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“I think this is me,” I agree. “Thank you so much for picking it out.”
“I’ll be at the register whenever you’re ready,” she says, taking the rest of my choices from the dressing room before leaving.
“What is Declan’s deal these days?” Reagan asks. “You barely talk about him.”
I hold my blonde hair up, imagining how I’m going to style it for the party. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“You work in the same building. Don’t tell me you never see him.”
I shrug, standing on my toes, picturing the heels I’m going to wear. Definitely heels. Not too high to cripple me while I’m working, but high enough to elevate this entire look.
“I never really see him,” I say. “It’s been a few weeks since I started, and we’ve barely spoken. He’s the boss. I’m the employee. That’s how it is these days. How it should be.”
“You don’t think that night you shared was special?” Reagan asks, frowning. “Because I do. And you know what else? It’s really amazing that life has thrown the two of you together again. That’s not something I think you should just ignore.”
“That’s just it, though,” I say, brushing my hands over the material of the dress and trying not to analyze the ache just below my breastbone. “There’s no together. He’s made it abundantly clear that there’s nothing between us, and there never will be. We don’t cross paths. He’s completely cold. He’s ignoring the fact that I even exist.”
“Not in that dress, he won’t,” Reagan says, looking me up and down in a way that makes me blush and laugh.
“It’s a really good dress,” I agree, although I’m not about to get my hopes up that Declan will notice me. After all, it’s better if he doesn’t.
Right?
Chapter 15
Sophie
Work keeps me so busy in the coming days that the night of the party actually sneaks up on me. That doesn’t mean I’m not ready for it.
Carol sends me home early so I can get dressed and put on makeup, but I timed and arranged everything to ensure that I have enough time. Chefs have their mise en place, and so do I—my makeup and hair products in my bathroom. Everything is laid out perfectly, and in the right order of application. It’s a breeze to braid my hair and secure it in an updo I’ve carefully mastered. I’ve even been testing out my makeup looks before settling on something that is just as elegant and understated as my dress.
When everything is perfect—and I’m still well within the time I gave myself—I mist one last layer of hairspray on and call a taxi.
Is it a splurge? Absolutely. But there’s no way I’m taking the train in this outfit. On this night.
By the time the cab reaches the venue, I’m dangerously spoiled. No worrying about map apps on my phone, or walking the rest of the way from a train station, or being aware of my surroundings and belongings at all times. I could really, really get used to being ferried around the city in the back of the cab. As keyed up as I am about tonight’s launch, having my transportation taken care of by someone else has actually let me relax and gather myself.
Only to nearly lose my composure at the entrance.
“I’m sorry, but what do you mean I’m not on the list?” I ask, utterly flummoxed by the bored attendant sitting at a table by the door. “I’m supposed to be here.”
“If you’re supposed to be here, your name would be on the list,” the man says, tapping at the clipboard in front of him. “Every guest is on here.”
“That’s just it, though,” I say quickly. “I’m not a guest.”
“That’s obviously apparent,” he says dryly. “Because you’re not on the guest list.”
“I think it’s a mistake,” I say, feeling the heat rise in my face. I can’t screw this up. Carol trusted me with this assignment, and I need to be here. This can’t be happening to me. Not tonight.
“What’s a mistake?” a deep voice behind me asks, and the back of my neck prickles.
Declan.
He is, of course, in a flawless tuxedo, classic and bespoke, every line of him screaming sex. Or maybe it’s just me, reacting to how close we are. I can feel his heat. Smell his cologne. My face flushes even though I try to keep my expression even.
I can deny it all I want, but my body wants what it wants. Declan Wright is irresistible. And I’m powerless against how I react to him, his gray eyes coolly assessing my current debacle.
“This woman isn’t on the list,” the attendant says flatly. “And she’s insisting she should be.”
