by Ellie Hall
She cocked one eyebrow. "I should've let you. You do need to work on your manners." The sparkly dress she wore reflected light back at me as she buckled her seat belt. "I saw you through the window, though, so I thought I'd save you the extra steps. So, before any more chit-chat, let's cover the basics. You’d better not expect me to act like a lovesick puppy tonight just to make some other girl jealous. Because we both know I’m only here for the food.”
We spent the remainder of the drive bantering, eventually turning our discussion to what software projects we were both working on.
After handing my keys to the valet at the entrance of the hotel, I offered her my arm. If nothing else, talking with Ava had cleared my mind of all my agitating thoughts. I would just relax and have fun this evening.
We swept down the hallway, a sign indicating our party was in ballroom three, through the doors to our left. And that was where I stopped in my tracks.
In front of us, stood Hazel.
But not the Hazel I saw every day. Not the one who wore pencil skirts and blazers, button-down shirts and slacks.
This Hazel wore a deep, wine-red dress that hugged every inch of her body. There was a slit in the bottom, one that went just high enough to make me want to glare at every other man eyeing her legs. Some sort of crisscross thing was going on with her sleeves that enhanced the slim collarbone I’d never before noticed, and even her hair was different. Instead of letting it fall loose, she'd swept it up in a fancy updo that revealed every curve of her jaw.
"Owen, are you okay?"
Ava's voice brought me back to reality, a crashing, clumsy return as I stumbled over my own feet. So much for clearing my mind of this HR Manager.
My graceless entrance had caught Hazel’s attention. Her eyes danced over me for a split-second before a portly, older man wearing a rumpled suit began talking to her again. Was that guy her date? Please let him be her date.
Not that I cared about who she brought.
I turned to Ava, pretending everything was fine. "Sorry, I just got distracted." Distracted. That was one way to describe the numbness taking over my body. Why was my reaction to Hazel so strong? I gave Ava a side glance. She looked beautiful too. The black dress she wore suited her figure perfectly, but somehow, she didn't affect me the same way. She didn't get my heart racing or make me wonder what it'd be like to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. Not like Hazel did.
We eventually found table number five where we'd been assigned to sit. I kept one eye on Hazel and her senior citizen date.
Unfortunately, my hopes were crushed when they parted ways. My gaze trailed her as she sauntered—yes, sauntered, there was no other description for it when she wore a dress like that—her way to the table behind us.
It was only once she seated herself next to a fit, younger guy that my hackles started to rise. That was her date? Sure, most women would probably describe him as handsome, but he definitely wasn't good enough for Hazel. His suit looked as if he'd purposely had it tailored one size too small, and he likely spent more time just styling his hair than I had getting ready.
I'd been so absorbed in studying them I hadn't realized that I'd lost any semblance of stealth. Hazel's eyes were now staring me down, her eyebrows lifted as if to ask why I was checking out her date.
I did the only thing I could. I picked up my water glass in a mock toast and gave her a wide smile before spinning back toward Ava.
Enough of that. I would simply ignore Hazel and her completely undeserving date for the rest of the evening.
"So, who's the girl in red you keep staring at?" Ava asked.
I choked on my water.
10
Hazel
I glanced at Logan, my date for the evening. He also happened to be my sister’s husband’s cousin, but desperate times called for desperate measures. That meant distant relatives who would gladly step in as my fake date at the last minute. And by gladly, I meant, forcibly threatened by my sister. Semantics.
"So, how much longer ‘til they serve dinner?" Logan asked, his lazy eyes taking a tour of the room.
I let out a slow breath, trying to pretend that my fingers weren't actively clenching the seat beneath me. "Dinner is supposed to start at 7:30," I managed.
His eyes came back to me, one eyebrow raised. "Is everything okay?"
My traitorous eyes darted to Owen, one table away. Why hadn't I gotten involved with the seating arrangements? I'm sure the event coordinator would've honored my request to make sure a certain web developer and I were on opposite sides of the room.
Unfortunately, Logan had a brain to match his good looks, and his eyes bounced back and forth between Owen and me. "All right," he said, leaning in, "what's going on here? Is there something between you and that dark-haired guy? Did you just bring me for my muscles?"
I rolled my eyes and socked him on the arm. "Yeah, because I'm really intent on starting a brawl in the middle of my company's charity event."
He shrugged and looked at Owen one more time. "Just say the word."
"Stop looking at him. You're making this weird." I was pretty sure there were imprints of my fingers on the sides of my chair by now.
"I'll stop looking at him when you tell me what's going on," Logan said, reaching for his water.
"I can't tell you anything when there's nothing to tell." I eased back in my seat, looking like the relaxed party guest I totally was not.
One corner of Logan's mouth hitched up. The next thing I knew, he’d picked up his chair and turned it so he was directly facing Owen. With a nonchalance I could only envy, he settled back down, one leg crossing over the other at the knee as he reached for his drink, his gaze zeroed in on his target.
I frantically jumped in front of him in some pathetic attempt to hide his blatant staring. "Fine! Fine!" I was whisper-shouting the way my sister did at her boys in public. "Just turn around and stop being a moron. I'll tell you everything."
With a grin I wanted to smack right off his face, Logan turned his chair back and brought my pulse down to a somewhat acceptable range. "So, what's between you and that dude?"
And that was how I found myself telling him everything. Everything from spying on Owen at the trail to getting locked in the supply closet spilled out of my mouth. It actually was a relief to talk about it, to explain the whirlwind of my emotions the last three weeks.
When I was finished, I sat back, the burst of energy drained from my body. "So, what do you think?" I asked. I don't know what I hoped for. Maybe that I'd done everything right? That I should just forget about Owen? Whatever I hoped, it wasn't what he said.
"I still don't understand why you don't just go for him.”
"Excuse me?”
"I mean, the dude is into you. Even if you hadn't told me your life history together, the amount of time he's spent checking you out tonight is proof enough."
I let out a huff. "Logan, have you seen the woman he's with?" I allowed myself a brief glance at the gorgeous black dress that accentuated every one of her curves and the dark eyes that hinted at mystery. She was a walking siren. And she was Owen's date.
Logan widened his eyes appreciatively. "As a matter of fact, I did notice her. I wouldn't mind introducing myself sometime this evening—"
"Logan!"
"What?" He gave me a smile. "It's not like we're actually together. As gorgeous as you are, I'd rather my kids not have an extra finger."
I rolled my eyes. "You remember we’re not actually blood relatives, right? Plus, the point is that everyone else thinks we're on a date."
He waved my comments aside. "Enough about his date. While I agree she’s stunning, he hasn't spared her a second glance since they walked in. Clearly, he's not as obsessed with her as you are."
"Any hopes I had of getting together with him were lost when I made a fool of myself on the trail. Not to mention the fact that I've sworn off men like him." Even as the words left my lips, I knew they weren't true. Sure, Owen gave off the appearance o
f being a noncommittal flirt, but at this point, I more than suspected it was a façade.
"That's ridiculous."
I currently regretted ever telling him anything.
"From what you've told me, I don’t think he’s a player. I think you're just using that as an excuse."
"No, I'm not." Yes, I was.
Logan sighed and glanced over his shoulder once more. He was not cut out to be a secret agent wingman. "Well, if you want to ignore the chance at true love—"
"Welcome, everyone!"
A booming voice came over the loudspeakers, and I said a prayer of thanks to our MC. Anything to stop Logan's current train of thought.
The MC took a few minutes thanking everyone for supporting Project Environment. I spent most of the speech eyeing the room, happy to note how full the space was. This turnout was exactly what we needed.
We were informed that we could continue browsing the silent auction items and that food would be served at different stations along the edges of the room.
When the MC sat down, Logan shot to his feet. He looked at me expectantly. "If I'm going to continue to do a good job of pretending to be your boyfriend, I'm going to need some fuel," he said, offering me a hand up.
"You're not supposed to be my boyfriend," I whispered through clenched teeth. "You're simply my date for the night."
"So keep the PDA to a minimum?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Ew, gross. I think I just lost my appetite."
Ignoring my comments, he dragged me to the nearest buffet line where we filled our plates with thinly sliced beef, pesto chicken...the catering company had outdone themselves. By the time we returned to our table, my plate was loaded, but it was nothing compared to what Logan had fit on his.
"I'm gonna have to go back for seconds," he said, digging in with the robustness of a teenager.
I slipped my napkin out and slyly watched Owen and his date return to their seats.
As they sat, she leaned over him, her hand brushing his shoulder and her mouth coming close to his ear. She was probably saying something super alluring. Something an exotic, confident woman would say. I couldn't think of a single example of what that could be, and the fact wasn't lost on me. Owen's face turned to hers, and his lips split into that wide, heart-wrenching grin I didn’t think I'd ever forget.
My eyes dropped to my plate, the chicken and rice pilaf I'd been so excited about no longer looking appetizing.
I should go see if everything was running smoothly with the check-ins. Or maybe the silent auction. Goodness, at this point I was ready to go check if the bathrooms needed a scrub. Anything to escape this room where the only thing my eyes seemed to find was Owen and his painfully perfect date.
"Logan, I'm going to go check on things in the front," I said, rising from the table.
My halfhearted date gave me a thumbs up, not even looking away from his plate. Note to self: don't count on relatives to play a convincing love interest.
Twenty minutes later, I'd circled the room three times and had run out of things to check on. By the time I made it back to Logan, the jazz band had started playing near the dance floor.
Against my will, my eyes strayed to Owen's table. Empty. They were probably already out there, swaying side to side—
"Ready to dance?"
Logan's question caught me off guard. I lifted one eyebrow. "While I appreciate your commitment to this act, we don't need to dance." I eyed his empty plate. "I'm surprised you can even move after all the food you consumed."
Despite my words, he reached down and yanked me to my feet. "All the more reason to get out there and work it off."
I wanted to protest more, but Logan wasn't listening as he led me to the far end of the dance floor. It wasn't until we were in the middle of a poorly executed box step that I understood his intent.
Owen and his date were less than five feet from where we danced—well, attempted to dance. Whatever Logan was planning, it couldn’t be good.
"Logan, what are we doing—no—no, don't—"
A moment later, with a purposeful sidestep, we rammed straight into Owen.
"Whoops," Logan said, stepping away from me. "I'm so sorry. My mom always said I had two left feet." He gave me an exaggerated smile, and it took all my willpower not to ease the pointy part of my elbow into that soft part below his ribs.
"No problem," Owen said, cool as my ice water still resting on our table. The table I should have been sitting at right now. His eyes turned to me. "You look nice tonight, Hazel."
"What? You two know each other?" Logan exclaimed.
He was definitely not invited to the family Christmas party this year. "Yes," I said, trying to pop all the bubbles of happiness floating through me at Owen's mediocre compliment. I indicated to Logan with the hand that itched to slap him. "This is my date, Lo-John. John, this is my...coworker, Owen."
I kept my eyes purposely trained away from Logan and his cocked eyebrow. I’d forgotten to tell him his code name was John tonight.
Did Owen's smile seem to lose some of its edge as he turned to Logan? Maybe it was in my head.
"Nice to meet you, John.” His gaze could’ve cut glass. “This is Ava, my date for the evening."
I turned my best HR smile onto her. "Pleasure to meet you." Two thoughts shot through my mind as I took her in. The first was that I should've splurged on that push-up bra last week. The second was that she eyed Logan with way too much interest for someone on a date with Owen.
I didn't get to ponder that thought long because, suddenly, I was shoved toward Owen, my hands flailing to catch myself but not sure where an appropriate place would be to land on him.
"Why don't we switch partners for a minute?" Logan said, clearly feeling no remorse for his push as he grabbed Ava's hand. "I'm sure Hazel could use a break from getting her toes stepped on." He wiggled his eyebrows at me meaningfully.
I stood, stiff as a board. What could I do? I didn't want to make this weird—although Logan had done a fine job of that already—but I also didn't know if I could handle dancing with Owen. Being that close to him.
"Uh, sure," Owen said, extending one hand toward me with a hesitant smile.
I glanced at Logan, hoping for a last-minute escape, but he had already swept his new date off to the other side of the dance floor. Traitor. I swallowed and looked back at the hand offered to me.
"Unless you'd rather sit this one out," Owen added, his arm retracting.
"No, of course not." I reached forward and grabbed his hand with a confidence I didn't feel. "I love...jazz music." That was a lie. I actually had voted against the live jazz band, but Doug had insisted it would be a hit with the older crowd.
Owen grinned, and suddenly, I couldn't remember how to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth?
Within a few steps, we'd swept into a slow rhythm that matched the music. Owen's left hand clasped mine, his right resting lightly on my lower back. There was nothing suggestive about our position. Nothing even remotely risqué. The distance between us was probably enough to fit a baby elephant if we tried. But for some reason, every fiber of my body tingled with nerves, with anticipation. The last time we’d been this close, we’d almost kissed. It'd been a disaster, but apparently, it was a disaster my heart hadn't forgotten.
"So, are you having fun?" Owen asked, breaking the silence.
"Yes, I can't complain." Technically, his date was a whole lot prettier than anticipated, so I could complain about that, but everything else had gone as planned.
He smiled and sent me out on a slow spin. "I'm glad. You worked hard on this."
Was it my imagination, or had he brought me in a little closer than before? What I wouldn’t have given for a ruler just then.
"T-thank you." I was stuttering. Pull it together, Hazel. "I mean, we couldn't have done it without your help, too." I gave him what I hoped was a winsome smile. "We wouldn't be able to gather many donations tonight if no one could access our website."
> He laughed. "If you wanted to get up and give special mention to me over the mic, feel free. Everyone knows the tech guy is the one that really brings things together."
I shoved the shoulder of his suit lightly, my palm finding nothing but pure muscle underneath its dark fabric. Now here was a man that didn't need those shoulder pads. "If you want me to, I can." The tension I'd felt a moment ago seemed to be melting away, like a snowman in a losing battle against the sun.
He smiled at me. Not his flirtatious, eye-winking smile, but his real one. The one I only caught when he didn't think anyone was looking. "I guess I'm okay for now."
It was only then that I realized the song had ended and most people had either shuffled off the dance floor or found a new partner. My eyes searched for Logan, locating him at the edge of the room.
He cupped his hands and called out, "I'm going to get Ava and me a drink. We'll be back in a few minutes."
The way Ava eyed him led me to believe they'd be more than a few minutes. I turned to Owen, wondering what he thought about his date being snagged by my own.
His bright eyes caught mine. "Should we dance another?" He reached for my hand again. "At least until they come back?"
I was rather suspicious about his lack of reaction at Ava’s disappearance, but another dance wouldn't hurt. "Okay," I said, as though I couldn't care less about the chance to spend another five minutes up close and personal with his pectoral muscles.
The song playing was a slower, softer beat than the one before it. I definitely wasn't imagining it now—Owen was holding me closer. I breathed in his scent, a clean smell, the same one that had filled the supply closet when we'd been locked in there together. I inched a smidgen nearer, the lull of the music and the warmth from his body sinking into my skin.
"So, I'm assuming your date was the poor dancer?" Owen asked, his low voice just above my ear.
It took all my restraint not to shiver at the vibrations. "What?"
He chuckled. "I noticed your dancing seemed a little...rigid earlier. I'm attributing it to John, not you."