“Well, how about that dance?” he asked, now thoroughly trashed. I really wondered why with a room full of gorgeous models he’d want to dance with me.
“I really need to use the ladies’ room,” I said politely.
He shook his finger in my face, slightly swaying. “But you come right back, young lady.”
Dear God, no. I was going to take my sweet time. Maybe take up knitting while I was in the loo. I’d always wanted to learn.
I turned to find the powder room, and Franco gave me a swat on the ass. I yelped and then immediately bit my tongue. That sonofabitch. If he did that again, I might not be keeping my job. Breaking your customer’s arm would definitely be a career-limiting move.
On the other hand, if I was going to do this job, and do it well, I needed to learn how to start dealing with people from the good and the bad to the creepy and vulgar, like Franco.
Or I let the boss handle this guy. But where the hell was Mr. Cole?
I kept an eye out for him as I weaved through the glamorous partygoers toward the ladies’ room.
Nada.
The man had ditched me?
After listening to several women vomiting in the stalls, and trying my best not to get anything on my dress as I went up to bat, I practically ran from that bathroom. Those poor women. What would possess them to do that to their bodies on a regular basis?
Maybe the same thing that possesses you?
No, I didn’t scarf and barf—I liked my food going one way only—but I had been known to punish myself with extra running when I felt bad.
I exited the bathroom and heard a familiar chuckle to my right. Mr. Cole had that Adeline Taylor woman against the wall in a dark corner behind some large potted plants. They were intimately close, his lower torso pressed against her body as she laughed and sipped her drink.
I knew I had no right to be jealous. But for the second time that night I was.
He must’ve noticed someone staring because he glanced in my direction at the precise moment that I saw her slide her hand over his groin.
My jaw dropped, and then I snapped it shut, turned, and walked away.
It was too much. Not that I couldn’t handle everything that was happening, but I couldn’t handle it all at once. I needed to get back to the hotel and gather myself before I said or did something I’d regret. Sometimes the heart—an inherently reactive creature and immature at times—needs to burn off its steam so the mind can step in with a grounding kick in the pants.
We are not in a relationship. He’s my boss. We have a strange and disturbing relationship. This is all.
I headed for the door and heard Mr. Cole calling my name. I looked over my shoulder and waited for him.
“Miss Snow, where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m suddenly not feeling so well. Thought I’d go back to the hotel.”
He tilted his head to the side. “You’re running away.”
“No.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yes. Really,” I lied, feeling irritated that he could see through me so easily.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t leave until you shake hands with Krissy Walters.”
“Well, where is she?” I asked. I would’ve introduced myself, but I had no idea what she looked like and Mr. Cole had been too busy with Adeline.
“She generally comes late to any function where there’s press.”
“Oh.” I shrugged. “Well, I guess I’ll wait, then.” I turned toward an empty table and Mr. Cole grabbed my hand to stop me.
“Miss Snow, about last night—”
I tugged back my appendage and held it out. “Please. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m fine. Just go back to your gorgeous actress girlfriend and enjoy yourself.”
He shook his head. “I’m beginning to think I was wrong about you.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“I thought you were the sort of person who always speaks her mind. Fearlessly.”
“Some things are better left unsaid.” Fucker.
No. You did not think that. He’s done nothing wrong.
“Not between us,” he argued.
I drew a deep breath. “I really am fine. I’ve had the best time of my life tonight. The best. And I’m grateful for it. And the job. And the opportunity you’ve given me.” I meant every word. I really did.
“But? There’s a but coming.”
“But nothing,” I said. “I’m here to help you. You’re giving me the opportunity to pursue my dreams. What else is there?”
“All right, then. If you’re having so much fun, then act like it. The pouting version of you is unflattering.”
Sometimes I wondered if this man had a soul.
“Lily! There you aaare.” Franco stumbled into Mr. Cole. “It’s time for that dance nooow.”
“Franco,” Mr. Cole said in an overtly charming voice, “I’m sure Miss Snow would like to—”
“I’d love to dance, Franco.” I stood and took the man’s hand and pulled him to the crowded and chaotic dance floor. At first, I felt like a one-legged grasshopper—clumsy and awkward—but then Franco grabbed my hands and started making me do all kinds of crazy moves—a tango thing, a very bad waltz, and some other polka-esque bullcrap. I danced along. Horrible step for horrible step. I decided if I was going to be there, I might as well enjoy myself. Franco and I made another trip to the bar, and I pounded down my fourth glass of champagne—a lot for someone like me who rarely drank.
Roughly thirty minutes later, Franco disappeared to the men’s room while I stood by myself at the edge of the dance floor.
“You looked like a woman who knows how to have fun. Mind sharing a little of that with me?” said a man with a slight Italian accent. He was lean, nicely built and had brown hair and bright green eyes.
“I saw you earlier getting out of your limo. You’re an actor, right?” I asked.
“Yes, Patricio Ferrari.”
Oh. Like the car.
I extended my hand. “Lily Snow. I work for Cole Cosmetics.”
“Oh, do you now?” he said.
“I started this week, actually.”
“Well, Maxwell is a pompous asshole, but I won’t blame you for that.”
I like him already. “Thank you. So how do you know him?”
“Who doesn’t know the man? He’s almost as famous as me.” He leaned in. “But not nearly as good looking. Or fun.”
I laughed, and we took to the floor. Patricio was a little wild, his arms waving in the air, his ass wiggling all over the place, but he made me laugh and it was fun. I knew I’d landed in his “friend zone,” which was totally fine with me, but every time I glanced over across the crowded room, Mr. Cole’s eyes met mine. The irritating part was that he held Adeline Taylor’s hand.
I turned my back to him, deciding I needed a little dose of “grow the hell up.” When the fourth song came on and the music turned into some sexy tango-styled techno, Patricio wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me snugly to his body. Frankly, I wasn’t uncomfortable, but confused. Call me crazy, but this guy acted like he was hitting on me.
“You have the most stunning body I’ve ever seen, Lily.” He swayed from side to side while I stood still.
All right. He’s definitely hitting on me. “Uh…thanks?”
His hands slid down to cup my ass, pulling me into his crotch. There was something very hard there. “I think I’d like to see more of it.” He smiled with a charming grin.
Okay. Now this is awkward. But was it really? I didn’t have a frame of reference, considering no one ever hit on me. Not ever.