Her gaze swung between the high ceilings, the upscale leather upholstery and the accent pieces strategically scattered through the immense area. About fifteen people occupied the space, most of them standing while holding a drink, a few of them sitting on the oversize tufted sofas. She thought that kind of couch was really old school, but somehow everything in this living room matched and worked well together. It spoke of money and tradition—two things she wasn’t used to.
“Come,” he said, and tugged her hand, leading her in the direction of large bay windows with breathtaking views of the beach.
A waiter approached them, offering them champagne, and she picked up a flute.
The bubbly drink slid smoothly down her throat, warming her cheeks. It had a dry aftertaste she didn’t expect. She’d had her share of beers and even wine, but never tasted champagne before. Now she understood what the fuss was all about. She took another drink, this one more generous than the first.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, a trace of amusement in his voice.
She put the flute on the windowsill with whatever little remained inside. “Is it so obvious?”
“I love… that about you,” he said, and now his eyes darkened, then he shook his head to himself. Like he caught his own impulsivity.
“Thanks,” she said, glancing deep into his eyes, hoping that she’d be able to detect what the hell was happening between them. Because, if she were honest with herself, this wasn’t just an affair. Feelings were involved, strong enough that they both feared naming them. Well, she did at least. Should she enjoy the rest of the time she had with him, or jeopardize it by trying to level up a relationship doomed to end?
“Growing up, I never thought I’d be coming to this kind of party,” he said.
“You fit into this kind of party,” she said. “You’re successful and smart.”
“You’re smart too,” he said. “And you succeeded at making a hell of a life for yourself. Much better than most would in your position.”
Damn it. Why the hell was he so sweet to her? She noticed the pride in his words, the same type he’d used when he talked about his work. How could she counter him? She was a wanna-be masseuse without a place to live and not much in her pocket. But she understood what he meant. She could have become like her mother. She could have given in to all the losers that she met in school or through foster families, and fallen in love with any of them, and lost her self-respect. She would have been treated like crap, and a part of her would not fight it. Because she’d seen it so much during her childhood, it was like an old friend.
She straightened her shoulders, and the realization dawned on her.
He was right. She should be proud of herself, too. In her own way.
He wasn’t saying that just to get in her pants—he didn’t have to.
“Hey, Knox,” said a stocky man in his late fifties, walking up to them. “I’m glad you made it.”
“Thanks, Ben. This is Alyssa.”
Ben stretched out his hand and she shook it. “Nice to meet you, Alyssa. Ben Clark,” he said, adding his last name like it should mean something.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
He patted Knox on the back. “Do you mind if I steal him for a moment?”
“Not at all, she lied, with a neutral smile to go with it. So, she had arrived a hot minute and already was by herself. Great.
Knox gave her an apologetic glance over his shoulder, when the man talked close to his ear. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
She nodded, and picked the flute from the windowsill again, running her fingers along the rim. She supposed she could fish out her cell phone from her bag, but that would make her insecurity so much more obvious. Besides, he’d told her this was the kind of event he had to go to show his face and network. She didn’t want to do anything that could possibly taint his reputation.
During high school, a lot of times she’d grab her lunch and eat just outside the cafeteria, in an area filled with dumpsters and recycling bins. That was her trying to do her own thing and not be bothered, especially when she had zero in common with the girls her age.
Then she met Madison, and her friend welcomed her as best she could.
She saw so much effort in Madison to help her fit in, that even when it didn’t work, she didn’t want to break her heart and say it. Now she saw where Madison got her spirit from.
A couple of glammed up women in their thirties approached her. One was thin and blonde, and the other, curvy and brunette, wearing a sultry silver dress with a Kardashian style vibe.
“Hi,” the blonde one said. “I’m Edie.”
“I’m Kailey,” said the brunette. “We saw you all alone, and figured we’d say hi. You came with Knox, right?”
“I’m Alyssa,” she said, realizing none of them asked for her name, or said it was a pleasure to meet her. “Yes, I came with Knox,” she said evenly, scared she’d say too much. I’m also his daughter’s best friend.
