Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87601 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Noelle is three inches shorter than I am and far more daring in her clothing choices. But she was right about this dress—it makes my legs look like they’re a mile long, a fact that isn’t going unnoticed by the other guests.
I catch a man checking out my legs while his date is in line for candy from the candy buffet on the other side of the tables and a fashionable woman touches my elbow on her way by, whispering, “You have the most fabulous legs I’ve ever seen. You should model.”
I blush and stammer, “Thank you, but I’m way too awkward.”
She smiles, her amber eyes mesmerizing in her dark skin. “I was too when I first started. We all fake it until we make it, love. I can connect you with my coach if you want. He’s fabulous.”
I shake my head. “Thank you so much, but I don’t have time for anything outside of work right now. I just started a new job and…” I trail off with a shrug, proving my awkwardness.
The woman’s amazing eyes warm as she nods. “Of course, but take my card anyway.” She sets a pale blue business card on the table without breaking eye contact. “You can call me if you find some free time and want to have some fun. We don’t have to talk shop. I’m Zara.”
“Oh, okay, Sydney. So nice to meet you, Zara,” I stammer as she glides away with the grace of a ballerina jungle cat.
“Woah,” a familiar voice murmurs behind me. “You just got hit on by a supermodel. How does that feel?”
I turn to see Noelle sipping a drink as pink as her dress, her eyes wide over the rim of the frosted glass. “Um, pretty amazing actually,” I whisper. “Really makes me wish I were gay.”
We giggle and she says, “Girl, every day. Every damned day. I love Ben but women are so beautiful and so much less gross. I’ve never been to a woman’s house that smelled like moldy cheese socks.”
I arch a brow. “No, but your makeup table is repulsive, and you always leave a wad of pink hair in the shower.”
She props a fist on her hip. “I do not.” I grunt and she grins. “Okay, fine, I do. But it’s okay. A little grossness is cute. Like a goblin wearing lipstick.” She points to her drink. “That’s the name of this, by the way. Lipstick on the rocks. It’s fantastic. Like roses and grapefruit had a baby and rolled it in sugar. No alcohol but it tastes like there’s a hint of gin. You should get one.”
“I will,” I say, wiping my fingers and dropping my napkin on my now-empty plate. I feel much better now that I have something in my stomach. “Where’s the bar?”
She points to our left. “There are a few, but the mocktail bar is that way. Over by the living A Midsummer Night’s Dream sculpture. Lots of nearly naked people, painted different metallic colors, writhing around, you can’t miss it. I’ll wait here. Ben’s getting tacos.”
“Okay, be right back,” I say, heading out of the seating area and into a darker section of woods, where couples are swaying together to the ambient music. Adrian hasn’t started spinning yet, so the beat isn’t too loud, but it’s nice. The string instruments and light drums add to the enchanted vibe.
Whoever Adrian hired to bring his vision to life, they did a fantastic job.
Making a mental note to tell him later, I start toward the living sculpture, which is as arresting as Noelle said it would be. I’m so drawn in by the slow-motion embrace between a bearded man I’m guessing is the fairy king from Shakespeare’s play and a curvy woman wearing nothing but leaves strategically placed on her silver-frosted body that I almost don’t notice the man in the orange shirt and impeccably fitted suit pants.
I would have missed him entirely, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s moving fast, charging through the ballroom like he’s late for a flight, the only rushed person in a room full of relaxed partygoers.
I don’t get a good look at his face—only a brief glimpse of his profile before he’s past me—but I know it’s Gideon. I just know it, the way I know that the sky is blue, tacos are tasty, and that I’m no longer headed to the mocktail bar.
I’m following Gideon, wherever the night might lead.
thirteen
GIDEON
My talk with Adrian went about as well as I expected.
Which is to say it didn’t “go” at all.
The second I approached him by the bar, surrounded by three women in the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen—shorts that made me feel old for being shocked by how much of their asses were out for show and tell—I knew coming here was a mistake.