“Yeah, I’m tired of hiding. It’s boring.” She sipped the champagne and took in a deep breath. The sweet smell of roses wafted on the air and mixed with the rich smell of meat coming from one of the tents. “I’m not sure how we pulled this off, but it’s better than the ballroom.”

“It is lovely,” Trevor said. “Although having my privacy invaded by all these people is tiresome. You’re going to have to make it up to me in some creative way, Allison.”

Allie reached up and kissed his jaw. “I can do creative,” she almost purred.

“Oh God, you two. Gross.” Monica looked away.

“We’re a good team, Monnie,” Allie said. “Sure you want to quit?”

“I’m sure.” Monica had never been more sure of anything. She’d put together a job description for her replacement, and at night, when she couldn’t sleep, Monica had revised her own résumé. She hoped she’d find something that suited her, where she could deal with real people instead of numbers.

Now Monica needed to get her personal life on track. What if she showed up in L.A. and Cal didn’t want to see her? Her stomach lurched. If he didn’t care for her, at least she’d know. She wouldn’t spend the rest of her life wondering about what-ifs. From now on, Monica planned on following her heart.

Her dad, Brian, and his wife, Karen, stepped out of the house and onto the terrace. As they made their way over, their eyes flickered around the garden. They’d just flown in from Texas the night before and hadn’t seen all the work that had gone into the transformation.

“Hey, Dad.” Monica hugged him, then kissed Karen’s cheek. “I’m glad you guys made it.”

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Karen said. Dressed in a conservative silver gown, Monica’s stepmother looked lovely. Over the years, she’d grown on Monica, and Brian loved her to distraction. That had been hard on Monica at first, but she’d come to terms with it.

“Girls.” Brian cleared his throat. “This is so nice. Your mom would have loved this.”

“She would have told us not to make such a fuss, but I think she’d have been pleased,” Allie said. “In about ten minutes, I’m going to give my speech, and then I’ll bring you up on stage to say a few words, Mon.”

Monica nodded. “Sure.”

Brynn walked toward them and cast a glance over her shoulder. She wore a long ivory dress. More Renaissance Faire than charity fund-raiser, but she looked pretty. “Hey, Trev, do you know that guy? The really tall one?”

He flicked a glance over her head. “Never seen him before.”

Allie craned her neck to look past Brynn’s shoulder. “The beefy guy staring at your ass?”

Brynn’s cheeks turned red. “Yeah.”

“I’ve never seen him before either,” Allie said.

Monica tried to be a little more subtle, but the man’s gaze was unwavering. “Nope, but he’s cute. You should stop long enough to let him catch you.”

Brynn shook her head. “He’s not my type.”

Trevor buttoned his suit jacket. “I’ll go speak to him at once and tell him to keep his eyes in his fucking head.”

Brynn grabbed his arm. “No, don’t. I’m going to lose myself in the crowd.” She glanced at Monica. “Looks great. Good job.” Then she slipped away and melted into the shadows.

Out of the corner of her eye, Monica spotted Evan. How could she miss him in that bright blue jacket? She crossed the garden and stood next to him. He’d nabbed a handful of canapés and couldn’t shove them in his mouth fast enough.

When she reached him, he leaned down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “You look good in that dress. Very fuckable.”

Monica raised one brow. “That’s the look I was going for. At the gala in my mother’s honor.”

“Sorry, I call ’em like I see ’em.” He snared a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “I think your dad’s wedding was the last time I was here.”

“Yeah, I wanted to thank you for the garden idea. You’re a genius.”

“You’re just now figuring that out? I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Monica briefly rested her head on his shoulder. “I also wanted to thank you for telling me the truth about my sad life. I kind of love you. Like a brother, so don’t get all creepy.”

“Is one of us dying?” he asked. “Because otherwise, this shit’s getting uncomfortable.”

She glanced up at him. “Always with the jokes. I’m going to L.A. tonight. I’m going to put my heart on the line, Ev. I’m so scared, I can’t even think straight.”

He gazed down at her, his expression serious for a change. “That sounds potentially disastrous or very exciting.”

“I know.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Good luck. Call me tomorrow. Let me know how it goes. And Monnie, if you need me to come to L.A., I’ll be on the next plane.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“You know I’m always here. Like Batman and Robin, kid.”

Monica nodded at the girl near the bar who licked her hand, knocked back a shot, and sucked on a lime wedge. Nowhere in nature did skin appear that shade of orange. “I assume that’s your date.”

“Of course. Speaking of which, that was her fourth tequila shot. I need to stop a train wreck. Break a leg with the speech.”

Monica gave him a hug before returning to her family.

“Okay,” Allie said, blowing out a breath. “Speech time. Wish me luck.” She handed her glass off to Trevor.

He kissed her temple. “You’ll be marvelous, darling. You always are.”

Allie wended through groupings of people, stopping to chat on her way to the podium. When she stepped up on the dais, the music stopped, and she tapped on the microphone. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

As everyone clapped, Monica made her way forward. She wasn’t a big fan of speaking in public. But all she had to do was give a simple thank-you to the staff and the board, and it would be over. Her gaze bounced off Marcus Stanford and his busty wife. Perhaps Mrs. Stanford should be less concerned about junk food and more concerned about injecting toxins into her blank face. Ouch. That was bitchy. Monica put it down to nerves.

Allie rambled on a bit too long, then she announced Monica. Holding up the hem of her dress, Monica climbed the steps, hoping she wouldn’t fall.

Allie smiled and handed her the mic. As Monica stared at the crowd—Vegas’s richest and a few infamous—she blanked. Her mind stopped working. She stood, statue-like, for at least a full minute, maybe more.

When Monica said nothing, murmurs broke out over the crowd. This had never happened to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Monica stared out at a sea of faces and remained silent.

Evan raised his brows. Trevor lowered his. Marcus Stanford smirked.

Out of desperation, Monica said the first thing that popped into her head. “Patricia Campbell isn’t a statistic.”

The murmurs stopped and everyone became silent, waiting.

Monica cleared her throat. “We talk about survivors and victims of the disease. Well, my mom wasn’t a victim.” She took a deep breath, unsure of what to say next. So she decided to go with the truth for a change. “She was a fighter. Cancer didn’t define who she was. My mom laughed too loud and liked hair metal bands. She had this wicked, biting sense of humor. And she fought to live, from the day she was diagnosed until the day she died.

“She believed in me, when I didn’t believe in myself. My mom was my best friend, and I still miss her. I want to thank you all for being here tonight, and for honoring her memory with your donations. Thank you so much.”

Monica was about to lose it. She shoved the mic back in Allie’s hand, who looked as surprised as Monica felt. But she also felt free. Free of the guilt she’d carried around for so long. Her mom loved her. She wouldn’t have held Monica’s stupid decisions against her. Why had it taken her so long to realize it? Patricia Campbell wasn’t a saint, but she’d been an amazing woman.

Monica hustled to the steps, intent on getting the hell out of there. She wanted Cal’s arms more than ever. She took strength from him; she felt cherished when he held her tight. Monica only hoped like hell it wasn’t too late to win him back.