One thing was certain: it was Nick’s crowd. No two ways about it. And dress or no dress, I suddenly couldn’t have felt more out of place.
“Take me home, Bobby,” I whispered, cringing back into the seat. “I shouldn’t be here.”
When the valet offered out his hand, I resisted the urge to hiss.
Bobby twisted around again, looking at me in surprise. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re Abigail-fucking-Wilder. Go knock’em dead, kid!”
The sudden burst of enthusiasm brought a reluctant smile to my lips, but it did absolutely nothing to calm me down. If I’d thought the press had been bad at the airport, it was literally nothing compared to what was waiting just outside. It was a world of blue again. No escape, no end in sight. And more importantly...no white knight this time to sweep me off my feet.
“That’s sweet, but I’m serious Bob.” I scooted all the way back into the leather, casting a hopeful glance through the partition. “Maybe we can just go once more around the block? Let me get my bearings a little? Or twice—you know! Why limit ourselves?”
I waved off the valet, and shut the door once more. Vehemently supporting my plan even as I suggested it.
“Yes—that’s what we’ll do. We’ll just circle the city another two times, and see how we feel then. With any luck, this cursed event will be over by the time we get back—and we can just head on home. Tell Nick we got stuck in traffic. Come to think of it,” I pulled out my phone to begin texting him my excuse, “I still haven’t figured out what’s even going on out there. You’d think it was some kind of inauguration judging by the crowd—”
The door flew open and a rush of cool air spilled in. I dropped my phone with a guilty shriek, then caught my breath as the most beautiful man in the world stuck his head inside.
“Stuck in traffic, huh?” Nick flashed me a sparkling smile as he slipped his own phone back into his pocket. “Given that information, you seem to have made it here in record time.”
It was then that he seemed to actually notice me for the first time.
He did so in increments, starting with my shoes and working his way up my long legs all the way to my eyes. He lingered there for a moment, mouth slightly ajar, before his eyes slipp
ed back down to my coat—dilating with intensity, as if he could see what was underneath.
“You look...”
I held my breath, as he searched for the right word.
“...cold.”
I blinked. He grimaced. On the other side of the partition, Bobby transformed his raspy chuckle into a conveniently-timed cough.
Confidence shattered, I glanced down—trying to think of something to say.
“Uh...thank you. You’re looking rather...cold yourself.”
It wasn’t often that my smooth-talking client couldn’t find his line. It would have been almost funny if it hadn’t been happening to me. The second it did, his eyes snapped shut with an apologetic wince, before he shook his head with a bashful smile.
“I just meant, let’s get you inside and heated up...”
He offered out his hand, and I took it.
“...so I can see what’s under that coat.”
Chapter 8
It was an experience unlike any I’d had before. And was unlikely to ever have again.
From the second we swept inside, it was like we stepped into another world. One where things like fairytales and glass slippers happened on Tuesday. Where women still dressed like princesses, and men still opened the door. There were violins and ice sculptures, diplomats and kings. A hundred flutes of champagne floated on silver trays—never in the way, always in reach.
But in spite of all the magic around me, I was unable to take my eyes off a single thing.
Nick.
It was one thing to go to these parties as his publicist. It was another thing entirely go on his arm. The world looked different from that angle. Brighter, somehow. Full of possibilities.
But as absorbed as I was with Nick, he was equally absorbed with me.