And I know we won’t be sleeping tonight.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Angelika
My eyes are bleary from lack of sleep. We finally collapsed in utter exhaustion as the light of the dawn ran its fingers into the room. Tolyan told me to get some sleep, and I think I got maybe an hour.
Now the only thing keeping me lucid and functioning is endless coffee. The break room at the foundation is well stocked.
Note to self: next time we have a wild sex marathon, pick a Friday or Saturday.
To make the sleep deprivation worse, the foundation is buzzing with new activity. Rhonda runs around with a huge list in her hand, making sure she has everything checked off, and that means I need to be rushing around to assist her. Apparently, we have a bachelor auction coming up, and Elizabeth has decided, rather abruptly last night, that some changes are needed because the event’s been getting “boring” the last few years.
At three thirty, she calls a meeting. Since Rhonda is going, I tag along too.
The conference room is on the opposite end of the floor from Elizabeth’s office. It’s big enough to seat ten people with a table in the center and a projector set up for PowerPoint. Tolyan sits next to me, self-possessed, calm and looking disgustingly fresh and rested. What’s his secret?
Rhonda and Patrice go over the financial objectives and exactly how the money raised will be split among some projects the foundation is planning on. There are detailed numbers for everything, including supporting the causes the foundation’s championed over the years.
“Excellent. Thank you both,” Elizabeth says. “You’ve done a wonderful job, and it’s exactly as I’d hoped for.”
The two women beam. I let out a relieved sigh—they’ve been working so hard on that presentation. Elizabeth is friendly and sweet, but she doesn’t let anything slide at work.
“Now. The location of the bachelor auction,” Elizabeth says. “We generally use a hotel, but I want to do something different this time. The event’s in June, so I want it to feel warm, pretty and outdoorsy, but not too casual. I want this to be the kind of event that makes people relax and dump money on the bachelors. Any suggestions?”
“A vineyard?” Patrice says.
“Hard to reserve for a full day, and security can be tricky,” Tolyan says.
“There’s an estate with a gorgeous château I know, but I doubt that would work.” Elizabeth shakes her head. “Plus, I don’t want to do it in France. The money raised is mainly for domestic causes involving women’s shelters and community centers for underprivileged children.”
“How about a domestic destination, like Hawaii or something?” I suggest. I’ve gotten used to speaking up. Rhonda has been taking me to all the biweekly meetings and encouraging me to share my thoughts. No matter how wild my ideas are, nobody ever puts me down or makes me feel bad for coming up with them.
“A domestic location is good, but Hawaii won’t work. Most people don’t want to spend that kind of time. Time is money for them, and the trip won’t be deductible, either,” Elizabeth points out kindly.
“How about the grove your family owns? The Pryce side, not the Reed side,” Tolyan says. The slightly chilled tone as he says “the Reed side” indicates he isn’t too fond of them. “It’s exclusive and secure enough, especially since nobody can go there other than by invitation. The foundation bears the Pryce name, so I imagine Salazar Pryce would be willing to lend it to help the cause. If not, you can speak to Ceinlys first. He’ll do whatever she asks.”
Elizabeth nods, a small, satisfied smile forming on her face. “That’s a good idea. And I will speak to Ceinlys first. She’s always been a huge supporter of the foundation. Any other suggestions or thoughts?”
There are a few other ideas, but it’s clear that the Pryce grove is the best. After a little more discussion, Elizabeth calls an end to the meeting.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” she says before heading out. She’s already reaching for her phone, probably to call this Ceinlys person. She doesn’t believe in putting things off.
We all follow her out, me walking next to Tolyan. “In case you don’t know,” he says, “the foundation is the Pryce family’s pet project. Elizabeth’s in charge, but that can change anytime, although it’s unlikely. Nobody squeezes charity money out of the rich like she does.”
I have to agree. The woman looks like an angel and speaks like one, too. She has an uncanny talent for making you feel important and needed, which in turn stirs you to help her in any way you can.
Tolyan continues, “Salazar is the head of the family. Ceinlys is his ex-wife.”
“He listens to his ex-wife?”
“Yes. They’ve reconciled, although she declined to marry him a second time.”
“How come?”
“She hasn’t had the best time being a Pryce. Not every woman enjoys being a member of a family, even if it’s one as wealthy as the Pryces. Salazar’s touchy about his past as a womanizer, so it’s best to avoid reminding him of it. Obviously it’s the same for Ceinlys. Upsetting them wouldn’t end well.”
“Got it.” Don’t talk about women or sex or divorce in front of the family whose name the foundation bears.
“Good.” He stops in front of my desk. “Want to head out early?”
I check the time. It’s not quite quarter till five. But nobody at the foundation cares when you leave on Friday as long as you wait until after four.
“Sure,” I say. “I’m barely awake as it is.”
“I’m surprised your voice is working,” he says, his eyes flashing with a wicked gleam.
I look around furtively. “Will you shush?”
“Everyone knows we live together.”
“So?”
“When healthy adults live together, they tend to do other things too. Like sex.”
“Yeah, but they don’t talk about it at work. We’re supposed to be professional, remember?”
“Yes. That’s why we’re discussing the matter professionally.”
I shake my head, but a smile breaks through. Tolyan can be surprisingly shameless about some things. It’s even more comical because he can look heart-attack serious when he speaks about sex.
“Oh, shut up. Get your things and let’s go.” But I’m half laughing as I say it.
On the way home, we stop by a Mexican restaurant and have tacos. The dinner’s delicious, and the salsa they serve is positively addictive. I don’t talk much, mainly because my head’s getting foggier now that I don’t have to be mentally alert anymore, and the day is finally catching up to me. Not only that, feeling safe with Tolyan has dampened the constant surge of adrenaline. I didn’t realize until recently how much stress it put on me mentally and emotionally.
The meal goes well, except for the small incident where the waitress trips on something and spills salsa and queso con carne on Tolyan’s shirt and pants.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she says.
“It’s fine,” he says coldly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
The manager comes out and apologizes. He comps our dinner and offers a free dessert, which we turn down. I’m stuffed already, and Tolyan probably just wants to go home and get out of the stained clothes.