Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I didn’t tell Leila that we’d have a driver for the evening. I figured she might get nervous if I did, and she’s already nervous enough about the Muscular Dystrophy Charity Dinner I’m dragging her to.
Satisfied with my outfit, I make sure I have my phone and wallet and head out to the limo waiting for me out front. The driver jumps out to open the door for me.
“Please help yourself to some champagne, Mr. James,” he says when I climb in. There’s an ice bucket with a chilled bottle and two flutes sitting on a little table in the center of the limo.
“I’ll wait until we pick up my guest. You have her address?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great, thanks.”
I text Leila to tell her I’m on my way to get her, and she says she’ll be waiting outside. I tell her she doesn’t have to do that, but she says it’s better this way so she doesn’t get dog hair all over the dress. I laugh out loud and sit back against the limo’s leather seats.
When we pull up in front of Leila’s apartment, I’m floored by how good she looks in the dress I picked for her. It’s dark blue with sparkling stones all over the chest part. The skirt goes all the way down to the ground, but it reveals tall, black heels underneath when she takes a step.
Leila turns to lock the door, and I’m greeted with a perfect view of her ass. A woman in heels is my favorite kind of woman. I get out of the limo to greet her.
“You didn’t tell me it was a really, really fancy night!”
“I wasn’t about to pick you up in my truck.”
“You have like twelve other cars.”
“That’s an exaggeration. But seriously, the MD foundation insisted on the limo. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I feel like I’m going to my senior prom all over again.”
I laugh. “The dress would fit in. You look gorgeous, by the way.”
“You have good taste in fashion. Who would’ve thought?”
I bite my lip. “I did pick it out, but I asked Malia for help. She’s a designer, you know.”
“I did know that. We talked about it in the pool the other day. I like her a lot.”
“She likes you, too. She will be really excited when she sees this dress on you. It’s not one of her designs, but it’s Malia approved.”
“Well, I already sent her a picture without knowing she had a hand in it.”
“Perfect. Shall we go? There’s some champagne in here calling our names.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
I let Leila climb into the limo first, and she does so gracefully despite the tight dress and tall shoes. I practically fall into the thing after her, which makes her laugh.
The driver closes the door behind us and gets back into his seat, starting the drive to downtown Los Angeles where the event is being held.
I pour us each a glass of champagne. “Did you sleep well last night?”
Leila shrugs. “I was kind of nervous about today. I’ve never been to anything like this.”
“It’s worse in your head than in real life, I promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“The champagne will help.”
We sip the bubbly liquid from the glasses as we drive. Leila stares out the window, admiring the palm trees and billboards between her neighborhood and downtown.
“Did you film today?”
“Yeah, I was up at four.”
Leila’s eyes widen. “You must be exhausted!”
“Eh, I’m used to it.”
“I couldn’t do that. I need my sleep. I’m usually in bed by like nine at the latest.”
“When you’re an actor, you have no choice. They decide to film at random hours based on what the light is supposed to look like outside. There are a lot of night scenes in the movie I’m working on right now.”
“I guess you probably get used to it, but that’s not the lifestyle for me. I prefer the nine-to-five of being an interior designer. Much more my speed.”
“To each their own,” I say, holding up my glass to tap against hers. We finish two glasses of champagne each by the time we make it through traffic and pull up in front of the hotel.
There’s a red carpet set up lined with cameras and reporters. This event is one of the more prominent fundraisers held in Los Angeles, and it brings out the crowds. Behind the press are fans of bigger celebrities than me hoping to catch a glimpse of someone.
Leila and I walk in without talking to anyone. They ask us a few questions, but we’re not important enough to get stopped. Leila seems relieved until we get inside and she takes in the hotel.
“This is like an Italian church!” she whispers. “I don’t belong here!”
“You’ll be fine. I’m telling you, it’s a bunch of drunk people of various levels of fame who give money to help these kids.”