“Kimberly! It’s been ages. Still with that hedge fund?”
By the time we reach the elevated DJ booth, I’m exhausted from the small talk. Jill scrambles up, beckoning me to join her dancing on the platform. I climb, but a wall of muscle blocks my path.
“What the hell, Ryder?” I snap.
His face is a mask of stern disapproval. “Absolutely not. You’d be exposed from every angle up there.”
“For God’s sake, I know everyone here. It’s fine.” I try to sidestep him, but he’s immovable.
“No.” His tone brooks no argument.
“This is ridiculous. It’s a party, Ryder! I want to dance with my friend.”
“Safety first,” he growls.
“Fuck this,” I seethe. “This is my life. Let me live it.”
His eyes flash. “I’m ensuring you have a life to live. Stop being so reckless.”
“Stop being so uptight. Your blood pressure's high enough to inflate a bouncy castle. You realize I’m not in mortal peril, right? This is just my dad being paranoid.”
He purses his lips, unmoved. “That’s irrelevant.”
“You’re impossible,” I huff, admitting defeat. “Fine. I’m getting food. Is that allowed? Or do you need to taste-test for poison first?”
His face remains expressionless.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, storming toward the bar. I snatch up some fancy pastry thing and take an angry bite. The explosion of flavor catches me off guard. Damn, it’s good. I need this caterer’s number.
I’m mid-bite when Ryder’s thumb grazes my chin.
The contact is like a spark, igniting something hot and unsettling inside me. My lips part, but the sensation is alreadysettling deep, making it hard to focus on anything except the slow, deliberate movement of his hand.
“Sauce,” he murmurs, his voice low and controlled. He holds up his thumb, showing me the smear.
The heat rising in my cheeks has nothing to do with the food. I shouldn’t be thinking that. Feeling that. It’s all wrong. I blink, the reminder coming out more defensive than I intend. “Rule number three, Ryder. No touching.”
He pulls back, his expression unreadable. “Sorry, Ms. Valeur,” he says, his voice calm and professional. “I didn’t want you to ruin your dress.”
The use of my last name stings. My stomach twists. I scolded him for what? Trying to help? Misinterpreted his touch for something it wasn’t. Something that is all in my head. Embarrassment blooms hot across my chest.God, I’m such an idiot.
“I—right. Sorry,” I stammer, trying to recover, but the moment’s already shifted. His presence feels distant now like the touch never happened. Like I didn’t just feel the burn of his hand on my skin.
“Cora!” Bailey and Riley appear beside me at the most inopportune moment.
Ryder’s face empties of expression. He steps back and blends into the shadows. I send him one last look before turning to my friends with a smile.
“Gorgeous!” I squeal, jumping up and down with my friends, the alcohol already buzzing through my system.
“Speaking of gorgeous, did you see Jill?” Riley asks. “Our girl’s dressed to kill—or, should I say, to get laid.”
Bailey tilts her head. “Isn’t that the whole point of these ridiculous debutante balls? It’s like putting your daughter outthere with a sign on her forehead that reads, ‘ready for fucking.’”
I snort. Unlike Riley and Jill, who also come from very wealthy families, Bailey comes from an upper-middle-class background. She loves to mock all the customs and events of high society, and I have to say, sometimes she hits the nail on the head.
“I never thought of it that way, but...damn, you might be onto something.”
“Did they throw you to the wolves too?” Bailey asks.
