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"I'm sure you could guess, Emma." Hayden stops in the middle of the crowd, his hand sweeping down my backside, igniting sensations I'd rather not acknowledge—like the twinge of annoyance at him knowing her by name. "I'd only buy my girl Prada."
I arch an eyebrow, recalling his correctness.
"They were a gift, then?"
"Yes," I lie.
She smiles at me, but there's no missing the jealousy clouding her gaze, and I must be ten different shades of twisted from the satisfaction it brings me. When her eyes flick back to Hayden, I can practically make out the dollar signs in them as she bites her lip.
Before I'm able to contemplate my actions, I lean into his touch, placing a hand on his bare chest, between the flaps of his unbuttoned polo. I don't say anything, wouldn't know what to say in the first place, to mark him as my turf—my FAKE turf, I correct myself. This is all part of our agreement. That's all.
I peer up at him from beneath my lashes, noticing his smirk growing wider.
"My Juliana's spoiled rotten. Aren't you, baby?"
His deep tenor rolls across my skin, setting my cheeks ablaze. As for what's going on between my legs, well, I might as well jump in that infinite pool right now, lest I stand a chance of lying to myself later.
Giggling, I manage a shy, "Maybe."
In the reflection of his sunglasses, I watch Emma's nose crinkle. "Thanks for the invite," she says, before sauntering off.
I bite back a smug grin, although judging by the way Hayden cocks his head at me, I think he sees it, anyway. His lips part—surely on some snide remark—but I clear my throat before it surfaces, adding ample distance between us. When I bump into someone's damp backside, I apologize, even though I doubt they can hear me above the music.
"I thought you said today was a small gathering," I huff, air-quoting with my fingers.
"What do you mean? This is small."
My lips purse.
"It is." He gestures with the flick of his chin. "My rooftop terrace—coupled with the entertainment rooms—holds five-hundred guests comfortably. This isn't even half that."
With a scoff, I watch him take a long sip from his red Solo cup. "First off, I doubt that. Second, since when is a two-hundred-person party small?"
"It is in my world." He winks.
I roll my eyes, just as he takes off again. With a sharp inhale, I catch his shoulder, following close behind, before the crowd swallows me whole. "Where are we going now? Haven't you introduced me to enough people?"
Yes, my mind answers for him. Yes, we most definitely have.
From the moment I stepped through the elevator, he's pranced me around, introducing me to so many people that I doubt I'll remember a single name come tomorrow. Never have I lied to such an extent, dodging questions left and right regarding my family and how I came to know Hayden. So much so, that I'm surprised my tongue hasn't fallen off or my nose isn't the size of Big Ben, considering I fabricated at least twenty different stories.
Fortunately, there's a saving grace—the reason I've yet to crawl out of my own skin, managed to keep my social anxiety at bay in the most unlikely of environments, and haven't locked myself in my room by now.
Alcohol.
No, not me. I'm stone-cold sober. But everyone else? They're either so heavily intoxicated or high on who-knows-what, they won't possibly remember anything tomorrow, least of all the holes in my vague stories. Sure, maybe they'll recall my face or name later, but that's about it.
"Just a bit longer!" Hayden tugs me along.
"But my feet hurrrrt," I whine.
He stops by the edge of the pool, glancing down at my cramped feet. "You can take those off, you know. They're hot and all, but I wouldn't want you losing a toe."
"And risk stepping in garbage? I think not."
"Hey now, that's my party you're talking smack abou—" He sucks in a breath, noting the plastic cups and confetti at his feet, even a flip-flop or two. "Guess the cleaning crew hasn't made their rounds yet... Okay, yeah. There's a spot we can chill for a bit."
Thank God.
