Read Online The Beginning of Always by Sophia Mae Todd - Free Book Online
Authors: Sophia Mae Todd
Tags: Romance
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and disappeared.
* * *
I wandered about the edge of the room as I waited for the rest of the guests to trickle in. I nursed a glass of red wine from the bar and paced around in aimless circles before settling down at my table.
The people at my table were all random donors whose names escaped me as soon as I shook their hands. I was seated next to an embarrassingly obvious gold digger and her elderly husband. She introduced herself and spent several minutes working her massive cleavage back into her low-cut dress. The husband ogled freely.
At 6:30 sharp, the lights dimmed slightly and the hum of conversations quieted to a hush. A short, dumpy yet kind-looking man took the stage with both arms raised in greeting. Applause rang out and cheers sounded. The man was ecstatic as he climbed up to stand behind the podium, and the room gradually fell silent. The sound of his breath on the microphone echoed through the room.
“Good evening, everyone,” his fatherly voice spoke. “Welcome, welcome, welcome to the New York City Community Children’s Hospital Family House!”
Another round of applause rang, and I did my duty and joined in.
“My name is Dr. Fred Chandler, and I am the director of the NYC Community Children’s Hospital. I have to say, I am so happy you could join us tonight, and above all else, I am just utterly pleased to be able to introduce you to our brand-new family house!”
More applause.
Dr. Fred Chandler leaned into the microphone and grinned. “But I will not keep you, nor will I take credit for this wonderful home’s inception. I am about to introduce you to the amazing man and soul who was instrumental in getting this project off the ground. Everything you see here, every nail, board, and brick, was personally overseen by him to his exacting standards, all for the generous donation of giving back to the community of families who require this service so very much. This individual has been the catalyst in changing New York City real estate and shifting its streets and skyline. He has crafted entire neighborhoods with his savvy, and I cannot be prouder to add the CCH’s family house to this portfolio. Please, everyone, join me in welcoming the esteemed Mr. Alistair Blair!”
Dr. Chandler clapped furiously and backed up, slipping away from the podium as exuberantly as he had come in. The room broke into raucous cheers and applause as Alistair Blair entered from the left and took the stage. He strolled across the stage with a confident air about him, a lowball glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He sauntered casually to the center of the stage to stand behind the podium, placing his glass down next to the microphone and running his palms down the sides of the lectern, utterly at ease. He surveyed the crowd and gave a small smile.
And it was at that moment that I forgot how to breathe.
It had been ten years since I’d seen him last, and Alistair had changed yet remained exactly the same. His hair was still the same shade of soft black, but instead of long unruly strands that covered his face, it was now cropped, tended, trimmed with obvious skill. In lieu of old worn t-shirts that always managed to retain the scent of summers in the fields, Alistair wore a dark navy suit, tailored to his wide shoulders and tapered at his narrow waist and hips, designer and oozing sophistication.
But his face. That maddeningly beautiful face, it burned with a familiarity that gutted me, with the same anger and hostility that veiled a vulnerable and pained child. Now, that veil was thicker than ever and I wondered if the same boy still existed underneath, if time and society had scalded and destroyed any semblance of innocence. Alistair’s skin was a burnished light tan, and his narrow, smoldering light hazel eyes swept back and forth across the room. He held a tight smile on his face and gave off an intense, almost angry air. Not the greatest response to five hundred people cheering and clapping.
“Good
* * *
I wandered about the edge of the room as I waited for the rest of the guests to trickle in. I nursed a glass of red wine from the bar and paced around in aimless circles before settling down at my table.
The people at my table were all random donors whose names escaped me as soon as I shook their hands. I was seated next to an embarrassingly obvious gold digger and her elderly husband. She introduced herself and spent several minutes working her massive cleavage back into her low-cut dress. The husband ogled freely.
At 6:30 sharp, the lights dimmed slightly and the hum of conversations quieted to a hush. A short, dumpy yet kind-looking man took the stage with both arms raised in greeting. Applause rang out and cheers sounded. The man was ecstatic as he climbed up to stand behind the podium, and the room gradually fell silent. The sound of his breath on the microphone echoed through the room.
“Good evening, everyone,” his fatherly voice spoke. “Welcome, welcome, welcome to the New York City Community Children’s Hospital Family House!”
Another round of applause rang, and I did my duty and joined in.
“My name is Dr. Fred Chandler, and I am the director of the NYC Community Children’s Hospital. I have to say, I am so happy you could join us tonight, and above all else, I am just utterly pleased to be able to introduce you to our brand-new family house!”
More applause.
Dr. Fred Chandler leaned into the microphone and grinned. “But I will not keep you, nor will I take credit for this wonderful home’s inception. I am about to introduce you to the amazing man and soul who was instrumental in getting this project off the ground. Everything you see here, every nail, board, and brick, was personally overseen by him to his exacting standards, all for the generous donation of giving back to the community of families who require this service so very much. This individual has been the catalyst in changing New York City real estate and shifting its streets and skyline. He has crafted entire neighborhoods with his savvy, and I cannot be prouder to add the CCH’s family house to this portfolio. Please, everyone, join me in welcoming the esteemed Mr. Alistair Blair!”
Dr. Chandler clapped furiously and backed up, slipping away from the podium as exuberantly as he had come in. The room broke into raucous cheers and applause as Alistair Blair entered from the left and took the stage. He strolled across the stage with a confident air about him, a lowball glass of amber liquid in his hand.
He sauntered casually to the center of the stage to stand behind the podium, placing his glass down next to the microphone and running his palms down the sides of the lectern, utterly at ease. He surveyed the crowd and gave a small smile.
And it was at that moment that I forgot how to breathe.
It had been ten years since I’d seen him last, and Alistair had changed yet remained exactly the same. His hair was still the same shade of soft black, but instead of long unruly strands that covered his face, it was now cropped, tended, trimmed with obvious skill. In lieu of old worn t-shirts that always managed to retain the scent of summers in the fields, Alistair wore a dark navy suit, tailored to his wide shoulders and tapered at his narrow waist and hips, designer and oozing sophistication.
But his face. That maddeningly beautiful face, it burned with a familiarity that gutted me, with the same anger and hostility that veiled a vulnerable and pained child. Now, that veil was thicker than ever and I wondered if the same boy still existed underneath, if time and society had scalded and destroyed any semblance of innocence. Alistair’s skin was a burnished light tan, and his narrow, smoldering light hazel eyes swept back and forth across the room. He held a tight smile on his face and gave off an intense, almost angry air. Not the greatest response to five hundred people cheering and clapping.
“Good
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