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partner sponsors. I also need a press table on the
right side of the stage so that the photographers can capture Dylan’s left
profile for the pictures.”
    Suzanne
dialed back Yvette’s number and, of course, reached her voicemail. If this
is so important , she thought, answer your damn phone . “Hi, Yvette,”
she trilled as sweetly as she could. “Suzanne here. Just got into the office
and got your messages. I totally appreciate your concerns; thank you for
voicing them so well. Why don’t you just buzz me back and we’ll talk?”
    “Ick,”
Chad said, putting a file on her desk as she finished her message. “Just
promise me you’ll never talk to me like that, okay? If I annoy you or
something, just tell me. Don’t do the whole sweet Southern girl,
smile-through-your-teeth-while-you-stick-the-knife-in-my-back routine.”
    “You’re
annoying me,” she replied flatly. He grinned and turned back to his desk.
    “You
told her about the problem with the press table?” Chad called over his
shoulder.
    Shit. Suzanne knew she probably
should’ve left that on the message so Yvette could talk to Dylan before getting
back to her. Otherwise they’d have another long, exhausting conversation to
come to a mutual decision that would then be overturned by Dylan anyway. She
picked up the phone again.
    “Hello?”
A man’s voice. She paused.
    “Oh,
I’m sorry. I must’ve dialed the wrong number.” Wait, didn’t I just hit
redial? She was about to hang up when the voice returned.
    “Not
if you were calling Yvette Olsen, you didn’t. Can I, uh, can I help you?”
    Suzanne
thought she remembered Yvette mentioning that she had a new assistant. Maybe
she had started trusting him with phone duty. “Well, is Yvette available?”
    “I’m
sorry, she stepped out. Is there something I can do for you?” She heard voices in
the background—other men—and for a second she thought she heard suppressed
laughter.
    “Well,”
Suzanne sighed. “I’d just left her a message a few minutes ago responding to
some concerns she had about the benefit —”
    “We
were actually just meeting about that, so your timing is great.” His voice
sounded farther away now. Had he put her on speakerphone? Who else was in
the room?
    “Okay,”
she started tentatively. “I just remembered that I had an additional question
about the press table, so if you’ll just have her call me when she gets back,
that would be great.”
    “Why
don’t you just ask me the question?” he said.
    “Well,
it’s complicated.”
    “The
question is complicated, or the reason you can’t ask me is complicated?”
    Wow . She thought Chad was a
nervy assistant. This guy was bordering on rude. If this was what the music
industry peons were like, she was going to charge more to plan their ridiculous
parties. “The question is complicated. It’s about the press table.”
    “I
don’t think we should have one. Let the vultures stand.” She heard more laughter
in the background. Man, was Yvette going to be pissed when Suzanne told her about
this .
    “Well,
that wasn’t really the question. Obviously there are enough major outlets
planning to attend—I think we have to accommodate them. It was just a question
of how to keep them separate from the Burkes—”
    “Afraid
one of those hillbillies will make a scene and ruin the whole event?”
    “Well,
yes, frankly. Those are the kinds of things we have to be concerned about—the comfort
of the attendees, the reputation of the museum…. You know what? Just have
Yvette call me if you don’t mind.”
    “I
do mind, as a matter of fact.”
    Suzanne
was completely taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I
realize, Miss Hamilton, that my family may not have the blue-blood heritage
that yours does. We may not be conventional, exactly. But we’re good people.”
    “My
family?” Holy shit. Suzanne collapsed into her chair, mouth gaping. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Tell
me this isn’t happening.
    She
now realized why