Whoa. I had no idea. I mean I knew about his passion about feeding the world, but this . . .
Lance seems unable to comprehend Christian’s plan to give the technology away and not patent it. I wonder vaguely how Christian made all his money if he’s so willing to give it all away.
Throughout dinner a steady stream of men in smartly tailored dinner jackets and dark masks stop by the table, keen to meet Christian, shake his hand, and exchange pleasantries.
He introduces me to some but not others. I’m intrigued to know how and why he makes the distinction.
During one such conversation, Mia leans across and smiles.
“Ana, will you help in the auction?”
“Of course,” I respond only too willing.
By the time dessert is served, night has fallen, and I’m really uncomfortable. I need to get rid of the balls. Before I can excuse myself, the master of ceremonies appears at our table, and with him—if I’m not mistaken—is Miss European Pigtails.
She’s masked of course, but I know it’s her when her gaze doesn’t move beyond Christian. She blushes, and selfishly I’m beyond pleased that Christian doesn’t acknowledge her at all.The MC asks for our envelope and with a very practiced and eloquent flourish, asks Grace to pull out the winning bill. It’s Sean’s, and the silk-wrapped basket is awarded to him.I applaud politely, but I’m finding it impossible to concentrate on any more of the proceedings.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I murmur to Christian.
He looks at me intently.
“Do you need the powder room?”
I nod.
“I’ll show you,” he says darkly.
When I stand, all the other men round the table stand with me.
“No, Christian! You’re not taking Ana—I will.”
Mia is on her feet before Christian can protest. His jaw tenses, I know he’s not pleased.
Quite frankly, neither am I.
On our return, I feel a little better, though the relief of removing the balls has not been as instantaneous as I’d hoped. They’re now stashed safely in my clutch purse.
Why did I think I could last the whole evening? I am still yearning—perhaps I can persuade Christian to take me to the boathouse later. I flush at the thought and glance at him as I take my seat. He stares at me, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips.
Holy shit. I blink up at Christian.
“You own property in Aspen?” I hiss. The auction is underway, and I have to keep my voice down.
He nods, surprised at my outburst and irritated, I think. He puts his finger to his lips to silence me.
“Do you have property elsewhere?” I whisper.He nods again and inclines his head to one side in a warning.
The whole room erupts with cheering and applause; one of the prizes has gone for twelve thousand dollars.
“I’ll tell you later,” Christian says quietly. “I wanted to come with you,” he adds rather sulkily.
Well, you didn’t. I pout and I realize that I’m still querulous, and no doubt, it’s the frustrating effect of the balls. My mood darkens after seeing Mrs. Robinson on the list of generous donors.
I glance around the marquee to see if I can spot her, but I can’t see her telltale hair.
Surely Christian would have warned me if she was invited tonight. I sit and stew, applauding when necessary, as each lot is sold for astonishing amounts of money.
The bidding moves to Christian’s place in Aspen and reaches twenty thousand dollars.
“Going once, going twice,” the MC calls.
And I don’t know what possesses me, but I suddenly hear my own voice ringing out clearly over the throng.
“Twenty-four thousand dollars!”
Every mask at the table turns to me in shocked amazement, the biggest reaction of all coming from beside me. I hear his sharp intake of breath and feel his wrath washing over me like a tidal wave.
“Twenty-four thousand dollars, to the lovely lady in silver, going once, going twice . . .
Sold!”
Holy shit, did I really just do that? It must be the alcohol. I’ve had champagne plus four glasses of four different wines. I glance up at Christian who’s busy applauding.
Crap, he’s going to be so angry, and we’ve been getting on so well. My subconscious has finally decided to make an appearance, and she’s wearing her Edvard Munch
