But it was more than his importance. She felt an undercurrent here, something just below the surface of the polite conversations that seemed almost like sympathy. It didn’t make sense. Why would anyone feel sorry for Dawson Burke? The man had it made: a high-powered job, wealth, exceptional good looks and a body that appeared to have been chiseled from granite.
Yet for all that, he couldn’t manage a real date for an evening. Hmm…
As they made their way over to the tables where the items for the silent auction had been set up, Eve said, “I’m curious about something.”
“Yes?” he replied absently.
The first item they came to was a gift basket full of aromatherapy bath products. The opening bid was far more than the actual value of the individual components and yet several others had already topped it. Dawson scrawled his name down along with an outrageous amount. She added generous to his list of attributes.
“I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with you,” Eve stated bluntly.
He straightened and regarded her from beneath furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”
“Well, you’re obviously successful and you’re attractive.” She gave one bicep a squeeze through the sleeve of his tuxedo jacket. “Your body’s definitely all male, even if you do have a penchant for lavender-scented bubble baths.”
“It’s for charity,” came his dry reply.
“Right.” She winked because she knew it would annoy him. The man seriously needed to lighten up.
“Charity,” he muttered a second time.
“So, why couldn’t you get a real date for tonight?”
Dawson looked perplexed by the question. “Aren’t you having a good time?”
Surprisingly, she was and so she admitted as much. “All things considered, I’m actually enjoying myself. I’m just, you know …” She motioned with her hand. “Curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Eve.”
She merely shrugged. “Cats have nine lives. So, why aren’t you dating?”
“Who says that I’m not?”
She settled a hand on one hip. “Everyone we’ve met tonight seems shocked to see you out at a social function.” She paused for effect before adding, “Especially in the company of a woman.”
“I have a very demanding position as the head of Burke Financial.” The excuse was weak and he knew it based on the way his gaze slid away after he said it.
“Okay, got it. Work is the love of your life, so you have no room for a flesh-and-blood woman,” Eve deduced, being purposefully blunt.
His gaze snapped back. “I enjoy what I do. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I agree wholeheartedly.” She crossed her arms. “I enjoy my job immensely. I’m paid to shop and that’s not a bad way to spend the day, in my humble opinion.”
Dawson snorted. “Name me a woman on the planet who doesn’t like to shop?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Got a pen and piece of paper handy? The list is long, which is why I’ve remained gainfully employed twelve months of the year since I started doing this. Not everyone who hires me is male or in need of someone to buy their holiday gifts.”
His smile was tight when he conceded, “Point taken.”
“Actually, my point is that while there’s nothing wrong with liking what you do for a living, you also need to enjoy, well, living. That’s hard to do when what goes on at the office sucks up nearly every waking hour.”
He frowned and said nothing, but for just a moment, when she’d spoken of enjoying life, his expression had turned grim and almost haunted. She’d struck a nerve, of that she was sure. Which nerve, however, remained a mystery.
They moved to the next item up for auction. When Eve saw what it was, she squealed in delight: two tickets to the stage production of Les Misérables. Its limited run at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts was scheduled to come to an end just before Christmas. The set of seats being auctioned were prime, a fact that was reflected in the most recent bid. Even so, she snatched up the pencil and jotted down a sum that topped the previous one by twenty-five dollars.
Dawson was rubbing his chin when she straightened. “Your line of work pays very well.”
She laughed ruefully. “I’ll be eating salad for a month, but I’m dying to see this show. Tickets for seats this good are impossible to get at this point. I’ve checked. And checked. And checked.”
He tapped the paper with the tip of his index finger. “Well, if you really want them, you’re going to have to bid higher than that.”
“You think?”
“I know. The evening’s young yet and the people with the fattest wallets tend to arrive fashionably late to these things.”
“Great,” she muttered.
“You can always buy the soundtrack.”
“I have the soundtrack.” She listened to it so often she could sing every song from memory. Sucking a breath between her teeth, she leaned over to erase her first bid. Then she
