Yes, that was her mantra.
“Whatever your fears are right now, remember how sweet he is, and the beautiful romantic stuff he’s sent you.Time is nothing but a way to mark the beat of your heart.”
She straightened and smiled, as she had when he’d said the romantic words. Yes, her roommates could keep their cynicism. She liked him.
Hopefully, he liked her! Liked her for who she was, unconventional and goofy and successful and not humble and an attention seeker. The pretty parts and the not-always-pretty parts. The parts he’d only get to see in real life.
A burst of confidence had her popping her headphone out of her ear. She did one last mirror check for any pesky wrinkles or blobs. She’d decided on a simple gold scarf for her hair today. The material caught the bronzer on her cheeks and matched the gold threads in her black-and-golddress, and the matching dupatta she’d draped and pinned over her shoulders as a shawl.
She’d worn this dress for a party over a year ago, and it was the reason he’d messaged her that first time.You look like you were dipped in gold.
Her smile now was genuine. Of course this would work. He would be excited by this surprise, happy she’d taken matters into her own hands. That was one of the things he’d liked about her, he said. Her assertiveness.
It was time.
Jia took the elevator to the rooftop bar. She got why this was an It Place, with its greenery and flowers wrapped around the chandeliers and dripping off the ceiling. At any other time, she’d be joining the people over at the balcony, taking photos and selfies with all the concentration of an accountant doing taxes. Because for most of them, this was probably their job.
Not tonight. She wanted to speak with him before the party grew too crowded. That way, if it was wonderful, they could talk the night away. If it was terrible, she could escape.
The hostess’s gaze flicked over Jia as she approached, and Jia knew what the woman was doing: calculating the cost of her clothes and shoes and cross-referencing it with her demeanor. There were plenty of important people in L.A. who dressed down. “Hello, I’m here for theHope Streetparty.”
“Lovely. Your name, miss?”
“Jia Ahmed.” She surveyed the restaurant. It was still cool for March, and the windows that surrounded the room were all open, bringing in a nice breeze. Some people werewearing jackets, but Jia was fine in her long-sleeved dress. She’d grown up in the frigid Northeast; she could handle sixty degrees when it was salt-tinged ocean air.
She recognized more than a few faces. This wasn’t her first Hollywood party. She got invites fairly regularly since she’d signed her last spokesmodel contract a couple years ago. The guest lists were usually a combination of influencers, young actors, models, sports stars, and Twitterati. Her roommate Katrina had been a model, and she’d told Jia she’d hated these soirees. Jia loved them, every single glittery, slightly fake part of them, from the laughably pretentious people to the gift bags. Ooooh, the gift bags. Dumping those adult goody bags out on her bed after the party and pawing through the loot was a delight, though she usually just gave away most of the stuff to her followers.
Tonight, the gift bag was the second-best attraction, though.
The hostess found her name on her tablet and her demeanor changed, becoming less haughty. “Welcome, Ms. Ahmed.”
She’d known she’d be on the list, but impostor syndrome was a struggle. Jia inclined her head in what she imagined a classy gesture to be and tried to glide nonchalantly through the indoor spring wonderland of flowers and lush greenery like she belonged.
The bathroom selfie redhead was here, ordering a drink at the bar. Jia recognized a few of the actors, including the salt-and-pepper Richard Reese, the star of the show, who was animatedly talking to a rapt audience.
She stood up on her tiptoes, though the extra half inch of height wasn’t enough to be effective. The crowd around Richard parted, and there he was.
A single spotlight falls on the hero, and the rest of the crowd ceases to exist.
Tall and dark and handsome, he wore a black suit with a stark white shirt and a skinny blue tie. No contouring needed for his face. It was too sharp and angular to be conventionally handsome like the rest of the famous men in his family, but the others could keep their handsome. Stern had its own thing going for it.
His lean lanky body wore that designer suit with casual elegance, like he’d been born to couture, which he had, as the eldest Dixit grandson.
He’s far too sophisticated for little old you.
No, he wasn’t. He was older than her, yes, thirty-two to her twenty-nine. She didn’t have much experience with men, between school and med school and quitting med school and her internet side hustle becoming her main hustle. In her sleuthing, though, she’d discovered little in the way of an excessive or extravagant life for him.
All she wanted to do was gallop toward him eagerly, but she settled on a sedate walk. When she was a couple of feet away, Dev turned his head. Their eyes met, and Jia swallowed the lump of excitement in her throat. “Hello.” Her voice was breathier than she’d ever heard it. Almost sexy. Not her usual vibe.
Dev’s gaze dipped over her, and a flush worked its way to her cheeks. She could put to rest her worry about the physical attraction, on her end, at least.
Since she’d decided to crash this party, she’d played this scenario out in a dozen different ways. He’d be shocked, delighted, annoyed, angry, panicked.
Not one of those expressions was on his face right now. Which made sense! He was an actor and good at controlling his emotions. Of course he wasn’t going to rear back in surprise or wrap her up in an embrace here in public.
“Hello,” he said, his voice low, and that was all she needed to nearly swoon. He had such a clipped and sexy accent.
“Hi,” she nearly responded, then mentally kicked herself. She’d already said that.
