Chapter 5: Whatever You're Paying

The hospital foundation's spring auction was on Saturday, and my shop had done its flowers for three years.

I could have sent my assistant. I went myself, in my green dress, with the petition folded in my clutch.

Fifty tables of white peonies filled the pier pavilion. I walked between them with a spray bottle and nobody looked at me twice.

Then I reached the head table, and Damian was standing there.

He wore the navy suit I had picked for him. He was talking to the chief of surgery and holding a glass of club soda.

He saw me and stopped in the middle of a sentence.

The chief turned, followed his gaze, and found something urgent to do at the bar.

"You're working tonight," Damian said.

"The contract was signed in January."

"I'd have canceled it for you."

"I know. I didn't ask you to."

His eyes went to my clutch, then back to my face.

"Did you read it?"

"Every page." I opened the clutch and took out the petition. "I'm not signing it, Damian."

"Jo."

"You can file it a hundred times. I won't put my name on it."

A couple at the next table slowed on their way to the buffet.

"Not here," Damian said, very low.

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