Here we go. Straight down the mouth of a billionaire Twilight Zone.
What the hell did I agree to? The valet takes the Lincoln away, sweeping a low bow before he climbs in.
My hand trembles. My boss takes it in his.
“That dress brings out your eyes,” he says in this low smoldering growl.
For a second, with his confidence, I believe I look like I belong here.
Then I look down because I don’t even remember what color I’m wearing. Only that I’m covered in more sequins than a mermaid. This lonely dress costs more than every outfit I’ve ever owned.
Oh, look at that. It’s emerald teal-green. A shade dangerously closer to my “date’s” eyes than mine.
I still can’t believe I agreed to this.
Whatever happens next, remember, I’m just here for the cash.
Nick Brandt has a worse reputation than most of Hollywood. He has Instagram groupies reposting him daily as the 'hottest bad boy bachelor in the Windy City.'
He doesn’t do relationships.
He hooks up and moves on—and more importantly—I work for him. I’m just pretending to be his flavor of the month.
He leans in and whispers, “When we go in, expect cameras everywhere. Osprey and his goons never fucking quit. Just try to ignore them. I wish it were socially acceptable to wear aviators to these damn things to block out the flashes.”
I don’t say anything. I just stare, feeling my pulse pounding in my ears.
Yep, I’m terrified.
He must notice because he says, “You’ll be fine. You’re beautiful, you’re tough, and you’re hanging on my arm. Three things most women would die for.”
Whoa.
He thinks I’m beautiful? Tough? Never mind the parting egomaniac shot.
It’s that—him, whispering those words—that buoys me up the soaring white marble staircase and through the palace-like glassy doors.
We step into the building together. Cameras flash like heat lightning.
He’s my boss, not my boyfriend. Breathe, I remind myself.
It’s stupid, but as I blink the brightness out of my eyes, my instinct is to lean into him. I’m not sure what I’m expecting. Definitely not the way he winds his arms around me, catching me as I misstep and nearly stumble.
“You okay?” he whispers.
I nod briskly, my hair flying.
“You’re sure?”
Another ambush of flashes attack my retinas before I can answer.
“I’m just...getting a little dizzy. Any chance we can get away from the cameras for a second?”
“Follow me.” He leads me by the hand away from the paparazzi, deeper into a crowd of well-dressed people. He introduces me to what looks like an older couple as my eyes readjust to normal light. “Reese, this is Mr. and Mrs. Winthrope. They’re a big deal in hotels and real estate.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, mustering my best smile.
“Delighted. Who is this beauty?” Mr. Winthrope asks, giving Nick a weirdly assessing look.
“My date tonight, Reese Halle.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Halle,” the Winthropes say in unison.
Yep, I’m getting Titanic vibes, except I feel like a female Jack. Dressed the part, but lacking all the social grace big money brings.
He introduces me to a few people who were friends with his dearly departed grandfather, and more folks who are still friends with Beatrice. I even meet the mayor.
This is bananas.
Growing up an orphan, I’ve only ever met people at school or work, and they sure as hell weren’t power elite. I keep waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and tell me I don’t belong here.
I’ve never worn a formal evening gown before.
Orphans don’t get prom dresses.
For a second, I wonder what it’s like to be a Brandt. Is it always this intense? This magical?
What it’s like having grandparents with friends who know half of Chicago? Hell, what’s it like even having grandparents?
Abby and I went through so many foster families, we didn’t really know any of them. We floated, the two of us, like feathers on the wind.
Luckily, we were kept together for the most part, but sometimes we were forced apart.
I was over the moon when she finally turned eighteen and they let her be my guardian. We didn’t have to worry about being separated anymore.
Ever since, we’ve been inseparable. Kind of comes with the territory when your big sister’s your only family.
Being separated from her—completely alone—was the scariest feeling I’ve ever had.
Something tells me Nick never had to deal with feeling unloved. Abandoned.
Sure, there was that drama with his parents accidentally killing off a popular movie star, and the scandal that plagued them. But being ripped away from your only family?
That’s alien pain to a billionaire playboy’s universe.
Speaking of green-eyed Lucifer, he places his hand on the small of my back and ushers me along to the next person he wants to introduce.
All things considered, he’s being a perfect gentleman. Even if I catch his eyes lingering on my ass a couple times.
I smile at him. He’s trying. Sincerely.
And I’m starting to enjoy the ride. It’s a new experience that should mean something.