Her phone rang, startling her enough that she jerked back from the computer. “Office of Madison Daniels, how can I help you?”
“Miss Rodgers, can you see Director Bernstein please?”
Bridget felt like a tool, since she should’ve known it was an internal call. “Yes. I’ll be right there.”
Assuming he wanted something to do with the Gala, she shut down her web and went ahead and powered off the computer. The desks outside of Madison’s office were empty. Robert was nowhere to be seen.
Swinging a left, she squeezed past a Christmas tree and entered Director Bernstein’s office. His secretary glanced up with smile. “Go ahead in,” she said.
Bridget pushed open the door and realized the director wasn’t alone. Madison was with him, and she looked pissed. Her stomach sunk as she sat next to her boss. “What’s going on?”
Director Bernstein smiled, but it looked pained, as if he were about to say something he really didn’t want to. “I know you’ve worked very hard and closely with Miss Daniels on the Winter Fund-raiser Gala, and there really is no amount of gratitude that I can express. Both of you have done a superb job.”
Bridget glanced over at Madison, having a feeling that whatever this conversation was truly about had nothing to do with his gratitude.
“The Gala is so important to the institute and for the volunteer process,” the director continued. “Each year, we see an increase in attendees and donations and those donations are what keep departments like the one Miss Daniels oversees running. We cannot afford to lose any donors who wish to have a nice evening at the Gala without the intrusion of press.”
Ice drenched Bridget’s veins as she stared at her boss’s boss. She forced herself to take a nice, slow breath. This had to do with Chad. Of course, everything had to do with Chad now, her fake boyfriend.
Whatever warm and fuzzy thoughts she had about him minutes before vanished like the doughnuts Madison had brought in this morning.
“Keeping that in mind, I’m going to have to ask that you not attend the Gala, Miss Rodgers.” That damn smile of his wavered. “Anything that involves Chad Gamble turns into a media circus, and many of our attendees do not want to be a part of an environment like that.”
Madison cleared her throat and said, “Just so you know, I do not agree with this at all.”
Funny how Bridget’s cheeks were burning when she felt so cold inside, but she’d be damned if this crap with Chad ruined something she’d been working on all year. Although, he’d seemed to be looking forward to attending the Gala with her, she knew he wouldn’t be too upset about being cut out of it. “He doesn’t have to attend,” she said. “I can do this without him.”
Director Bernstein leaned forward, folding his hands on wood so polished Bridget could see her reflection in it. “I’ve considered that, but with or without Mr. Gamble, the press will follow you. How many days are they waiting outside to get just a photograph of you alone?”
Five, but who was counting? Bridget’s hand curled uselessly in her lap. “I can try to talk to some of them. Ask them to stay away.”
“You and I both know that’s not going to work. They’re like vultures, and if they think there’s a chance they can film you and Mr. Gamble together, then they’ll be camping outside. I cannot have that kind of negative press in attendance. I’m sorry, but it’s in the best interest of the Gala and the Institute.”
Bridget wasn’t sure what she said next, but she was sure she’d nodded, agreed, and then the awkward-as-hell meeting was over. She was in a stupor as she went back to her office and grabbed her purse.
Madison looked as bad as Bridget felt. “I’m so sorry, Bridget. Bernstein is a huge Nationals fan—”
“It’s okay.” It really wasn’t, and the last thing she wanted to hear was how the director fanboyed Chad in private. “Really. I tried talking him out of it, but there’re a lot of conservative stiffs that come to this thing and donate a ton of money.”
Forcing a smile she didn’t feel, she gave her friend a brief hug. “It’s okay. Hey, I’m going to get out of here. Have a good Christmas, okay?”
“Bridge—”
She walked out of the office, blinking back tears, but her head was high.
As she climbed into her car, she sent Chad a quick text, checking to see if he was home. The response was a quick yes and the drive to his posh apartment was a blur. She figured dis-inviting Chad from the Gala was best done in person.
He answered on the first knock and stepped aside, allowing her to come in the foyer. She quickly averted her gaze from him, because really, no man should look as good as he did in a plain shirt and lounge pants.
“I…” She took a deep breath and smelled Chinese food. Her brows pinched as she glanced around. “Why do I smell General Tso’s chicken?”
Chad smiled. “When you said you were swinging by, I took the liberty of ordering a late lunch. It’s your favorite, right?”
Bridget winced at the considerate gesture. She wasn’t hungry, which was testament to how sucky she was feeling right now. “Thank you, but I wasn’t planning to stay very long.”
He’d stopped halfway down the hall and turned to her, his brows furrowing. “That’s— Hey, are you okay?”
She probably should’ve checked her face for smudged mascara. “Yes, I’m okay. I came here to tell you…to ask if you wouldn’t attend the Gala.” Not seeing the need to add the embarrassing part where she also wasn’t attending, she stumbled along awkwardly. Maybe a phone call or text would’ve been better. “I know it’s kind of rude to ask that of you and all, but I’d really appreciate it.”