Chapter 139
“Oh, Hadley, my dear!” Lennon groaned, his laugh tinged with exasperation. “Sure, if he doesn’t show, I miss out on his money. But if he remembers later and hears we went ahead without him, I’ll be the one paying for it!”
Hadley pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
There was no denying it—Eric’s name still carried serious weight in Srixby.
“And what about the crowd?”
The audience outside was still waiting for the Dance Queen to raise a glass to the top patron.
It was the real finale of the night, and without Eric making an appearance, everything had come to a standstill.
The tension was mounting, and the impatience in the air was palpable.
“Leave it to me,” Lennon said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “I’ll throw Mr. Flynn’s name out there and see if anyone’s foolish enough to question it.”
That settled it. Hadley had no further arguments. Lennon had made his stance crystal clear.
“I’m heading out front,” Lennon announced, smoothing back his pomade-slicked hair before puffing out his chest. With a confident stride, he made his way toward the stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” His voice rang out, commanding the room’s attention. “Tonight’s top patron will receive a personal toast from none other than our shining star, Miss S! And now, the big reveal. The title of tonight’s top patron belongs to… Mr. Eric Flynn!”
The crowd erupted.
“No way!”
“It’s him! Mr. Flynn!”
The audience went wild, their cheers surging through the venue like a tidal wave.
𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗮 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲: g⍶𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗍𝖊𝗅𝘀﹒ⅽ𝗼𝗺
After all, nothing stirred up a crowd quite like the spectacle of a billionaire backing a breathtaking dancer.
“Miss S, raise a toast to Mr. Flynn!”
“Raise a toast!”
The crowd at Galant erupted in cheers, their voices bouncing off the walls like a rolling tide. Yet, amid the excitement, a realization dawned upon them—neither Eric nor Hadley was present.
“Where is Mr. Flynn?”
“Has anyone seen him? I don’t see him anywhere.”
Soon, murmurings turned into certainty—Eric had not made an appearance at all.
“Come on now,” someone teased, amusement laced in their voice. “Mr. Lewis, how does Mr. Flynn claim the title of top patron if he hasn’t even set foot in the place tonight?”
“Are you pulling the wool over our eyes?”
“Or is it that you’ve locked Miss S away, unwilling to let her grace us with her presence?”
“No, no!”
Lennon frantically waved his hands, motioning for the growing unrest to settle. “Here’s the situation. Mr. Flynn may not be here in person, but he did leave behind a message.”
A message. That was all Lennon could offer. After all, if he revealed the prearranged scheme—where Eric would automatically outbid anyone by half a million dollars—it would be like stirring a hornet’s nest.