The old instinct rises—nod, appease, and stays small.
She swallows it.
“I understand that this is a public event,” she says. “And that it would look strange if I snubbed one of the most influential men in the city who just donated a seven-figure sum to your charity.”
Vince’s eyes flash.
“She’s right,” Riley says breezily. “You want headlines about being ungrateful hosts? Because I can call Page Six right now.”
Vince’s hand curls at his side.
“Watch your mouth,” he tells Riley without looking at her.
Then, to Ava, lower: “He is not welcome in your orbit. I see you within three paces of him again, and we will have a different conversation than this one.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“Smile for the photographers,” he says, then walks away, already lifting his face into a public grin as
