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I do as he asked though, and I nod and smile, making small talk wherever I can. And he was right. Most people don’t ask me a lot of questions and when they do, soft smiles and return questions deflect nearly all of them.

The few people who persist, Triston commandeers the conversation. I sink deeper into his side, safe as long as he’s next to me.

I sip at a delicious glass of champagne, keenly aware that I can’t drink too much. I’ve no tolerance and I need my wits, but it’s as delicious as I imagined.

The crowd is mostly assembled in the ballroom now, though people are filtering in and out of the French doors to the garden beyond.

Triston is speaking to some politician whose name I cannot remember when I see Mason and Charlotte approach.

My lips curve into a smile as I give a little wave.

Charlotte’s brow furrows for a moment before her eyes go wide. “Honeyeh?”

Mason stops, his gaze taking me in from my styled hair, to my jewel-covered neck, right down to the Manolo Blahniks that cover my feet.

“Hi,” I say to Charlotte, my eyes darting from her to Mason. “I’m so glad I get to see you tonight.”

“Me too,” Charlotte steps forward, giving me a hug. “You look stunning.”

I smooth the dress over my hips as she backs up. “It’s amazing what designer labels can do for a girl.”

She laughs at that. “So true.” And then she cocks her head to the side, the question in her eyes. It’s such a long explanation, I’m not even sure where to start.

Mason sticks out his hand to Triston, interrupting the conversation. “Triston. Good to see you looking so fit and happy after your recent breakup.”

The politician gives a nervous laugh, Triston squaring off with Mason as his eyes narrow. “Thank you.”

Charlotte elbows her husband, giving me a nervous smile. “How’s Darius?”

My brother is an excellent topic, considering. “He’s as good as can be expected. That surgeon Mason recommended is wonderful. I’m really hopeful.”

“Good,” Mason looks at me, his glacial gaze warming. “I’m glad to hear it, Honeyeh.”

I fall silent, wondering what to say next. I can’t talk about the job, obviously. “I’m taking my required art class next semester. You’re not going to believe who I got for a professor.”

“Not Burke?” Charlotte gasps.

I wrinkle my nose. He’s a complete pig and some girls have complained that he’s harassed them. “Yes. Burke. You had him. Did he give you trouble?”

“Transfer classes,” Mason cuts in. “I’ll call the school and make certain it happens if you need me to, but do not take his class.”

I blink in surprise. I was attempting small talk, but I seem to have landed myself in more hot water.

Triston’s hand comes to my back. “Something I should know?”

“A word, please,” Mason returns to Triston in the kind of clipped voice that has my brows drawing together.

Triston gives my waist a light squeeze before he gestures for Mason to follow.

Charlotte sighs. “Burke was awful to me. Mason had to intervene,” she whispers. “Honestly, it was my first real indicator that Mason cared about me.”

I consider those words, wanting to know more. But she’s got questions of her own. “Are you and Triston a thing?”

I shake my head, hiding a sigh. “No. Definitely not.”

Her eyes crinkle in confusion. In whispered tones, I explain how Triston has hired me as a personal assistant and my job tonight is to make certain other women don’t attempt to distract him.

Charlotte listens, considering the words. When I’m done, she gives me a thoughtful appraisal. “I’m not sure, Honeyeh. About any of this.”