The-Spanish-Love-Deception-www.indianpdf

C H A P T E R E I G H T
W
hen Aaron had mentioned fundraiser, followed by auction, I
had pictured a fancy but frilly room filled with wealthy and
uptown old people. Don’t ask me why. But I had not expected
the spectacular rooftop where we had been welcomed with a flute glass of the
tastiest sparkling wine I had ever had the pleasure to drink. And surely, not
the trendy—and rather extravagant—array of people of all ages and
backgrounds in attendance.
Who knew that the upper spheres of the Big Apple could be so …
colorful?
Not that I had met everybody here. Actually, we had pretty much stuck to
those somehow related to the football world. Which seemed natural after
Aaron’s revelation about his past and his family involvement in it. For the
last hour, I had been introduced to a couple of coaches and team coordinators,
a sportscaster, and a number of influential people whose positions I wasn’t
familiar with but that I nodded to like I knew exactly what they did. The only
people we had talked to outside the sports bubble were a few entrepreneurs
whose corporations, enterprises, and whatnot I had never heard of either.
Every time we encountered a new group of people, Aaron introduced me
as Catalina Martín, not adding any kind of label before or after my name.
Which somehow helped me lose all that tension I had carried with me from
the car drive and definitely aided with my newfound intention of trying to
enjoy myself.
This was my first time at an event like this one, and it would most likely
be my last, so the least I could do was have fun.
“I already said so, but I’m so happy to see you, Aaron.” Angela, a lady in