Page 23 of Boss of the Year

“Of course.” Joni turned to me. “Do you want to come too? Mingle?”

I would have rather jumped into the Long Island Sound, but that seemed like an extreme reaction.

Instead, I shook my head. “I’ll be fine with my caviar. You two go on.”

She pressed her lips together, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. “All right. Just…don’t do what you normally do and hide in the corners. That dress was not made for a wallflower, Mimi.”

I opened my mouth to object to her assumption, but realized I couldn’t. Finding a quiet corner of the party to wait out the madness was exactly what I had planned to do.

“I’ll just find a drink or something.”

It was an actionable goal that seemed to satisfy my sister, who allowed herself to be led away.

“Shit,” I murmured once I found myself alone. Now what?

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes. I almost grabbed one, thinking that if I took it like a shot of whiskey, it might calm my nerves. It was probably Sainte Anne. Mrs. Lyons had a cellar full of the stuff she got straight from Chartogne-Taillet for events like this after Ondine convinced her to buy a share of the vineyard. It was bubbly, delicate, and just a little bit sweet, with a buttery aftertaste that would complement the caviar perfectly—or so Ondine told me.

Even in France, I’d never consumed any beyond a teaspoon in the kitchen to decide if leftover bottles were flat enough for sautéing mushrooms.

And did I really want to experiment with alcohol for the first time and potentially risk any interactions I might have with Daniel?

Where was he, anyway?

“Marie?”

A deep voice jerked me out of my musings so suddenly that I almost crashed into another waiter.

I hadn’t needed to find Daniel Lyons after all.

He had found me.

He was dressed in immaculately fitted white tie. It wasn’t my favorite of his tuxedos—I preferred a more classic black jacket and bow tie—but he looked dashing either way.

And shockingly happy to see me, if his lightbulb smile was any indicator.

“Marie.” He half-jogged across the grass to me, giving ever-so-casual nods to other guests he passed. With a practiced ease, he took two glasses from a passing server and offered one to me. “You came.”

The flute felt strange in my hand as I accepted the champagne. Cold and breakable. “I—I did, yes. I hope that’s all right.”

“Are you kidding? It’s perfect.” My other hand was swept into Daniel’s grip, and he tugged on it lightly as a dimple appeared in his left cheek. “You’reperfect.”

Oh, that dimple. I’d dreamed of that dimple. Wondered what it would feel like as I stroked his stubble. Wondered if he’d ever let me kiss it. Maybe even lick it.

Did people lick dimples?

Where was Joni when I needed her?

“I’m glad too,” I barely managed.

His grin widened, revealing the neat row of veneers the maids had gossiped about for weeks when he’d gotten them for his twenty-fifth birthday. I never minded them. They made him look like a movie star.

“My sister and her boyfriend were actually invited, and she asked me to join them,” I admitted. “But now they’re talking with, um, people, and…well, I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

He might as well know, I supposed. The dress was a stunner, but I was still awkward and out of place.

“Well, that’s easy. You’re talking to me.” Daniel nodded at the drink in my hand. “Drink that. You’ll feel better after.”

I examined the glass, wondering if he was joking. One of his blond brows arched, as if he were waiting for me to follow his instructions.