“Whatever gets the job done,” he quipped, and turned to leave.
“When you’re done insulting me to the staff, turn around and see how well you clean up.”
He turned to the mirror, and tilted his head. “Feels weird.”
“Doesn’t matter how it feels,” I said, smoothing the lines of the jacket over his shoulders. The sculpted muscle underneath tightenedthen relaxed. “As long as you look good.”
He glanced back at me. “And you?”
“What about me?” I absently picked at stray pieces of lint, but could feel his unshifting gaze on me.
“You can’t show up to a gala in a pencil skirt,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I mean, it’s great for a day at the office, but–”
“We’re here for you.” I picked up my tablet again. “There are two more tuxes to try on.”
He laughed under his breath and disappeared into the fitting room again.
By the time we left, he had a garment bag slung over his shoulder and a faint smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The drive back to his place was more light-hearted and quiet, thank goodness.
“You’re good at this,” he said when we pulled up.
“At what?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely between us. “Making all this chaos seem… less chaotic. I don’t know. Manageable.”
I kept my eyes faced forward, and pressed the fob that unlocked the doors. “Just doing my job.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” And he was laughing when he got out.
*
That night, the gala sparkled under chandeliers as tall as trees. The ballroom smelled of champagne and polished wood. Surge banners hung between floral arrangements and glass towers of hors d’oeuvres.
I kept to the edge of the room, scanning for potential sponsors but also headline-hungry reporters. Hunter had been so overwhelmed by the tuxedo drama that we barely had time to go over his soundbites for the night.
“Wow.”
I turned.
He stood a few feet away, tux perfectly fitted, hair slicked back. But it was his eyes that caught me off guard. They were on me, grazing over my length all the way down to my shoes.
The dress was one of my stock formals for these types of occasions. Simple black, low back, silk light as air as it skimmed my hips. For tonight, I left my hair down in waves that made it look like I didn’t bother, which was the point. I had no business standing out, but the way he looked at me now made me feel like I was the only woman in the room.
“Wow,” he said again, quieter.
I tried to play it cool. “You’re supposed to be charming donors with the rest of your team, not staring at me.”
“Right,” he said, but he didn’t look away.
I felt my pulse tick faster, and scrambled inwardly to get a damn hold of myself.
“Straighten your jacket.” I brushed past him toward the bar.
Behind me, I heard him exhale, a low sound that wasn’t quite a whistle, and then, “I need a drink, too.”
The ballroom was a blur of sequins and diamonds. A string quartet played something soft near the stage, easy conversation rising and falling like waves. Hunter stood at my side, and I moved with him as though tethered, keeping just close enough to intercept, redirect, coach.
“Your smile’s getting creepy,” I whispered, brushing invisible lint from his lapel before another sponsor approached. “Ease up a notch.”
