Chapter Three

Ethan

Candy’s fast. Even though I follow her as soon as she’s up, by the time I enter the banquet hall, I’ve lost sight of her.

I curse under my breath, weaving through the throngs of people milling around and carrying on with this party, completely unaware of the great loss I’ve just suffered. It takes all of my strength to keep from yelling at them to move. The only thing that stops me is knowing what a waste of money this party would be if I blew it by being rude. I’m supposed to be improving my public image, not ruining it.

Although, does my public image even matter if I don’t have Candy by my side? If I can’t win her back, the whole damn world could burn and I wouldn’t care. Without a doubt in my mind, that girl is the meaning of my life. I feel it in my gut.

I nearly topple over a Christmas tree, narrowly avoiding it by throwing myself into a guest. With a rushed apology, I clap my hand on their shoulder. I don’t stick around to wait for their response, continuing on my journey to the front doors.

When I throw them open, an icy gust of wind cuts into my face. A light flurry of snow swirls in the wind, catching in the lights lining my long driveway. Candy’s nowhere to be seen.

“God dammit,” I say to myself, taking off toward the street. The air permeates my suit jacket, but I don’t care. “Candy!”

I don’t get a response. So, I call her name again. And again. Still, the only answer I receive is the wind blowing savagely. It’s like she disappeared into thin air.

“Fuck,” I curse, crouching down and resting my head in my hands.

I wish I hadn’t said anything about her supposed theft. She was obviously upset about being kicked out, then instead of reassuring her, I made it worse. I wish I were a better man, a more emotionally in-touch man. Then, I wouldn’t have upset her or scared her off.

After taking another minute to gather myself, I straighten up, smoothing the wrinkles out of my suit. Then, I head back inside. Someone there has to know something about Candy. And, if no one inside can tell me anything about her, someone somewhere can get me some information about her.

When I get back inside, I decide that the party needs to be over. I’m not in the mood to have anyone in my house. I need to find my team and tell them to get this wrapped up.

Erin is standing next to the table of hors d’oeuvres, so I head straight for her. She doesn’t notice that I’m approaching, too focused on whatever she’s doing on her iPad. It’s admirable how focused she is on work. I’ll miss her when I eventually promote her.

“Erin,” I say, stopping in front of her and waiting for her to finish whatever it is she’s working on. “I think it’s about time that we wrap this party up, don’t you think?”

“It’s scheduled to go on for another hour and a half,” she states, clearly unbothered by the request. “But I wouldn’t complain. It’s loud in here.”

“Make it happen,” I say, glancing around the room to find the man in charge of the guest list. “Do you know where Ron is?”

“Who knows,” she shrugs as she tucks her tablet under her arm and pulls out her phone. “Follow the waiters with the champagne and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

I nod, deciding not to interrupt her task. Instead, I zero in on a waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. Sure enough, after a few minutes of following him, I see Ron. His face is a little flushed, and it’s obvious that he’s been enjoying this party.

“Ron,” I say, clapping my hand over his shoulder and leading him away from the alcohol before he can pluck another glass for himself. “I gotta talk to you.”

“Well that’s not good,” he laughs. “You’re not enjoying your party?”

“You know I’m not,” I reply through gritted teeth as I yank him into the kitchen.

There are staff members milling around, and I have half a mind to tell them to get out. I decide against it. If I kick them out, my maid will have even more to do. I’ll let them finish their duties. Besides, it’s not like it matters if they hear this conversation.

“So, what’s so important that you had to pull me in here?” Ron asks when we stop moving, leaning back against the counter and effectively getting in the staff’s way.

“You made the guest list, right?”

“That I did,” he confirms with a grin. “Why, did you meet a lady?”

“I did,” I say, my face hard. “But she left before I could get any of her information.”

“Well, what’s her name?” he asks, happily pulling up his cell. “I can check our list and get you her number.”

“Candy,” I say. “But I don’t have her last name.”

“Not a problem,” he replies, tapping away. His brow furrows after a moment. Then, he’s tapping even more furiously.

“What is it?” I say, a sinking feeling in my stomach. What if I fell for a party crasher?

“Nothing, it’s just…” he chuckles self-consciously, looking at me like he’s worried I’m going to yell at him. “The only Candy I have on the list is a volunteer from the homeless shelter.”

“And that’s a problem?” I ask.

It’s not surprising she’s a volunteer. Her clothes told a story of someone from a different class than me. Still, that doesn’t bother me. That just means I’ll get to show her the world, give her everything she had to scrimp and save for with a snap of my fingers. I might not be a good man, but I’m glad to spoil a good woman.

“I mean…. Not necessarily,” Ron says, still obviously skirting around the point.

“Just tell me what you want to say,” I demand, not having time for his nonsense. Every moment I don’t have with Candy is killing me, and his insolence is really pissing me off.

“Well, when I say she’s a volunteer from the homeless shelter, I mean she’s from the homeless shelter,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Like, she lives there. She’s homeless, Ethan.”

“So?” I ask, instantly realizing that I don’t give a fuck about her background.

Ron clicks his tongue, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I wait for him to continue, to give me one good reason I shouldn’t want the girl of my dreams. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he just keeps his gaze on me like there’s something wrong with me.

“You don’t think you could do any better?” he says finally. “There are plenty of more… appropriate options here right now. I could introduce you to Michelle, her father owns–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Michelle,” I snap, not wanting to hear this. How dare he say I could do better than Candy. I couldn’t. What I should be worried about is Candy finding someone better than me. “I want Candy. I don’t care if you think I could do better. I know what I want.”

“Touchy, touchy,” he says, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. “I’m just looking out for your public image. I mean, wasn’t that the whole point in throwing this Christmas party? A charity event that benefits the homeless? All of us know you don’t give a shit about them. This is all for show. You don’t have to go and marry one of them.”

“Would you shut your damn mouth?” I ask, grinding my teeth together. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I asked you to find Candy. Save the fucking commentary and give me her phone number. I need to make sure that she got back to the shelter safely.”

He gives me a once-over, apparently looking for cracks in my facade. When he doesn’t find any, he nods. I can tell he’s got another quip on the edge of his tongue; but, he values his job, so he holds off.

“There isn’t a phone number on file,” he sighs, glancing around the area – probably in search of another drink. “We don’t have phone numbers for any of the shelter volunteers, only the shelter director’s email.”

“Well, fuck,” I say, looking up at the ceiling and cursing myself for being such a fucking idiot. My lack of tact might have lost me the best thing to have ever happened to me. “I’m going to have to go there and make sure she’s safe.”

“Probably not the best idea,” Ron says, pocketing his cellphone and stretching. “There’s a snowstorm blowing in. Anyway, I’m going to head back out there and get some more champagne. I just got a text from Erin saying this is wrapping up. Good luck with your homeless wife, buddy.”

With that, he leaves, basically running away from me before I can chastise him for his quip. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I go through my options. If there’s a snowstorm coming, my driver is going to raise hell about the trip. The homeless shelter is on the other side of Snowbrook.

I just won’t drag him into it, I decide. It’s not like I don’t know how to drive. Plus, I might be a dick, but I don’t think that it’s a wise idea to show up with a driver. An excessive display of wealth is in poor taste.

So, my mind made up, I hustle to the garage. I grab the keys to my SUV from the hook and climb inside. Then, without a second thought, I pull out onto the driveway, smiling to myself when I see that my guests are starting to clear out. I make a mental note to thank Erin for her efficiency.

The snow’s starting to come down more quickly, but I don’t care. Making sure Candy is okay is my top priority. God, I hope that I didn’t fuck this up.