The gavels sharp crack blasted into the air and a round of applause followed suit. The third item of the night disappeared backstage. The air in the hall was still warm with money, the kind that didn't shout, but smiled and nodded while it took your last dime.
A server in a sharp black and white vest passed with another tray of champagne flutes. The clink of glass followed him into the distance. The lights shifted again, the blue fading into something softer; amber glow that bathed the stage in a rich, museum like warmth.
Maximus sat back in his chair, his fingers anxiously drumming steadily against his knee. He wasn't fidgeting, it was the rhythm of someone counting possibilities.
Valerie, legs crossed elegantly, didn't look at the stage right away. She was scanning the crowd of elites with that sharp, feline gaze if hers, the one that seemed to measure everyone down to the thread count in their attires.
