But it was showtime.
She stared up at the hotel hosting the gala as the car slowed and pulled up to the grand entrance.
“We’re here,” the driver said, rolling up to the Ritz-Carlton.
“The Ritz. My mom’s old stomping ground,” she said, tucking her pineapple juice into her purse. She could chug it in the restroom like the heathen, anti-socialite she was.
Jordan took Faby, then helped her out of the car as clapping erupted, and Hector and Bobby descended on them.
“As I live and breathe, you are as big as a house,” Hector crooned with a set of air kisses.
Dressed like a fashionable hipster cowboy, his signature style screamed, look at me.
She shook her head and chuckled. “I’m not sure what a girl says in response to that, but it’s nice to see you, too.”
“How are you feeling?” the soft-spoken Bobby asked with a tip of his cowboy hat as Hector moved on to say hello to Jordan.
“A lot like what Hector said, honestly,” she replied and patted her belly.
“And your mother?” Bobby asked quietly. “We noticed she and Howard weren’t on the guest list, and your mom never misses a costume gala.”
Of course, she didn’t.
Georgie lowered her voice. “We haven’t gotten ahold of them yet.”
“Georgie! You haven’t told them!” Bobby whisper-shouted.
“It’s not for lack of trying. They’re in seclusion, searching for their Sankalpa.”
The man weighed her response as he dropped his shocked expression and nodded. “That makes sense. It took me years to figure out mine.”
“Years?” she parroted back.
“I didn’t run off to a retreat in India, but I’d thought about it for many years.”
She leaned in. “And…what is it?”
Bobby went all Zen cowboy. “I am present in every moment.”
She frowned. “After years of contemplation, that’s it? I mean, by virtue of existing, isn’t every person on the planet present in every moment?”
“It’s more about relinquishing control and accepting the world for what it is and ourselves for who we are. It’s about witnessing the gift of life as our true self.”
“Wow,” she said, hating that, at this very moment when she should feel profoundly inspired, all she wanted to do was crack open the mini can of pineapple juice hidden away in her purse.
“Georgie,” Jordan called. “Do we need to give Hector and Bobby any instructions for caring for Faby?”
“Let’s chat more about the Sankalpa business later,” she said to Bobby before they joined Hector and Jordan near the entrance.
“Here you go,” Jordan said, passing their fake baby to Bobby. “You two are on Battle of the Births Faby-sitting duty.”
“Here are the basics, boys. Don’t lose the fake baby, and don’t allow dogs or spiders anywhere near it,” she added.
Hector cringed. “How’s the challenge going?”
“Your face says you know exactly how it’s going,” she teased.
“We’ve gotten a few updates, here and there, from Barry, but we’ve been so busy creating another CityBeat offshoot,” Bobby replied.
“For what?” she asked.
“Foodies. We’re calling it CityBeat Eat. We’ve been working with several of our most popular food bloggers,” the man added.
“Catchy name,” Jordan replied as they entered the hotel.
“Our early beta testing is promising—especially with the breakfast food bloggers,” Bobby continued as they headed toward the ballroom.
“Lucky for you, you’re hosting the event and not on the auction block like you were at the last literacy fundraiser we attended,” Hector added with a wink.
Sweet relief washed over her. During the Battle of the Blogs, Hector and Bobby threw a twist into the last gala they’d attended by making a book discussion session with her an auction item. And Jordan wasn’t at all pleased when another guy started bidding.
“We’ve come a long way since then,” her husband said, wrapping his arm around her.
“Agreed! You’ve come a long way since yesterday. Bobby and I saw a picture of Georgie taken not too long ago. And let me tell you, it does not do you any justice, sweetie. Even if you were going for nautical glam,” Hector said with a chuckle.
What did he mean by nautical glam?
She was about to ask when a woman in red glittery Western-wear teetered toward them on sky-high heels.
“Georgiana and Jordan! I’m so glad you’re here. I’m Muffy Bradford. Remember, we chatted over email a few months back. Come with me. We need to get you all squared away. There’s been a slight change in the order of events, and we’ve decided to jump right into the auction.”
Georgie shared a glance with her husband. “Okay. We’re ready to go.”
“We’ll catch up with you after the auction,” Jordan said to the CityBeat founders.
“And take good care of our fake baby,” she added as Hector, Bobby, and Faby entered the ballroom.
The middle-aged glitter cowgirl waved for them to follow her down a hallway that ran adjacent to the ballroom.
“How are your mother and Howard?” the woman asked from over her shoulder with a flip of her glossy hair.
Georgie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “I think they’re doing well.”
Muffy opened a door and ushered them up a few steps to the area behind the stage.
“Do you expect them back soon?” she asked with another hair swish.
The lump in Georgie’s throat doubled in size.
“We’re not sure.”
“I see,” the woman replied with a crafty twist of her lips, then gestured toward the thick blue velvet curtains. “Wait here. They’ll introduce you, and then you’ll walk out on stage. And take this,” she said, swiping a folder off a nearby table. “It contains all the auction items.”
“So, we just read from it?” Jordan asked, accepting the folder, then glancing inside.
“Yes, and ad-lib a bit. All the ladies at the country club are enamored with you, Jordan. I’m sure you’ll be a big hit with the crowd. They love your blog.”
Georgie held the red sparkler’s gaze. “Jordan and I work together on the More Than Just a Number blog. It’s not only his blog. It’s our blog.”
She was not feeling this glossy crow, one bit.
A slight crease formed on Muffy’s Botox-smooth forehead.
“I guess I never noticed you, dear,” the woman said, then gobbled up her husband with one last thirsty look.
Georgie gave the woman a pinched grin. This Muffy character was one to be watched.
“She seems like a nice lady,” Jordan said offhand as the woman’s heels clickity-clacked down the hall.
Georgie crossed her arms. “That’s debatable.”
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, tapping the auction folder.
She glanced around the empty backstage area. Hopefully, someone running the show would check in with them.
“Do you think I have time to drink my juice?” she asked, sounding like a kindergartener, but not caring.
Shit got real when she ran low on pineapple.