“That’s all?”
“What were you expecting?”
He gave a quiet, unpleasant laugh.
“Wear something nice, Camille. There will be photographers, and I would hate for anyone to think you were still struggling.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She ended the call before he had the chance to continue.
When she turned around, her husband was standing in the doorway.
Everett Langford had come home early from a meeting. He still wore a charcoal suit, though his tie had already been loosened. Across Chicago, he was known as a brilliant investor capable of changing a company’s future with a single decision.
At home, he was simply the man who made pancakes for their three children every Sunday morning.
He picked up the invitation and read it.
“He wants you there so he can embarrass you.”
“Yes.”
“Are you considering going?”
Camille looked down at the gold lettering.
“I think I am.”
