“Tell me something,” he says, voice low and warm. “Do you always look this busy, or did I just catch you on an important night?”
I swallow, suddenly aware of my heels, my dress, the clipboard clutched too tightly to my chest. “It’s always an important night,” I say. “That’s kind of the job.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Which is?”
“I help organize events,” I reply. “Corporate dinners. Private parties. Clients who want everything perfect but don’t want to know how much work it takes.”
“Ah,” he says softly. “So you’re the one keeping the wheels from coming off.”
I shrug. “Someone has to.”
He studies me for a beat, then tilts his head. “And what do I call the person saving the evening?”
I hesitate, then offer a small smile. “Bella.”
His eyes flicker. Just for a second. Something sharp, pleased.
“Bella,” he repeats, testing it. Then, without asking, without apology, he corrects himself. “No. Isabella.”
The way he says it makes my breath hitch. Slower. Lower. Like he’s tasting it.
“I didn’t say Isabella,” I point out.
He steps a fraction closer, not enough to touch, but enough that I feel the heat of him. “You didn’t have to.”
I should step back. I don’t. I stay rooted there, pulse ticking faster than it should.
“And you?” I ask, mostly to prove to myself that I still can.
“Aleksander,” he says. “We met briefly. You reversed into my car.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Right. That was you.”
“That was me,” he agrees. “I was hoping you’d remember.”
Something about that makes my stomach flip. “You’re here with the client?”
“Not exactly,” he says. “But I know him. He wanted a certain kind of crowd tonight.”
“And you fit?” I ask.
His smile deepens. “I always do.”
Behind me, someone calls my name, asking about the wine pairing. I glance over my shoulder, then back at Aleksander, already feeling the pull of being needed elsewhere.
“Well,” I say, adjusting my grip on the clipboard, “enjoy the evening, Aleksander. Try not to cause any trouble.”
He leans in just enough that only I can hear him. “Isabella,” he murmurs, deliberate again, “I don’t cause trouble.” And then he disappears into the crowd.
Before I can collect myself, I hear a familiar voice beside me—a little breathless, a little teasing. “Who was that sin of a man you were talking to, Bells? Please tell me he’s a guest and not some very important person’s husband.”
I turn and find Maya standing there, curly hair escaping her updo, tablet in one hand, earpiece half falling out. She’s the only reason tonight isn’t on fire—she’s been working the logistics all week, wrangling staff and vendors like a general in heels.
I manage a casual shrug. “No one. Just…someone who recognized me from another event.” It comes out light, but my heart is still drumming a little too fast in my chest.
Maya gives me a sideways look, dark eyes sharp but amused. “No one, huh?” She grins, lowering her voice. “If that’s no one, then I need more of your kind of nobody in my life. He’s a little older, but damn.”
I laugh, grateful for the distraction. “He’s just a guest, Maya. And I don’t think he bites.”
