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I have to hold back a laugh. This isn’t a soap opera. Our families are business competitors. I’ve never met the Hansons, but Carter lives with Jonathan Hanson. Rich boys tend to stick together.
“Not at all.”
“Excellent. I would like you to help me prepare for the ball. The rest of the staff will be busy getting our Christmas edition ready. I’m sure you’re familiar with that,” she adds, a hint of a smile gracing her perfect face. There’s even a glimmer of excitement in this formidable woman’s eye. Who wouldn’t be excited? It’s the most amazing thing, year in and year out, and she’s in charge of curating it.
Every year, every girl at my boarding school, including me, would wait impatiently for December first. Not so we could listen to Christmas music on the local radio station or in anticipation of gifts. But because on December first, Jolie releases their Christmas edition. It’s always filled with the hottest trends, must-have outfits, which makeup is favored by celebrities, and hottest vacation spots. During my time at school, if Jolie said it was in, every single student there would be traveling to San Jose with orange bandanas tied around their foreheads and wearing gladiator sandals instead of their Louboutins.
I’m serious. That was the style during my last year.
Deep breaths. “Yes, I’m familiar with the Christmas edition. I was hoping I could help with that. I can make time for both.”
She holds up her hand. “Catherine, let me offer you a piece of advice. You’ll shine brighter while standing alone than while moving within a crowd.”
Pulling in a deep breath, I nod. She’s right, of course. While the Christmas edition is something I’ve always dreamed of being a part of, I can make a name for myself by working on the masquerade ball. “Let me know what you need, and I’ll handle it,” I offer.
* * *
Exhaustedfrom another long day in the city, I grab a protein bar and a Diet Coke at the train station on the way home in hopes of getting to bed quicker. I open the door to our apartment on a yawn, which turns into a groan at the sound of voices. The last thing I want is to make small talk with Mia and God knows who. And if Mia brought home a date, this will be even more exhausting. Mia isnotquiet when she gets going.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I walk through the room, preparing myself to play the part of friendly roommate.
“Hi—” I start, but halt at the sight of Mia and Jay sitting on our couch.
Smiling, Mia jumps to her feet and makes a beeline for me. “Well, if it isn’t Rocky Balboa herself,” she teases.
I roll my eyes as I put my bag on the table beside the door and slip off my shoes. When I look up, I’m met by Jay’s icy stare. The glacial aspect of his irises is highlighted by the sharp contrast to the black circles under his eyes and a hideously bruised nose.
“Shouldn’t you have that bandaged?” I ask.
He attempts a smolder, or maybe it’s a glare, but his bruised and swollen face isn’t cooperating. “I think the words you’re looking for areI’m sorry.”
Without a glance in Mia’s direction, I walk to the couch and stand over him. For a moment, I do nothing but survey him, taking in the state of his face. I really got him good. I shake my head. “Just like my brothers, stubborn men. You need to have that nose set.”
“Or what?” he asks with a surprising amount of humor in his voice.
“Or you’ll have a deformed nose,” I say with an exasperated sigh.
“Maybe it’ll give me character,” he quips.
“It won’t. You’re too pretty for character. What it’ll give you is a deviated septum.”
He laughs. I bite my lip and look away from him to keep from smiling. Heisfun to spar with.
Without thinking, I settle in the spot next to him and place my palms on either side of his face. He winces but doesn’t pull back, his attention locked on me. “That hurt?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. I’m not sure he’s even breathing.
“Jay?” I try again.
“Hm?” he says, the smile still on his face, his eyes still holding mine.
“I asked if that hurt.” I lean back and pull my hands away, but he catches them mere millimeters from his face and presses them back to his cheeks.
“It does.”
Okay, crazy. Then let go of my hand so I can stop touching your sore face.
His tongue darts out and swipes at his bottom lip, and I can’t help but follow the movement.
