“Lex, I know you’re hurting. I promise we’ll talk more about this later,” Adriana whispers, patting my shoulder as we leave the room.
Hurt?
Is that what this is?
First, after I saw her, I wanted to apologize more than anything. Second, I wanted to fuck the living daylights out of her, feel myself inside her just like I had a million times in my head.
But now, I’m torn as my emotions wreak havoc within me.
I don’t know what to do, but for tonight, I’ll do what I do best—act like the arrogant CEO I’m known for. Better than a sad, pathetic loser pining for his ex.
CHARLIE
We arrive at the ball at six on the dot.
The street is crowded, lined with limousines and luxury vehicles worth more than my apartment. Flashes are going off right, left, and center. The paparazzi are scurrying around like rats up a drainpipe snapping away at those who pose on the red carpet.
As we walk through the large doors, we’re blown away by the sight of it all. The grand ballroom is enormous. Its size big enough to hold all of the elite in New York City and then some.
The tall ceilings are covered in rows of draped sheer organza fabric, creating a medieval feel with a modern twist. A large chandelier hangs from the middle, its crystals reflecting the light which shimmers on the dance floor. Scattered across the room are artificial trees with the branches draped in fairy lights.
There’s a band wearing black and white tuxedos, perfectly positioned on the stage playing soft swing music, their hums and beats drowning in the noise of the growing crowd.
More and more people enter the room,
their gowns becoming more exquisite as they strut into the area. I’m in heaven. One after another, I can name the designer in my head. I know Eric is doing it as well, his mannerisms are mirroring mine.
I spot the head organizer of the charity ball, Mrs. Clyde, almost immediately. She reminds me of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. Only in her appearance, mind you, as she’s the sweetest lady you could possibly meet. Her generosity never ceases to amaze me, and all this is because of her.
“Oh-em-gee, you guys, this is amazeballs,” Eric murmurs in awe.
With his phone in hand, he takes a few pictures then busily begins typing away.
“What are you doing?”
“Just taking a pic of the ballroom. There’s a hash-tag charity ball trending.”
I grab the phone off him, placing it in my purse. Eric needs to enjoy the night without being glued to his phone. I can see the withdrawals already, his left eye twitching with a pouty immature look.
“Oh, c’mon, Charlie,” he whines.
“Uh-uh. I’m confiscating this from you tonight. You asked Emma out on a date, albeit fake, and you need to show her a good time.”
Emma laughs, looking gorgeous in a red gown Eric chose for her. Her platinum blonde hair is styled in an up-tight bun, showcasing a stunning diamond necklace draped around her neck.
Eric will only last five minutes before hijacking my purse as Emma kindly points out, and I agree. His sulking is short-lived, immediately snapping out of his childish tantrum as a hot young waiter stands in front of us offering champagne.
We take in the amazing view before we’re ushered to our table by a different waiter. We sit ourselves down as Julian places his arm around my chair, drawing me in closer. He smells fantastic.
“You look amazing tonight,” he whispers in my ear.
“Not so bad yourself, Batman. Are you going to abandon me tonight with some emergency that needs to be taken care of on the roof?”
“Unless it’s you up there naked, no chance in hell, gorgeous,” he teases, leaving a kiss on the side of my neck.
My body is shivering in delight, my mind wondering how I can get on the roof. Is there some secret exit? Damn, he looks fine in his tux. Tim Gunn knew his stuff.
Mrs. Clyde takes to the podium to begin her speech as the room starts to quieten down. She speaks about the cause and what we, as a society, can do to help the kids live a better life. We applaud her, then everyone gets up to start mingling as the music continues playing.