A Gold Digger Went Fishing and Caught Her Ex

I was putting a price tag on my own evening when Graham Vale asked me to pretend I didn't know him. The request came in the back hall of the Bellwether House, where staff were carrying champagne trays past a stack of folded tables. Through the ballroom doors, the Vale Foundation's winter benefit glowed with candlelight and polished silver. Graham had arrived with his family. I'd arrived with the guest list, the seating chart, and a headache from fixing a donor's allergy mistake. "Could you give me tonight?" he asked. I held my clipboard against my ribs. "You want me to give you tonight, or pretend I don't know you for tonight?" His eyes dropped to the clipboard. "Tess." "Those are different requests." The door swung open. A waiter passed between us, balancing a tower of glasses. Graham stepped aside to let him through, then looked back at me. "My mother has three board members here who are already asking whether our relationship creates a conflict with the foundation." "I work for the foundation as an event contractor. I'm not on the board." "I know." "And you're not asking them to leave me alone. You're asking me to disappear." "I'm asking you not to make this harder than it needs to be." It was a good line. Calm. Reasonable. The kind of line men used when they wanted a woman to do the difficult part quietly. I looked through the ballroom doors. Graham's mother, Celeste, stood near the stage in a dark green dress. She was talking to a donor with one hand resting on his arm. Across the room, Adrian Cross had just come in. He wore a black suit with no tie and a small silver pin that marked him as the evening's largest sponsor. Graham noticed where I was looking. "Adrian's here," he said. "I have eyes." "He's been asking about you." "I know." For half a second, Graham's careful expression slipped. It was the only honest thing I'd seen on his face all night. "Do you?" he asked. "Yes." Adrian had never said, "I want you." He didn't need to. A man who remembered my coffee order after one meeting, who found me in the rain with a dry coat and a driver, and who invited me to a weekend at his private lodge was not pursuing me for my professional insights. He had money, patience, and excellent manners. I respected all three. Graham had money too. Not Adrian money, though. Graham's wealth belonged to the Vale family, tied up in hotels, land, and a trust controlled by people who believed privacy was a form of virtue. Graham could buy dinner anywhere in Bellwether Bay, but his mother could still tell him to keep his girlfriend out of the family photographs. "I'm not trying to make you jealous," I said. "I didn't say you were." "You were thinking it." "I was asking for one evening." I had grown up watching people pretend money didn't matter, usually while worrying about rent. I didn't have the luxury of treating it like a dirty word. I liked good rooms, good coats, and the security of knowing a car wouldn't break down on the way to work. I liked Graham, too. That had been the problem. I liked him enough to let him make requests that would have annoyed me from anyone else. "Then ask me to be your girlfriend in the ballroom," I said. "Not your secret in the hall." His jaw tightened. "My family is in the middle of a major decision. I'm trying to keep a personal issue from becoming a board issue." "My job is already a board issue, apparently." "It isn't." "Then there's no reason to hide me." He glanced toward the ballroom. I knew the answer before he gave it. "I can't do this tonight." "Then neither can I." I turned toward the service corridor. He caught my wrist, gentle enough not to hurt, but firm enough to make me look back. "Tess, don't do anything you'll regret." I looked at his hand until he let go. "I'm very careful about regret." I walked out before he could tell me what I meant. Adrian met me by the coat check a few minutes later. He didn't ask why my eyes were bright or why my fingers were gripping my clipboard too tightly. "Your work is done," he said. "Let me buy you a drink." "I have a drink." "You have sparkling water." "Exactly. I'm already winning." His smile was warm, and not surprised. "I'm hosting a fishing weekend at Crosswater next Saturday. Fundraiser for the harbor clinic. You should come." I knew about Crosswater. Everyone in Bellwether Bay knew about it. Adrian's family had bought the old fishing lodge years ago and rebuilt it into a private retreat, complete with a dock, guest cottages, and a dining room that overlooked the water. "Is that a work invitation?" I asked. "No." "Good. I hate confusing those." "Then come as yourself." I knew what he was offering. I also knew Graham had seen us talking from across the room. When I looked toward him, he was standing beside his mother, watching. I should have said no to Adrian for the same reason I should have said no to Graham. Neither of them was an answer to the question I had asked. Instead, I said, "Send me the details." Adrian's smile shifted. Not bigger. Just more certain. "I will." As I walked home through the cold, I told myself I was making a sensible choice. I could use the invitation to see how far Adrian's interest went. I could let Graham see that the world did not stop when he closed a door. I had been fishing for leverage. I didn't yet know which man would take the bait.