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“Did you guys hear that?” Dylan squeals. “I am overseeing the gala!”
“Forget that,” Charlie chimes in. “Natalie is the boss’s date. I told you there was something going on.”
Dylan laughs, and I smile. It’s old news that there is something going on with us. But what is new is that it’s public news. And that is both exciting…and terrifying.
Chapter 26
Marcus
“You know everything is going to run as smooth as butter, right, my friend?” Tuck asks as we pull up to Natalie’s complex.
We are sitting in the middle seat of the SUV with Avery driving. We unbuckle and exit the vehicle, so I can meet Natalie at the door and Tuck can switch to the passenger seat. There is no reason why Natalie couldn’t sit with us in the middle still, but it’s like there is something implied that Natalie and I sitting together alone. Maybe because I made the public announcement at the board meeting the other day that I am taking her to the charity gala as my date. Or maybe because Tuck has been onto me for quite some time now. Either way, he’s moving to the front, and I am sitting next to Natalie. My nerves are dancing under my skin like TV static.
“These galas always do,” I tell him. “Even if behind the scenes is a beehive of activity. In the public’s eye, it’s nothing but honey.”
“I meant with you and Natalie,” he says while I use the extra-tinted window of my door to check my suit and hair.
Fucking hell, is it actually getting even grayer? Jesus.
“What about me and Natalie?” I ask.
“Having her as your date to something as high-profile as this. It’s going to be great,” he says.
“Is there a reason you’re trying to give me a pep talk?” I ask, brushing my hair with my fingers around the temples. If I’m trying to hide the gray, I’m failing miserably.
“Because this is the first date you’ve been on since the Bush Administration,” he says and I switch my scowl from my reflection to him.
“Fuck you too,” I growl. “This isn’t a normal date.”
“But it is a real one,” he says, nodding.
“We are attending a charity gala together. For work. It’s hardly a typical date,” I argue. Meanwhile, Avery pretends to care more about something on his phone than the conversation between Tuck and me.
“Let me ask you this,” Tuck goes on. “When you see celebrities show up on the red carpet, not by themselves, but with someone else at their side. What is the first thing people assume?” he asks, and I don’t say anything, because I know well enough where this is going. “They’re going to say, ‘Oh look, Leonardo DiCaprio and Cate Blanchett are attending the Oscars together.’ She is his date. It’s implied.”
“Leonardo DiCaprio never went to the Oscars with Cate Blanchett,” I state.
“That was hypothetical,” he says and I know that. “But everyone else sees it as a date…because it is. You are going to the biggest charity event in the country, and Natalie Blythe is your date. And that’s great, but it’s also perfectly normal if you are nervous.”
“I am not fucking nervous,” I snap back before tugging on my jacket and heading towards her door.
“Well, okay then, big man. You’re not nervous,” he says using air quotes when he says the word nervous.
I mutter a few things as I stride toward the door to Natalie’s place. Why am I friends with him? Why don’t I just pay him more money to keep things professional? Ugh, he’s so frustrating sometimes. As I raise my hand to knock on her door, I feel a rush of adrenaline surging through my body at full speed. I clench my jaw and clear my throat before silently cursing him for being right about me.
I have no reason to be nervous. I’m never nervous. I’m not a nervous person. And I definitely don’t care what people think or what they’ll say or any of that bullshit.
But knowing I’ll have Natalie on my arm tonight fills me with nervous excitement.
This girl has transformed over the last couple of months in front of my eyes. She’s even left me speechless and made me sweat a little.
A moment later the door opens and I suck in a small and hopefully undetectable breath.
“Hi, sorry, I just got Jamie settled with Brittany,” she says with a flustered smile. Behind her, I see a younger, blonde girl bustling about. “I just need to grab my clutch and I’ll be ready to go.”
“You’re stunning,” I say without thinking. Actually, no. I did think about it. I looked at her, and I thought it, and I said it, and I meant it. She is wearing something I don’t think any other person will choose tonight. It isn’t trendy at all. It’s classic and timeless. Flawless.
Most of the women coming tonight will be in sleek, smooth, black or skin-toned gowns. They will simultaneously look understated and over the top. They’ll have on too much lipstick, white out their eyebrows, and wear their hair with a hard middle part. I don’t get it. What is with the invisible eyebrows?! And the middle part…I hate it. They’ll all be dressed like little clones of one another because that is what their fruity stylist picked for them. Typical. Predictable. Boring. Weird.
