Blame It on the Blackout Read Online Free Page B

relaxed about the evening than if I were going alone or with a practical stranger.”
    If the majority of Peter’s dates were “practical strangers,” he certainly cozied up to them enough to invite them in at the end of the night.
    She took another gulp of wine to wash away the depressing thought. Peter’s love life was none of her business. His personal life was none of her business. Only his professional life, filling the hours from nine to five, were any of her concern. And sometimes a slice of overtime, such as tonight. But other than that, he could do whatever he wished with whomever he wished, and it wouldn’t bother her a bit.
    â€œThis isn’t a favor,” she felt the need to clarify. “It’s part of my job.”
    â€œYes, but you didn’t have to come along. You could have said you were busy, already had a date, or just plain refused.”
    She could have…if she’d thought of it.
    The rest of the drive passed in silence until they pulled up in front of the Four Seasons on M Street, very close to the city limits of Georgetown. Peter set aside their empty glasses as the driver came around to open their door, then stepped out and turned back to offer Lucy his hand.
    Arms linked, they walked into the elegant hotel lobby. A large banner and smaller, raised signs announced the City Women benefit and directed guests to the bank of elevators leading upstairs. Several couples were already there, and Peter and Lucy joined them.
    The last ones in, they were at the front near the doors. She could feel the heat of Peter’s hand at the small of her back, through the sheer material of her shawl. She tipped her head to look at him over her shoulder, noticing the thin line of his mouth, the tightness in his jaw. Her eyes narrowed, and she was about to ask if he was all right when the elevator doors opened with a swish. The pressure at her back increased as he urged her forward, into the plush, paneled hallway and in the direction of the crowded ballroom.
    Round tables draped with hunter-green and pink linens to match the City Women’s trademark colors filled the room, each seating ten to twelve people. At the front, a raised platform held long, rectangular tables on either side of a tall podium.
    As soon as his eyes landed on the microphone he would be using for his acceptance speech, Peter made a choking sound and stuck a finger behind the collar of his shirt, as though the small black tie was cutting off his air supply.
    â€œYou’ll be fine,” she assured him, laying a hand on his elbow and running it down the length of his arm until their fingers twined. “Now we’d better get up there before Mrs. Harper-Whitfield starts ‘yoo-hooing’ for you over everyone’s heads.”
    He groaned. “Please, no. Not Mrs. Harper-Whitfield.”
    Laughing, they started through the crowd, nodding and saying hello to acquaintances, stopping to chat onlywhen they weren’t given much choice. When they finally reached their seats, the City Women directors and founding members flocked to Peter’s side, thanking him for coming, complimenting him on his latest donation or software creation.
    Lucy sat beside him, a smile permanently etched on her face for the stream of admirers who paraded past, wanting a moment or two with the esteemed Peter Reynolds.
    Finally dinner was served, and they were left mostly to themselves while everyone enjoyed delicious servings of thinly sliced beef, steamed broccoli, lightly seasoned new potatoes, and fruit tartlets for dessert. Hundreds of mingled voices filled the room, making a private conversation difficult.
    Lucy realized, too, that Peter was inordinately nervous about getting up in front of such a large group. But no matter how slowly he ate, the meal was soon over and the City Women president was addressing the crowd, describing the organization’s accomplishments of the past several months and relaying