Walt sees someone he knows and nods a greeting, but we don’t stop to talk to them.
“You already know,” he says curtly.
I smile at the floor before wiping it clean and applying a perfect mask of innocence. Looking back up at him, I press the issue.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He stares down at me with a cocked brow. “I won’t give you what you want.”
“And what’s that?”
“A reaction.”
I feign an overly dramatic sigh. “I wish you would. God, I’d love to see it. Do you ever get truly mad? Sad? Happy?”
“I’m happy right now—can’t you tell?”
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Is it really so absurd?”
“That you could be happy right now with me? God yes. We’re completely at odds. The very definition of incompatible.”
He sniffs and looks away. “I don’t see it that way.”
“Oh stop. Pretty soon I’m going to think you actually like me.”
“And if I do?”
“I’d…” I shake my head, coming up short for a response. “I’m not sure. It’s like my brain can’t even compute the notion.”
He shakes his head, clearly having had enough of me for the rest of this century. Good thing for him, we’re at our table now, greeted by a crowd of people. Walt knows a few of them—the guys clap each other on the shoulders—but he’s not familiar with everyone, so he introduces us to the group.
“Oh, I think I saw the two of you in The Times!” one woman says. “Weren’t you just married a few weeks ago?”
“Yes,” Walt confirms, keeping a tight hold on my hand.
The woman claps her hands together with glee. “How sweet. The photo in the paper didn’t do you two justice. You make a beautiful couple.”
Walt looks down at me as any adoring husband would and I play along, scrunching my nose at him teasingly. To the woman, we look absolutely in love, but we know better.
Walt’s gaze says, Don’t screw this up.
Mine shouts back, I’m not!
“How sweet. Did you honeymoon anywhere?” she asks.
“We didn’t get the chance,” Walt says, sounding regretful. “It’s a busy time for my company.”
“Walt is actually Walter Jennings II from Diomedica,” her husband supplies.
The woman’s brows perk up, clearly impressed. “I hadn’t connected the dots. We don’t see you at many of these things.”
He straightens his bow tie, slightly uncomfortable with the attention.
“I like to keep him all to myself,” I say, wrapping my hand around his arm and sidling up beside him.
The woman chuckles and shoots me a wink. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same myself.” Her husband clears his throat loudly, and she bats his shoulder. “Oh, come on. We were just like that at their age! You never let me out of your sight for long.”
The couple eventually moves on to another cluster of friends, and Walt looks down at me.
“You can’t say I didn’t play my part to a T,” I press.
He makes a noise like he’s semi-impressed. “Tucking yourself against me was a good touch.”
“Wasn’t it?” I say, gloating. “And it wasn’t even half bad. You smell nice.”
His eyes hold mine for a beat too long and my smile widens, but our private moment is interrupted when a man walks up to us, his booming voice shattering the quiet decorum as he asks, “Is this the table for the big donors?”
Walt’s mouth thins, but he’s still polite as he addresses the man.
“Don’t bother introducing yourself,” the man says with a shake of his head. “I know who you are. I watch Diomedica’s stock like a hawk.” His gaze sweeps down to me, and his grin turns slightly lecherous. “Who’s the pretty bird?”
Walt’s arm slides around my waist so he has a grip on my lower hip. “This is my wife, Elizabeth.”
“Wife?” he whistles low. “Lucky dog.” He holds out his meaty hand for me. “Name’s Fred Barron.”
It takes Fred all of thirty seconds to tell us he amassed his wealth by investing in Japanese tech firms in the early 90s. Even now, he splits his time between New York and Tokyo.
“Have you ever been to Japan?” he asks, scooting closer to me and making no effort to disguise his gaze as it lingers on my body.
I force a tight smile. “No, though I’d love to visit one day. There are quite a few Japanese artists I admire.”
His brows perk up. “Good, I’ll take you. I’ve got a fleet of private planes. We can leave first thing tomorrow.”
He says all this with a teasing air, which makes it that much worse because I’m forced to play along when what I really want to do is tell him to leave us alone.
Fortunately, Walt’s still beside me, watching Fred, and when his hand tightens on my waist, I think he’s letting me know he doesn’t like Fred any more than I do.