Page 22 of Love at First Sighting

El

Carter looks out of place in most situations. Not here.

While Ian Forte has Terra-fied Houdini House to fit the occasion, there’s only so much you can do to cover up its true form.

Houdini House is absolutely kitschy, with its wood-paneled walls, decadent chandeliers, and elaborate paisley carpeting.

The inside smells of expensive alcohol, leather, and cigar smoke.

I catch Carter biting hard on the gum between his back teeth.

The doorman checks for our names on the list and invites us inside.

Behind me, Jet is bellowing about the difference between each of his pecs, a perfect complement to the jazzy ditty playing over the speakers.

This is busier than the average night at Houdini House, packed with all the tech bro wannabes and eye candy for Ian to peruse all night.

Carter glances around, like he’s stepped into an unfamiliar attraction.

He’s had something tense about him since we left the Nest, and I wonder if it’s Bex’s comment about his social status poking away at him.

If it is, I hope the way I brush the back of his hand reminds him that it’s him I want at my side tonight.

There’s a table of Terra Vodka bottles on ice near the entrance. A girl in a blue velvet minidress pours small shots out of a dick-shaped canister and passes us each one. It looks far more detailed and clinical in person.

“Excelsior!” she cheers.

Carter eyes his glass. “No mixers?”

“You don’t need mixers,” she says, but I can tell right away her acting career in Hollywood is not going well. “Terra Vodka is made from the finest ingredients. So good you don’t need to mix it with anything.”

Somehow, I doubt that.

Carter tips his hat with one hand and throws the shot back with me.

I would love to say this vodka tastes like “prosperity” like it boasts in the commercials, but it tastes like nail polish remover and lighter fluid.

It might have seared a hole in my stomach lining.

Not even the years of mixing just about anything with vodka in my teens could prepare me for this.

However, I’m doing better than Carter, whose eyes are fully glossy, and he looks like he’s trying with all his might to not choke and embarrass us. Instead, he swallows, blinks the tears away, and gives the model a thumbs-up.

“Excelsior!” he struggles out.

The model gives him a polite smile back before lowering her voice. “It’s better if you mix it with pineapple juice.”

“ Now you tell us,” Carter grunts.

“Thank you,” I say, taking Carter by the arm and guiding him farther into the venue.

I rest my hands on Carter’s shoulders, moving in to adjust his crooked tie, slant his hat down. It’s like I’ve turned up his suaveness by doing so, and a coy smirk rises to his lips. Carter gives me a look that screams play with me , and god do I want to. But not here. We have work to do.

I know how this scene works. Ladder climbers and gossips look carefully at every single person arriving at the party, questioning how they got an invite, what business they have here, and they’re ready to spill the attendance to the internet and cause a stir.

My throat tightens as I think of what they’ll say of me.

Influencer El Martin Shows Up to Ian Forte’s Launch Party with an Unknown.

Despite all her bad press, she’s still managed to get Ian’s attention.

Or She’s using him because her sponsorships are drying up.

What they won’t write about is how happy I look or how carefree I feel. Tonight, I choose to follow my heart and not the algorithm.

I catch the eyes of glitter-clad models and tech bros who I swear I must have matched with at some point.

Jenna Holland, a famous beauty blogger recovering from a cancellation after she got hot-mic’d saying she doesn’t want poor people using her products, saunters by and flips her hair at me.

I don’t associate with her. I’m also one of many to avoid the recently canceled and washed-up Skroll personality with frosted tips who’s trying to schmooze with no success.

I spot another model, who I crossed paths with briefly in line for cheese sandwiches at Fyre Fest. She asks me quickly how I’m “coping.” I’m not sure if she’s referring to Fyre Fest or my current debacle.

I know how to work these parties. I know how to get sponsorships and deals out of these kinds of people.

I can get information out of Ian Forte, too.

I just have to find a way to get close to him.

Carter turns to me and holds out his arm. I slide my arm through his, clutching his bicep as he leads me into the parlor. I’m used to men wanting to use me for elevation. Meanwhile, Carter wants to show me off and let me outshine him.

The rest of the group follow behind us and we snag an unoccupied cocktail table.

Bex gloms on to other influencers who cross our paths.

They swoop to her, but only give me curt smiles.

For some reason, the girl pulling a Hilaria Baldwin is more likable than the one who saw a UFO one time .

Jet quickly whisks Carter away to hit the bar, with an enthusiastic “let’s go, old sport” and a clap on the shoulder so hard it makes him wince in pain.

That’s when Bex and Lea both drag me to their side of the table.

“We need ta have a chat,” Bex says.

“About?” But I already know. It’s either Carter or my dress. It’s not a chat. It’s going to be a fight. I’m not fully sure I’m chill enough to not throw my drink on her, though.

“About this wanker you’ve brought with you.”

“He’s said maybe two words to you and you haven’t gotten his name right at all. What’d he do wrong already?”

“It’s who he is . A nobody. He’s got no online presence at all . Like, where the bloody hell did you find this guy? Bloody H&R Block?”

My lips stitch together. Lea still doesn’t look up from her phone. I’m afraid to know what she’s become a crusader for this week. As I catch a look over her shoulder, I see her googling “what to kno about limes disease.” Great. We’re in for a treat.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Bex hisses. “It does. It matters a hell of a lot. We’re trying to make ourselves a household name and that does not include you dating a nobody. You need to be with someone with status, and this guy, Calvin—”

“Carter,” I snap.

“Whatever. He is not going to help us. And I’m just trying to look out for you , love. You know exactly why he’s interested in you.”

Of course, I’ve said Carter’s my date for the night, but what we have is still in horny limbo.

We do spend a lot of time eyeing each other, and I’ve been trying to forget the sex dream I had about him the night of our archive break-in, but alas.

I’m still thinking about the way he manhandled me in my subconscious and how I want to know if that’s what’d happen in real life.

My eyes drift back to Carter at the bar. It doesn’t shock me that he’s already looking at me. Maybe it’s a cry for help as he’s locked in a conversation with Jet. Maybe he wants to be looking at me because that’s what feels good to him. He feels good to me, too.

There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me Carter’s just like everyone else and he’ll leave like they do, too.

Day by day, I believe this voice might be a liar.

Carter isn’t searching for fame, clearly.

He’s behind the camera, helping me shine when he could be helping himself.

I’m helping Carter uncover the truth about his dad’s death, and while it’s different from sponsorships or clout, he still gets something from me.

If we hit the end of our mystery, will he walk away, too?

The problem is, I will never know if I don’t try to find out, and I’ll never know real love if I don’t give it a chance.

“And why’s that?”

“You’re smarter than that, El. Someone like him—someone with nothing—wants the girl who has everything.

And convenient he shows up when you’re in the middle of a little menty B.

He probably thinks you’re desperate.” Desperate is a bold fucking word coming from someone putting a herculean effort into bringing back nineties lipliner.

“Ever think of that? But this? Dating this bloke who no one knows? This isn’t the egg we want in the Nest.”

It’s an odd metaphor, but I’m too angry to be hung up on it at the moment. I swallow my anger and my urge to toss the remains of my vodka onto Bex’s Party City Bridgerton costume.

“I’m going to see if the guys need help bringing drinks back.”

I make an executive decision to stomp away. It kind of hurts in my heels, but the pain fades as I reach Carter and he meets me with a smile and an easy “hey.”

“IT’S REALLY NOT THAT BAD,” Jet cries. At least with the cacophony of the bar, he has a reason to be this loud. I think he’s speaking about the vodka, but then we veer into a horror show. “Doesn’t even knick your balls at all.”

Carter chokes on the drink he’s just received. “That’s…awesome.”

Lordy, help.

“Anyway, I can hit you with the link. You get twenty percent off if you use code JETMAN20.”

Jet claps Carter on the back again and he lets out a low moan. I’m going to have to check him for bruises later. Jet backs away and takes the three drinks for him, Bex, and Lea, leaving the two of us at the bar together.

“What kind of deal did you get?” I ask, sidling up beside Carter at the oak bar.

It’s artistically carved, with an arc of bulbed lights and mirrors behind the bar.

Carter, in his full suit and hat, looks like a perfectly placed private eye, with a devilish grin that only grows more mischievous as I run my fingers up the sleeve of his jacket.

“He told me his entire manscaping routine.” Carter slides my drink into my hand. I gasp. “I know. The twenty percent off is for a ball shaver.”

“He’s deeply generous,” I say. “I had to escape the girls.”

“What was the discussion? Metrics? Algorithms? Certainly better than manscaping razors.”