David called on Ella to give the toast.
She froze.
So did Mr. Johnson, his confusion plain on his face. What was David getting at? Was he interested in Ella? If that was the case, Mr. Johnson knew better than to get in the way. Competing with David for a woman was out of the question.
“What are you still sitting there for? Go offer Mr. Harmon a drink,” Mr. Johnson urged, nudging her along.
Someone else at the table chuckled. “I've seen plenty of college girls who would love to give Mr. Harmon a toast, but it's rare to see someone actually get the chance.”
“Go on, don't make Mr. Harmon wait.”
Now, everyone was watching her. There was no way out.
Ella had no idea what David was up to. Still, she stood, picked up her glass, and made her way to his side.
“Mr. Harmon, a toast to you.”
She was standing, he was sitting, yet somehow David still managed to look down at her. His eyes swept over her, slow and careless, almost teasing, like a man shopping for something new and expensive.
He caught her reluctance and smiled, just a little, lips quirking up. “And who are you? You think I'll accept your toast just because you offer?”
A few of the executives burst out laughing.
“That’s right,” one of them said. “Our Mr. Harmon doesn’t drink with just anyone.”
Ella felt her face flush, the glass in her hand suddenly heavy. Now she got it. He'd called her over just to make a fool of her.
She shot him a glare, then turned to leave.
But luck wasn’t on her side. The heel of her shoe caught in the thick carpet, and she stumbled.

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