Page 19 of A World Apart (Between Worlds #1)

“ W hat do you wear to a ‘casual’ wrap-up party for a recording celebrity?!” I flung the only dressy dress I’d brought with me to LA across the room, narrowly missing knocking over the lamp Becka and I had bought from IKEA when I moved in.

“What was wrong with that one?” Becka asked, casually leaning against the door frame watching me.

“Too much.”

Becka rolled her eyes at me as she took a sip of her hot, compost-tasting drink and then said, “I really feel like the more of a big deal you make this, the more stressed you’re gonna get, babes.”

“And I really feel you should get in the bin, but here we are!” I threw a pair of trousers across the room to join the dress and groaned in frustration.

“Do you have any clothes left?” Becka calmly asked.

“No!” I slumped to the floor and looked around at the piles of discarded clothes. Why had I never foreseen the possibility of being asked to a dinner being thrown for a famous person? “Because I’m an intern!” I cried, answering the other half of my own question out loud .

Becka pushed herself off the door frame and took one step into my tiny bedroom. “Okay, crazy lady, up you get,” she said, extending a hand to me to help pull me off the floor. “Let’s go have a look in my closet, I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear.”

I allowed myself to be led to Becka’s marginally bigger bedroom to where she had a built-in wardrobe.

“Sit.” She pointed at the bed, and still holding onto her mug, she began to rifle through her clothes, muttering to herself as she did, “No, too small, too slutty, not slutty enough…” and on it went until we had a small pile of contenders piled up on the bed next to where I was sitting.

Suddenly, Becka pulled a hanger out and cried, “Bingo, baby!”

I frowned down at the pool of fabric. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck yes,” she exclaimed in triumph, “this is the one!”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t scream ‘casual’ to me.”

“Babes, trust me. I spoke to Celine about this dinner and it is not casual, she’s booked it at Emporia. It’s chill, but not casual.”

I stood up and took the hanger from her. “Do you think my black stilettos will go with this?”

“Definitely.” Becka nodded enthusiastically.

“Okay then,” I said with a sigh, “I bow to your superior knowledge.”

One hour later

“Becka, come on!” I yelled at her closed bedroom door from where I was standing in the kitchenette, popping rolled up chunks of bread into my mouth. Mama didn’t raise an idiot; always line your stomach before going out and drinking.

My heels clinked softly as I walked across the small apartment to Becka’s bedroom door and knocked. “Are you coming, or not?” I called.

“Jesus Christ, give me a minute!” She called back. I rolled my eyes and walked back over to the full-length mirror by the door to once again make sure I hadn’t somehow smeared my eyeliner, or some other such fashion disaster .

Critically eying my image, I had to concede the win to Becka on this one.

I looked kind of fire. I was wearing a black playsuit that flowed loosely around my mid-thighs, so it looked like it could be a skirt, but I had the confidence of not being able to accidentally flash anyone.

It had butterfly sleeves that covered my arms to mid-bicep and a neckline that only went down to show a hint of cleavage.

From the front it looked playful, yet modest. But when I turned around, it was a different story.

The back was almost entirely open all the way down to my tailbone.

There was a strap across my shoulders and that was about it.

I didn’t have any jewellery on except for one simple silver bangle and my shoes were pretty, but nondescript black stilettos with a silver chain across my ankles.

I couldn’t do makeup for crap, so I’d stayed basic with some eyeliner and mascara, giving my eyes a smoky, but understated smoulder.

I’d brushed some highlighter across my cheekbones and lightly applied a shimmery pink lip balm.

I’d left my chestnut brown hair down, it was so long that unless I moved it to the side, my exposed back would be less… exposed.

“If you’re gonna leave him with any last images of you, let it be this one,” Becka smiled at me in the reflection, sneaking up on me.

“Holy hell!” The words burst out of me as I saw what she was wearing. “Have they always been that big?” I couldn’t take my eyes off her chest, and she laughed.

“The magic of a body-con wrap dress, babes,” she winked at me.

She looked stunning. She was wearing an emerald green wrap dress that hugged every contour of her body, and invented a couple new ones, by the looks of it. With her blonde hair ruffling around her shoulders in artfully created waves, she looked like a sexy forest nymph.

“There was no part of this evening that was going to be ‘casual’, was there?” I asked sceptically.

Becka laughed, “No, babes. Wait till you see what half the office is wearing. It’s ho season.”

I barked out a laugh that had Becka grinning at me.

“Come on, we better go. I’ll call an Uber.”

Half an hour later we pulled up outside Emporia and it was immediately evident from the outside that this was not a place you came to ‘casually’.

An imposing stone facade lit up by artfully concealed lighting gave the impression of a fashion show, including the roll of red carpet extending from the massive front doors to the kerb.

I gave a low whistle as the Uber pulled away, leaving us standing there, looking up at the restaurant.

“How did Celine manage to get a last-minute booking here?” I asked, wonder in my tone.

“Pfft, she name-dropped, obviously.” Becka scoffed, although even I could see the look of admiration in her eyes. “From what she told me, they practically rolled over when they heard who she was booking for. Your boy has pull,” she said, with an approvingly nod of her head.

“Y’know,” I said conversationally, deciding to ignore the ‘your boy’ comment, “if we were in a film in the 80’s, this is the moment where we’d take one last drag of our cigarettes, before dropping them on the pavement and stamping them out.”

Becka looked at me, her nose scrunched. “You’re so weird.”

“But am I wrong though?”

“Come on, Molly Ringwald,” Becka huffed and grabbed my arm to wind it with her own and together, we walked up the red carpet to the front doors.

There was no bouncer on the door, but there was a very pretty, professional looking woman standing at a ma?tre d’ podium inside the foyer.

“Good evening,” she said in a pleasant tone, “may I take the name on your reservation, please?”

Becka gave Celine’s name and confirmed it was a VIP booking. The woman’s face immediately changed from pleasant disinterest to something resembling reverence.

“Of course,” she said, “please wait one moment.” She turned and flagged down a young man dressed uniformly in black suit trousers and a black shirt.

“Jake will take you to the lounge where the rest of your party is gathering. I hope you have an enjoyable night.” She smiled widely at us as we followed the young server.

Becka and I tried not to gape as we were led through the restaurant, the dark aesthetic and discreet background club music confirming Becka had been right about the dress code. All the guests we saw were dressed in much the same way we were.

The server, Jake, led us all the way through the restaurant and then up a staircase to the second floor, which had a much more relaxed vibe.

It was a similar palette of black, dark grey and silver accents, but the lighting was more wall sconce, instead of pointy chandelier, like it had been downstairs.

The music was also more relaxed, less club, more Ibiza chillout. It was a vibe.

It was clear that our party had booked out the entirety of the upstairs.

There were other tables laid out, but all were empty.

Our party was spread out over four or five large circular tables in the centre of the large room.

It looked like most of the building had been invited, although at a glance there were plenty of people there I didn’t know, so perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so obvious an intern had somehow snagged an invitation.

The server stopped a respectful distance away from the party and asked us if we’d like any drinks. We both ordered a glass of wine, and he nodded and disappeared back to wherever the wine was .

Becka and I lingered awkwardly, each of us not knowing where to slot in when, blessedly, Celine walked past and stopped when she saw us. She was clearly already a wine or two deep as she was far friendlier to me than normal.

“Guys! You look great, mwah!” She actually said the word as she air-kissed us in turn. I shared a look with Becka.

“Why are you just standing here? Come, sit down!” Celine waved her arm magnanimously and pulled us over to a table that still had a few empty seats.

Becka and I sat down, and I was relieved to be seated next to a person from Becka’s team that I actually knew enough to make small talk with.

Bonus points that Celine seemed either too drunk, or too merry to not remember I hadn’t been on the official guest list.

I was just rearranging my hair over my shoulders when I looked up across the table to see Jihoon. He was sitting at another table across the way from ours, several people in between us, but as the tables were round, I had a completely unobstructed view of him, although he hadn’t seen me yet.

I took the time to check him out, completely unabashedly.

Jihoon was easily the least dressed up of anyone there, wearing an oversized black t-shirt and a silver chain ? similar to mine, I realized ? and several glinting earrings in his ears.

He was laughing at something someone opposite him said, and as his eyes darted around, I saw them snag on me.

His grin widened further. I didn’t dare wave, but I smiled back.

About half-way through the dinner, I was more and more pleased with the wisdom of lining my stomach before coming out.

Not only were the portions artistically small (we were apparently eating a taster menu of half a dozen dishes), but they also refreshed our wine more often than our plates.

Looking around at our table, I could tell at least half of them would be calling off work tomorrow. Rookie mistake. I shook my head wryly.

Jihoon and I had snuck glances at each other all evening and instead of being frustrating, it felt playful, like we were sharing a secret.

He’d look at me, then over at someone clearly three sheets to the wind and waggle his eyebrows, making me laugh, which I’d have to then either cover as a cough or pretend to be in response to something someone at our table said.

I’m sure I had left quite the impression on some of these people, but I didn’t care.

After my third attempt ? and failure ? at catching the passing waiter’s attention to ask for some water, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

“I’m going to the bar to get some water.

Do you want some?” I asked Becka next to me, who was so deep in conversation with the person to her right that she just waved her hand at me.

I got to my feet and, looking about, spotting the bar way on the other side of the floor.

I made my way over to it, realising as I balanced in my heels that I was slightly more buzzed than I intended to be, but I didn’t stumble once. Which I was quite proud of.

I reached the bar and leaned my hip into it. There was no one manning the bar just then, but I was happy to wait. It was quite nice to stretch my legs after sitting for so long.

Just then, I became aware of a presence behind me. I don’t know if it was the body heat I felt, or the way that the world seemed to fall just a little silent around him, but when I looked over my shoulder, Jihoon was there, standing a handful of feet away from me, hands in his pockets.

“Hello,” he smiled at me.

“Hello,” I replied, suddenly shy.

“Can I get you a drink?” he said, gesturing at the bar.

“Oh, um, I’m just waiting for someone to come back so I can get some water,” I said, looking back at the bar and without thinking, I pulled my hair around over my shoulder, the sudden breeze at my back suddenly reminding me what I was wearing, and what it was not covering.

Jihoon said something in Korean so low I barely heard him, and when I looked back over my shoulder, his eyes were glued to my bare back.

I quickly looked back around to hide my smile and suddenly, feeling a bit daring, I moved my forearms up to lean against the bar, flexing my back, hyper aware of every air current, nerves alight for every sensation, including the imaginary one I could feel from his gaze.

Then without warning, Jihoon was up against me, pressing me into the bar, the unexpected contact making me gasp .

“Excuse me, coming through,” a server bustled behind us, carrying a tray so laden with drinks I was surprised he could carry it. “I’ll be right with you,” he called over his shoulder.

But even as the server passed us, Jihoon did not move. He was pressed so closely to me that I felt it every time he breathed. His arms were braced on the bar on either side of me, so instead of pushing against me, he was caging me in, almost protectively.

Slowly, I turned in the circle of his arms, rubbing my bare back against him like a cat, delighting in the feel of his hard, muscular chest hidden under the soft fabric of his baggy t-shirt.

Once I was fully turned to him, our faces were only inches apart. I drew my bottom lip into my mouth as I watched his eyes roving over my face and further down my neck before snapping back up to meet my own inquiring gaze.

As if suddenly remembering where, and perhaps who he was, Jihoon stepped away from me, arms dropping to his sides, sliding one hand into his pocket, the very image of aloofness.

“There’s a roof garden. Do you want to see it with me?” he asked, his tone light and not at all matching the intense darkness of his eyes.

Wordlessly, I nodded and followed him, forgetting all about getting a drink.