“You’re confused.”
“I don’t think so.”The little boy giggled, shaking his head.
“He’s crazy,”Miro had whispered, tipping his head at Conner, who leaned hard into his side, obviously fond of his guardian. I understood. I was quite fond of Miro Jones myself.
“What the hell, Eli?” Miro barked at me again, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Do you have a death wish I’m unaware of?”
“Nice shoes,” I complimented him automatically.
“Who the fuck cares. What the hell’s going on with you?”
I whimpered a bit.
“I heard you questioning Kage, and I had to get your attention before he murdered you.”
“Yeah,” I groaned. “I appreciate it.”
“So again, what the actual fuck?” He was staring at me, arms crossed, waiting.
Standing there, biceps bulging, brown-black eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, I had to wonder if I brought this same response out in everyone. It was like people were prepared to throw down with me, and that couldn’t be good.
“Eli,” he pressed me.
“It’s so horrible.”
“You’re being more dramatic than usual, just so you’re aware.”
Apparently, the collaboration between the mayor’s wife and the CBC had started a few years back on Valentine’s Day. The mayor had been attending one of Debra Loring’s fundraisers for the youth of Chicago—she was a Pulitzer Prize–winning investigative reporter, so when she threw a shindig, all the important people showed up—and at that event, the mayor’s missus had finally gotten the chance to chat with her favorite, then new-to-the-city ballet dancer, Celso Harrington, and had fallen as much in love with his personality as she already was with his creativity. Cel had been herinat the CBC, and she had been a benefactor of his, and the dance company’s, ever since. From what she’d expressed in many interviews, her three loves there were Cel and two others: Senan Weaver, who was, Cel said, a giant asshole, and Maven Ashmore, with whom Cel was on friendly terms.
Honestly, if Cel was, by some miracle, the guy in charge of the gala, the evening had the potential to be not as horrible as I expected. At some point in the last three years, Cel had become one of my very best friends. Some of it happened because Jer got married and I had to make room for the woman who was the love of his life, and the rest of it was because once Cel and I met, we clicked.
“Hello?”
Shit. I’d zoned out, and Miro was trying to get specifics. I blamed the morning of running around with Ian. My brain was still scrambled, trying to catch up. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “Go on.”
“I think I’m missing something,” Miro insisted, hand up, squinting at me in that way he had, like he was confused but didn’t want to admit it. “You’re doing what now?”
“Coordinating an event,” I explained.
“Start from the beginning.”
So I did, giving him all the horrific details, and whimpered a bit with the explanation.
“Why did you get tapped to—oh, ’cause of the public-affairs thing,” he said, answering his own question. “Back when we did the last one, you weren’t in place. I bet you’ll do these from now on with your kiss-ass title, huh?”
“Kiss-ass?”
Miro shrugged. “Well, yeah. You kiss everybody’s ass. That’s your job.”
“That is not at all my job.”
“Yeah-huh,” he insisted.
“Yeah-huh?” I repeated. “What are you, five?” He did deal with kids all day.
“Just…whatever. The point is, you gotta look at the bright side.”
“Which is?”