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“Not now,” says George, a shortness to his voice, making me realize our conversation is over. My stomach sinks. It had not gone in the way I had hoped. It hadn’t gone anywhere because of the interruption.
I swallow hard as I look around the room, trying to spot this notorious businessman that everyone seems to know by name, but is a mystery when it comes to faces. I’m looking for a sixty-year-old man with the face of a snake, but I can’t find anyone matching that made-up depiction among the party that comprises strangers and a lot of people I love. People who would also lose their jobs if he takes over. The thought makes me sick.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” I say, trying again. I touch George’s arm softly.
He lets out a small harumph in reply.
“He’s just here to schmooze you. You have something he wants. Something special.Youhave the upper hand.”
George nods absentmindedly, and I know I’ve lost him to his thoughts.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he says as he turns and walks into the crowd of people who are all murmuring about this possible threat among us.
As if on cue, the music picks up into a pop hit, and as much as I wish I could let it distract me, my job is on the line. The night has taken a serious turn. I look down at the champagne dress that could have paid my rent and try not to feel foolish for buying it. I smooth my hands down the front of it and take a deep breath. I refused to let this go to waste. The night was not over yet. I’m not about to let this Mr. Vallejo ruin everything I’ve worked for. I have to find George, but first I need something stronger than the champagne in my hand.
I give myself a reassuring nod and turn to walk toward the bar. As I turn, I walk face-first into someone, causing me to stumble backward slightly and the champagne in my glass to pour all over them. I gasp as I see the liquid seep into the person’s gray suit, darkening it.
“Oh, my gosh,” I stammer, as I steady myself. “I’m so sorry. I—”
I try to get out another apology, but my eyes have found the man’s in front of me and words have left me entirely. Staring back at me has to be the most handsome man I have ever seen.His eyes are a mocha color that are darkening into molten pools the longer they stay locked with mine. His dark hair is pushed to the side in a perfect swoosh, and his hand is running through it now. I can’t help but notice how long his fingers are as they move through it.
I suddenly have no idea where I am. Who I am. I just need to know whoheis.
Chapter 3
Marco
As the bubbly beige liquid seeps into my light gray suit, I am about to go off on the clumsy idiot who walked right into me, ruining my tailor’s custom work. But I stop short when I see it’s the woman I had been admiring from across the room. The one I kept guessing her eye color. I see now that they are green, and I’m even more taken aback by her beauty now that I’m up close.
Her hair is chestnut brown and glossy against the lights of the party. Her lips are painted a subtle shade of nude and come together in the center in a perfect cupid’s bow. But I keep coming back to those eyes. If the dress was made for her, then her eyes were custom built for her heart-shaped face.
I close my mouth that was about to spew some unfriendly words and lock eyes with hers, unable to tear myself away from them.It’s like they’re changing color as they meld with mine. For a minute, it feels like it’s just us two. There’s no one else at this party. There’s no awful eighties pop song. I can slightly ignore the fact that my skin is now damp from her drink. I run my hand nervously through my hair, and I’m never nervous.
A brief lull of silence follows her embarrassed apologies, until she’s back at it again, the trance broken.
“I amsosorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” she says, the words tumbling off her tongue in a nervous quickness.
“It’s quite all right,” I say.
And it is, but only because it’s her.
“But your suit…” Her eyes travel down my body and linger a little longer than she probably intended them to. I bite back a smile as she realizes it.
“This old thing?” I lie. I had picked it up from my tailor at Bloomingdales this morning.
“Just hold on,” she says, turning for the bar. I watch as she frantically pushes through the line of people and picks up a pile of cocktail napkins from the countertop. She’s rushing back toward me now and I can’t help but notice the way her breasts bounce in her strapless dress. They’re real and they’re wonderful. I tear my eyes away before she notices.
The next thing I know, her hands are on me, blotting the champagne from my suit. She is so concerned with the stains, that she must not notice where her hands are headed. They blot at my chest, traveling down my torso, and further down. I let it happen, amused and turned on at the same time. Soon she’s on her knees, and my thoughts can’t get any dirtier. I realize we are making a little bit of a spectacle in the center of this party, but she is seemingly unaware of the crowd who watches on as she tries to clean me up.
I gently grab her hand that clutches the cocktail napkins. I note the smoothness of it as I pull her to stand. She looks at me nervously. I wonder if there is anything I can say to reassure her that she’s more than made her amends.
“Please, it’s fine,” I say calmly.
She nods and then seems to notice the others murmuring around us. I see her cheeks flush with color.
“Care to take in the view?” I ask, ignoring the rest of the party, and nod toward the outskirts of the rooftop.
“Please,” she replies thankfully.