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Cynthia Caldwell believes I have impeccable taste like my mother. There is no greater compliment.
Gold curtains hang from floor-to-ceiling windows. Warm sunlight pours in, creating a soft glow throughout the space. Round tables with ivory cloths and gold wingback chairs fill the room.
With his back to us, a blond man sits at one of the tables with another woman. When we enter, she stands, but she moves almost imperceptibly closer to the man, almost as if she’s not sure who she’s more excited to see: Cynthia Caldwell, the most iconic woman in the fashion industry, or Mr. Hanson, a man who, by all accounts, is handsome and well connected—and likely someone she and many other women would love to sleep with.
Okay, maybe that’s a generalization. Sex with powerful men isn’t a driving factor for all women. Maybe she likes women. Maybe she’s not interested in him at all. Perhaps she’s just excited about this job.
Her eyes flutter back to him and she blushes before turning in our direction again.
Scrap all that. She wants him.
The man stands and turns slightly, his head down in an almost modest or bashful manner. He’s got one hand in the pocket of his gray suit; the action and posture seem familiar. And when he finally raises his head and I’m greeted by his easy smile, my stomach drops.
Jay.
His blue eyes widen as they track my every step until I’m standing before him. But when I wait for him to acknowledge me, he turns to Cynthia and offers her his hand. “Cyn, it’s so good to see you.”
She pulls him in for a hug, and he kisses her cheek like they’re old friends. Then he turns to Rose and smiles. “Jonathan Hanson,” he says, hand outstretched.
Jonathan Hanson.Jay is JonathanHanson.
She blushes, and the first smile I’ve ever seen from her graces her face.
He turns to me, then, eyes locked on mine, and holds out his hand. “And you are?” he asks, as if we’ve never met.
My throat has gone dry, and I feel impossibly foolish. He’s too good to even acknowledge me? In this space, around people he believes he belongs with, he seesmeas beneath him.
Fuck that.
I take his hand and squeeze it as hard as I can, which, honestly, is pretty hard. I have three brothers who love to box and taught me how to defend myself. I don’t have the grip of a typical woman of my standing. “Catherine Bouvier,” I reply.
He raises his brow and then pulls his hand back, his expression void of any reaction.
I despise him.
“Kirsten and I were going over the number of guests and potential layouts for the tables. I’m thinking cocktail tables instead of a sit-down dinner. What do you think, Cyn?” Jay asks as he turns to my boss and places a hand on her back, guiding her toward the table.
I watch the four of them sit, but I’m too shocked by the entire encounter to move.
“Catherine, come over here. I need you to take notes,” Cynthia calls in a sharp tone.
I scurry in their direction, catching a slight smirk pass over Jay’s face.
Asshole.
How is Carter friends with this dickhead? Actually, Carter is also a dickhead. They probably get along great.
I’ve never been so happy to have trusted my gut. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I’d come home with Jay. Carter would have lost his head.His little sister dating his best friend.And aHansonat that. It’s almost as laughable as the idea of me dating period.
I reach into my purse and grab the pad I brought and proceed to take notes. No one asks my opinion, and no one even glances in my direction, least of all the man who only days ago acted as if he actually wanted my attention.
“You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry.”
With his words echoing in my head, I can’t stop myself from peeking up at him, a searing pain squeezing my chest. He was the first person to tell me I’m beautiful, and it was nothing but a line.
14
THE ONLY EXCEPTION BY PARAMORE
