As we wait, Adam leans into me, and I hear his voice buzz in my ear. “You’re amazing. You’re a natural at this, Des, for real. Everyone is absolutely nuts over you.”
I turn to look at him. “What the hell were you thinking, bringing me here? I’m so out of place it’d be funny if I weren’t terrified.” I say this in a tiny, tight whisper, pitched so low he has to put his ear to my mouth to hear me.
He laughs as if I’ve said something funny. “I know you feel out of place, Des. I get it. I feel the same way, every time. Just keep faking it. No one will ever be the wiser.”
“That I’m a fucking janitor, you mean?”
He frowns at me. “Does that really matter?”
I give him an incredulous expression. “Um…yeah? If these people find out you brought a garbage collector as your date to a Hollywood A-list fundraiser gala…I don’t even know what would happen, but nothing good. For me, or you.”
He shakes his head. “Des, you’re overthinking this. It’s going to be fine. Just be you. You’re beautiful. None of the guys can take their eyes off of you.” His hand, resting on the table, lifts and a finger inscribes a small arc to indicate the dining room. “Look around you.”
I sip at the glass of wine that appeared in front of me at some point, and try to unobtrusively scrutinize the room. When I do, my heart rate skyrockets. Adam is right. Everyone is looking at me. Everyone. Not just the men, but women, too. The men are more obvious about it, glancing at me, and then away, around the room, and then back to me. But the women are watching me too, and that’s almost more frightening. They’re more judgmental. I can feel their scrutiny. I can feel them examining my hair, my makeup, my dress, the cheap silver bangle around my wrist, and the cheap cubic zirconium earrings in my ears. At least I’m sitting down, so my height and shape are mostly hidden by the table.
“Thanks,” I tell Adam, darting a quick glance at him. “I’m even more self-conscious now that I’m aware that everyone in the room is wondering who I am and why the hell I’m here.”
“They’re wondering how I managed to get someone as sexy as you to come with me on such short notice.”
“Bullshit,” I say, but it lacks venom.
The fact that Adam seems to honestly think I’m sexy does something to me, makes my brain and my stomach and my heart all quiver with a weird, restless energy.
The eyes in the room eventually stop staring at me as the dinner progresses, and I find a measure of comfort. I’m still hyper-aware that I’m out of place, that I’m a nobody in a room full of famous people, but Adam engages me in conversation.
By the time the main course is done, I’m stuffed full and my bladder is screaming. “Adam? Where’s the restroom?”
Rose overhears my question and stands up. “I have to go, too. I’ll show you.”
I’m hesitant, but I can’t very well get out of it now. I glance at Adam, who is half-standing, watching me, concerned. I can’t look scared just to go to the bathroom, and everyone is watching, so I let out a small breath and shake my head at him subtly, then I follow Rose out of the dining room and down a short, wide set of stairs to a narrow hallway. There’s a gift shop opposite, closed and dark now, and then an opening leading to the front desk. A velvet rope blocks the stairway, guarded additionally by a pair of hotel doormen and another pair of huge, black-suited bodyguard types. They nod respectfully at Rose, and the rope is pulled aside to let us through. The bodyguard steps in front of us, opens the door to the women’s bathroom, and calls out to see if it’s occupied. A woman’s voice calls back, and she comes out a moment later, staring at the hulking bodyguard and then at Rose, and then at me. Her eyes go wide, and she opens her mouth, but a hotel employee is adroitly escorting her away, and Rose pulls me into the bathroom after her. The door closes slowly, and I see the bodyguard take up position in front of the doorway, massive arms crossed over a broad chest.
Rose and I take care of business, and then wash our hands, and then Rose plucks at a strand of platinum blond hair, tucking it back into position, adjusts her breasts in the bodice of her Valentino gown, wiggles a foot in her Jimmy Choo heels. And then she fixes her hazel eyes on me.
“So. Des.” She turns to face me and props one slim, perfect hip against the counter. “What do you think about your first event?”
I swallow hard and try to smile. “Is it that obvious?”
Rose laughs, but it doesn’t feel mocking. “Yeah, it kind of is. You haven’t said two words to anyone but Adam, for one thing.”
I shrug. “I don’t know anyone but Adam.”
“Clearly.” She waves a hand. “The men probably aren’t as aware as I am, though. They’re all too hypnotized by that cleavage of yours.”
I laugh with her, but I’m not entirely sure she’s kidding. “Is it too much?”
Rose makes an incredulous face. “Des, honey, if I had your tits, I’d have them on display too. But no, it’s not too much.” She trails a finger through my hair. “Who did your hair and makeup? It’s simple and understated. It really works for you.”
My cheeks heat and I want to look away from her in embarrassment. “I did,” I say.
She nods. “Well, you did an amazing job. I’m not sure I’d have the balls to do my own hair and makeup for an event like this.”
“It was kind of last minute,” I say, which is true enough, but doesn’t really address the fact that there was no one to do it for me, as she’s obviously used to.
“Adam did explain what he was bringing you to, didn’t he?”
“Sort of?”
Rose’s eyes go wide and concerned. “Look, sweetie, you’re really beautiful, and I can see why Adam’s attracted to you. But, just between you and me, it’s pretty obvious you’re not…in the industry, so to speak. And now you’re telling me he brought you to this event without preparing you for what you’d face?”
“Like I said, it was last minute.” I take a deep breath. “I should probably get back.”
Rose sighs. “I can’t believe him. You can’t just spring a thing like this on a girl. I hope you’re ready, babe.”
“Ready?” I swallow hard. “For what?”
“The attention. You’ve just been put under an international spotlight, Des. There may not be television media here, which is fortunate for you, but it’s still one of the most widely covered events of the year. The photographs from this are going to be in every magazine in the developed world. Especially since Adam came with you instead of Em.” She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t know what he was thinking. Nothing against you, it’s just—”
My heart sinks, and my stomach flips. “What?”
“Well, it’s just that the rumor mill surrounding Adam is kind of rabid.” She smooths her dress over her hips and glances at me. “Any time he goes anywhere, all the rags make up these speculative stories about what he’s doing and where he’s going and who he’s with. When he and Em broke up, it was the talk of the whole community. It was ugly. Really, really ugly. And every appearance since then has been the subject of a million rumors. Bringing you, to this? Last minute, no explanation? It’s going to start the mill all over again, and anyone connected to the media is going to be looking for you.”
“Looking for me?”
Rose nodded. “And they’ll find you, too. They’re relentless.”
I feel faint. “Awesome.” I steady myself with both hands on the counter. My breath is coming in short gasps. The panic attack I’ve been fending off all night is pounding in my throat and at my temples and in my lungs. “Good thing I’m not a super private person or anything. Jesus.”
A small, cool hand touches my back. “Breathe, sweetie. It’ll be fine. They’ll print whatever they want to print, and eventually they’ll lose interest. Just don’t do any interviews, ’kay?”
“Why would I do an interview? About what?”
Rose laughs, and this one does sound condescending, but not cruelly so. “Oh, honey. You really have no idea, do you? They’ll wa
nt to know every detail about you and Adam. And they’ll offer you money, and book deals, and all sorts of things like that. If you want to remain a private person, don’t answer. Just tell everyone ‘no comment’ and live your life. Eventually someone will come along who actually wants their attention.”
A deep voice beyond the door rumbles loudly. “Sorry, Mr. Trenton. Can’t let you in.”
I hear Adam’s voice. “You gonna try and stop me, Zach?” Silence, and then the door opens, revealing Adam, with the bodyguard behind him. “Didn’t think so.” Adam crosses to me, I feel him beside me, feel his hand on my lower back.
“Hi, Adam.” Rose’s voice is neutral, careful. “The little boys room is next door, I think.”
“What did you say to her, Rose?”
“Just the truth.” She passes me and stops in front of Adam. “I’m not sure you did yourself or her any favors, bringing her here, Adam.”
“Goddamn it, Rose—”
“She’s really stunning, though. Even in an off-the-rack dress.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Rose,” Adam growls, his voice low and threatening.
“I’m not!”
I stand up, push between them, hating how they’re talking about me as if I’m not here. “Adam, stop. It’s fine. She wasn’t being a bitch.” I let out a wavery breath. “Thanks for the advice, Rose. Adam, let’s just go, okay?”
I sweep past Adam and Rose and out the door, past Zach the burly bodyguard…right into a gaggle of photographers waiting for me on the other side of the rope.
They’re less than four feet away from me now, ten of them, and their cameras come up and start clicking, flashing.
“What’s your name, honey? Can you tell us your name?” The questions come in a sudden burst, variations on a theme. They all want to know my name, and I’m frozen, staring at them, eyes wide, panicking.
And then Adam is behind me, a hand on my waist, propelling me up the stairs, away from the cameras and the questions without so much as a word to any of them. The event is still going on, but now Gareth is at the podium talking about “a noble cause” or something. Adam guides me away from the dining room and into what seems like a small library, a few tables and plush couches and elegant chairs, bookshelves lining all four walls, and a small bar behind which is a pretty, middle-aged black woman with thin dreadlocks, dressed in hotel livery.
“Two Labatts,” Adam growls, tossing a twenty-dollar bill on the bar.
He drags me into a corner of the room, guides me to a seat on a couch, then sits beside me and tucks me against his side. He’s huge and solid and real, and his arm is curled around me, and now everything is crashing down around me, in me, on me. Everything Rose told me, how out of place I felt, how out of place I am.
A cold bottle is pressed into my hand, and I take a long gulp, breathe, and then take another. Finally, I look at Adam. “Why am I here, Adam? What were you thinking? I don’t belong here. Everyone can tell what a fish out of water I am.”
“Fucking Rose. She doesn’t mean to be mean, she just doesn’t have a filter. She says whatever she’s thinking, regardless of whether it’s a good idea or not.”
“She was right though. I look as out of place as I feel: cheap. Cheap dress, cheap shoes, cheap makeup. I’m…” I swallow hard and start over. “And she said reporters would come looking for me. What am I supposed to do, Adam? God. And the whole thing with you and Emma Hayes?”
“We’re not talking about her.” He says this with a cold note of finality, and then sighs wearily. “The media’s going to speculate regardless. They always have and always will. I don’t care what they say. Just don’t answer them. Don’t look at them. Pretend they don’t exist.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re used to it.”
“You never get used to it,” he says. “Maybe I didn’t think through what this might mean for you, I guess. I’m sorry.”
“Can I go home, now?” I say, only half-joking.
“I’ll take you back if you want, but…I’m hoping maybe you’ll stay for at least one dance.”
“Dance?” I glance at him over the mouth of my beer, which is somehow almost gone already.
“Yeah. After dessert, which I think they’re serving after Gareth quits running his mouth.”
“Maybe one dance. Can’t get all dressed up and not dance, right?”
He grins at me, and drains his bottle in two long pulls. “Right.”
I finish mine as well, and he leads me back into the dining room. I feel the eyes on me, and I try to keep my back straight and my head high. There’s a plate of delicate-looking chocolate mousse waiting for me, and thank god for that. I force myself to take small, demure, lady-like nibbles of it, even though I want to gulp it down greedily.
Couples and groups are filtering out of the dining room, and Adam leads me with them, his huge warm hand engulfing mine. We make our way to a ballroom, a small, intimate room with a parquet dance floor and a stage surrounded by round tables.
There’s a string quartet on the stage, all middle-aged men in tuxedos. They’re already playing, and a few couples are dancing. Adam pulls me onto the dance floor, wraps one large hand across the small of my back and tangles the fingers of his other hand through mine, and we’re slow dancing. His body is huge and his pale green eyes are hot and intense and focused entirely on me. Everything falls away, then, except Adam and the music.
We spin slowly, our bodies pressed close together. I can feel his chest swelling with each breath, the faint tum-tum—tum-tum of his heart beating, and his shoulder is a broad slab under my left hand. I don’t really know how to dance, but this is slow dancing, just easy circles, step, step, step. Around us, a few people are doing more elaborate waltz steps, dips and twirls and things, but Adam seems content to just step-pivot-step with me. Which is fine. It gives me a chance to catch my breath, to push away the swirling doubts and fears.
And then I feel Adam stiffen.
“Can I cut in?” The voice is smooth, boyish.
A pair of amused, roguish blue eyes meet mine. Dylan Vale wants to dance with me? Gah. Ruthie is going to lose her shit when I tell her this.
“Piss off, Dylan,” Adam growls.
Dylan just laughs. “Aw, c’mon Trenton. You can’t keep a gorgeous girl like this to yourself all night, you know.”
Adams looks down at me. “Go dance with Rose.”
“I have been.” He winks, making it a lewd insinuation. “It’s just one dance, dude. I’ll give her right back.”
Once again, I’m trapped by circumstance, forced to brave when I don’t feel very courageous. “It’s okay, Adam. It would be my pleasure to dance with Dylan.”
Adam’s eyes narrow. “Just one.”
Dylan slaps Adam on the back companionably. “Loosen up, man.”
And then Dylan’s hand is in mine, another on my waist. He’s maybe an inch taller than me, although with my heels on I have a slight edge on him. His blue eyes are speculative, intelligent. He moves gracefully, leading me in faster circles than Adam did. There are a few inches between us, and nothing about his posture or demeanor makes me think this is anything other than a friendly gesture.
“So. Your name is Des, right?”
I nod. “Yep.” I’m not sure where to go with that, conversationally. “And you’re Dylan.”
He grins. “That’s me. Seen the show?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not really my thing. My roommate raves about it though.” I let a small smile touch my lips. “Well, more about you than the show, if I’m being honest.”
“Not really your thing, huh?” He doesn’t seem insulted, and doesn’t acknowledge my compliment.
I shrug. “Vampires or whatever, zombies, that kind of thing, no.”
He claps a hand to his chest dramatically. “I’m wounded. It’s not vampires or whatever, Des. It’s shapeshifters. Big difference.”
I laugh. “Okay, fine. Shapeshifters, then. Still not my thing. Mythical creatures do not interest me.
No offense.”
“Well, I can’t take too much offense, I suppose. I mean, I’m just a co-creator and lead writer. No big deal.”
“I didn’t know that. I thought you just acted in it.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I was a writer before I was an actor.”
I can’t help but feel amused. He’s so unlike Adam it’s shocking. Adam seems reticent to talk about work, eager to downplay his success and fame. Dylan, on the other hand, spends the entire dance talking about the show, about how he and Ed Monighan wrote it together and pitched it, and how the studio demanded to see him audition for the lead, over his protests that he wasn’t an actor, of course. It’s not exactly arrogance exuding from Dylan, just…eagerness. Excitement. And it’s a little nerdy. Cute, endearing, and slightly annoying.
He’s beautiful, yes, and his eyes are vibrantly blue and he’s lean and toned and breezily confident in the way of a guy who’s always been popular and who’s always had everything come easily to him.
I find myself much preferring Adam’s enormous, masculine, animalistic intensity, his brawny bulk, and his quiet self-assurance.
The song ends, and Adam swiftly reclaims his place, and this time his body is hard against mine, almost inappropriately close, and his hand is dangerously low on my back, resting barely an inch above the swell of my buttocks.
“Fuckin’ pretty boy,” Adam growls. “He’s an ass.”
I laugh. “Not really. He’s nice. Cute, and eager.”
“Cute and eager, huh?” A smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
“Did you know he’s the co-creator and lead writer for Shifters?” I try to mimic Dylan’s excited tone.
Adam laughs out loud. “Yeah. That’s him.” His eyes are suddenly leaf-green spears of heat. “You ready to get out of here?”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
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