Annoyed, she ducked aside, standing on the outskirts of a nearby cluster of people, hoping to wait out the conversation before returning to Ward’s side. She didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but she could still hear their conversation.
“Hey, I noticed you were here with that costume designer,” Ridley slurred.
Ana gave a sidewise glance. Ward and Ridley were standing with their backs to her. They’d have to turn completely around to see her. She nearly left, but wanted to be nearby so she could sneak back to Ward’s side as soon as Ridley left.
Ridley held a drink in his hand, gesturing broadly and splashing the amber liquid. She wasn’t surprised that he was already drunk so early in the evening. What a jerk. How had she ever imagined Ward might be even remotely similar to him?
“What’s her name? Amanda something, right?” Ridley was asking.
“Ana,” Ward answered, his voice tight.
Ridley seemed not to hear the note of warning in Ward’s voice, because he kept talking. “Yeah. Ana. She worked on my last movie.”
The guy had maybe ten lines. He’d been cast only because his wife wanted him in it. And suddenly it was his movie. Ana smirked to herself. Thank God she didn’t have to deal with him anymore.
She should have walked away then. And nearly did. Ward could obviously fend for himself.
But then Ridley was saying, “Man, she is one tight little piece of—”
She was about one syllable away from socking the guy in the jaw herself, when Ward interrupted him.
“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Ward said smoothly. His voice was calm. Completely rational. Containing none of the blustering indignation her own set-down would have.
She stilled, listening intently, but trying to hide it behind sipping her drink.
“What?” Ridley asked stupidly.
“I suggest,” Ward said politely, “that you speak about Ms. Rodriguez with more respect.”
“Or what?” Ridley scoffed.
“I have a lot of friends in Hollywood, Mr. Sinclair. Probably more than you do. Despite your wife’s success. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Ward left Ridley standing alone. The idiot seemed to have barely realized he’d just been threatened.
Ana slipped quietly away, all too aware of what had just happened. Ward had come to her defense. She hadn’t needed him to. If Ridley Sinclair had had the balls to say those things to her face, she would have socked him in the jaw. But he hadn’t. He’d said them to Ward. And Ward had stepped up to defend her. He’d calmly and effectively threatened the man’s career. For her.
She’d never wanted anyone to rush to her rescue. Had never needed that before. Somehow Ward’s behavior completely disarmed her. She dashed back down the hall leading to the bathroom. Finding herself suddenly alone, she leaned against the wall and pressed a hand to her stomach.
She hadn’t wanted to come to this stupid Valentine’s Day ball in the first place. She hadn’t wanted the dress. She hadn’t wanted the romance. And the last thing she needed was some romantic hero to sweep her off her feet.
No, her feet needed to stay firmly planted on the ground. If she stayed here at this party. Wearing this dress. With Ward here to gallantly come to her rescue. He wasn’t even going to have to sweep her off her feet. She was very much afraid her feet were going to float right off the ground.
After ditching Ridley Sinclair, Ward searched for Ana for several minutes before stumbling upon Jack, who he’d been hoping to find alone for most of the evening. Ward pulled him aside. After talking for a while, he quietly slipped an envelope into Jack’s hand, glad there was no one around to see the exchange. He’d made the check out directly to Jack, with the understanding that his friend would quietly shuffle the funds over to the charity. Every year he made a donation and every year Jack argued with him about it. But this was the first year he’d been able to do it in person.
Jack accepted the check without looking at it. “Are you sure you don’t want a receipt for your tax records?”
“If I wanted a receipt, then it would no longer be an anonymous donation, now, would it?”
“Good point.” Jack tucked the envelope into the interior pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “And since you seem determined that people not find out that you donate money to a good cause, who am I to dissuade you?”
They both knew the real reason Ward wanted the donation to be anonymous. Cara had been obsessed with distancing herself from any of the cancer charities. She’d been terrified of having her life’s work overshadowed by her death and had made Ward promise not to besmirch her legacy. He honored her memory by never letting the media know when he donated to the causes she’d so stubbornly ignored.
Before Jack could press the issue, CeCe walked up. Jack instantly pulled CeCe to his side. CeCe slipped her hand onto Jack’s chest with an easy familiarity that made something ache deep inside of Ward. He remembered, just barely, what it had been like to be as relaxed with another person. As comfortable.
But it had been a long time since he’d felt that. And even then, it had been more illusion than reality.
To distract Jack from the issue of the check—or perhaps to distract himself—Ward asked, “So where’d you ditch my date?”
“Ana?” CeCe asked with a frown. “Actually, she’s why I came over. She and I talked for a while, but as soon as I left her alone for a minute, I saw her heading for the door. Racing, practically. I think she must have seen someone she didn’t like.”
Ward smothered a curse of frustration and immediately excused himself. He hoped to catch up with Ana, but by the time he made it out to the valet stand, she was already gone. The attendant told him that a cab had dropped someone off just as she was rushing out.
Ward sent the man off in search of the Lexus and stood there alone, fuming. He’d left her alone for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. And she’d ditched him.
Ana balked when she heard how much a cab ride from L.A. to Vista del Mar would cost this time of night. She might have been better off renting a car, if any car rental places had been open. She briefly considered getting a hotel room, but just now, she longed for the simple familiarity of home even if it was a house she hadn’t lived in long. With the taxi and the rental out of the question, she fell back on the reliable transportation of her youth. Public transportation.
Of course, taking the bus in a thousand-dollar evening gown was like begging to be mugged. So she had the cab drop her at a twenty-four-hour discount store, where she bought the cheapest sweater and pair of jeans she could find and a roomy bag in which she could carry the dress, neatly rolled up. She changed in the bathroom and used a damp paper towel to wipe off most of her makeup. Then she caught the bus to Union Station. Thank God for the ten-thirty train to San Diego. From there it was just a short bus ride back up to Vista del Mar. Still, it was after one by the time the taxi dropped her off in front of her house.
Climbing out of the cab, she stilled as she saw Ward’s Lexus parked in front of her house. The fact that it was empty offered her no comfort. Especially not when a glance at the front door revealed him waiting for her there.
She fed the cabbie the fee.
He followed her gaze to her doorstep. “Hey, you okay? You know him?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I do.”
The cabbie frowned. “You want me to drop you somewhere else? I won’t charge you any extra.”
She smiled, trying to look reassuring, but pretty sure her smile looked sad instead. “No. He’d never hurt me.” Not physically, anyway. Emotionally, that was a whole ’nother ball of wax. “I just didn’t want to face him tonight, that’s all.”
The cabbie looked from her to Ward and then back again. “Hey, that isn’t—”
“No, it’s not.” But she slipped the cabbie another twenty just to be sure he believed her.
He drove away, hopefully tipped into silence. She could only wish she were as easily satisfied. But of course, if money was all she needed to find happiness, this would all be much easier.
When she walked up the path to the door, Ward stood, blocking her way. “Where the hell have you been?”
She elbowed him aside as she pulled her keys from her beaded clutch. “Why does it matter?” she asked, as she slid the key into the lock. “You weren’t interested in me being there at all. I was just a pretty accessory for you to have on your arm.”
“That’s not true,” he growled.
“It is true.” She stepped inside, knowing better than to try to keep him out. But of course, it wasn’t true. Not even close. She wished it had been true. She wished that he’d treated her badly, because then at least she’d have a legitimate reason to be furious with him. As it was, she could hardly criticize him for being too charming. Too protective.
She would sound like a crazy woman. And she was starting to wonder if that wasn’t too close to the truth.
She dropped the bag containing the dress on the floor by the front door, too exhausted to hang up the dress and care for it as it deserved. She sank to the edge of the sofa.
She’d had plenty of time to think on the long train ride home. It was a trip she was all too familiar with after her years working in L.A. when she’d made frequent trips home to visit her family and Emma. There was something soothingly familiar about taking public transportation.
It was such a nice reminder of what her life was all about. Helping people who’d had fewer advantages than she’d had. Hard work. Making a difference. Those were the things that mattered.
She didn’t need grand romantic gestures or fancy dresses.
“I didn’t fit in with those people,” she said, knowing that she was stretching for a viable explanation. “Look, it’s late. I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about this now.”
If he pressed her for an explanation, she was afraid that she might end up telling him the truth. She was perilously close to falling in love with him.
Stifling his annoyance, Ward paced to the far side of the living room, rounding the end of the sofa. It helped him resist the urge to shake some sense into her. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” he bit out. “We both know you’re just grasping at straws trying to find some reason to be mad at me, when you know you’re the one at fault here.”