Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Gia watches me for a moment. “You’re doing that thing again, aren’t you?”
“What thing?” I ask, already knowing she’s caught me.
“You’re checking the exits,” she says. “Like you’re ready to bolt if you need to.”
Gia is so goddamn perceptive. Something I both love and hate about her.
“I’m just making sure all our security guards showed up.” I shrug. “You know how rowdy rich people can get when they’re drunk.”
She narrows her eyes but has the grace to drop it. I look out toward the skyline. Beverly Hills sprawls beneath us, all glowing windows and expensive rooftops and hills so dark they almost look painted.
One of my assistants hurries over before Gia can push me any further. She looks pale.
“Val, the sponsor plaque is missing from the flower wall.”
I shut my eyes for half a second. “Did you check behind the installation?”
“Yes.”
“The floor?”
“Yes.”
“The styling closet?”
“Yes.”
“Then someone moved it for a photo. Get Josh to reprint the logo card and bring up the backup clips. We’ll have it replaced before remarks.”
“Okay.”
She turns to go, and I stop her.
“Tessa.”
She looks back.
“You’re fine. Fix it and keep moving.”
Her shoulders loosen just enough to tell me I said the right thing before she disappears.
Gia watches her go. “You’re weirdly nice under pressure.”
“Yelling isn’t going to help the situation,” I say with a shrug. For the next twenty minutes, the room settles into the kind of rhythm that makes all the invisible labor worth it. Guests start to relax. The bars move faster. The photos are going well. Mrs. Reynolds is finally leaving me alone. I cross from one side of the rooftop to the other, adjusting, smoothing, solving. This is the part I’m good at. Reading rooms, reading moods, or knowing when a problem is a problem and when it just needs a smile and a redirect.
Near the west terrace, I stop. A man is standing by the railing with his back half turned to me. He’s wearing a dark suit that barely conceals his broad shoulders. From this angle, I can only see his profile, but it’s so familiar it makes my stomach drop.
For one horrible second, the party disappears. I’m not in Beverly Hills anymore. I’m in an expensive Manhattan penthouse with marble floors. A man’s voice echoes off those perfectly polished surfaces, and my pulse spikes before his fist even reaches my face.
My body reacts before my brain catches up. I go cold.
“Val?”
Gia’s voice reaches me from too far away. The man turns just enough for me to see his face, and I can see he’s not the man from my nightmares. Not even close.
“Val.” Gia is beside me now.
“I need a minute.”
She takes one look at my face and nods. “Go.”
I move through the service doors without another word, past the prep kitchen and into the back corridor where it’s quieter. The hallway smells like linen spray and bleach and hot kitchen air. My heels click too loudly against the floor. I keep walking until I hit the storage alcove near the extra rental racks, then stop with one hand braced against the wall.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
I hate this part the most. Not the fear itself, exactly, but the humiliation of it. The anger. The fact that after all this time, after all the distance, he can still get inside my head without even being here.
I moved across the country. I built a life and entire business for myself. I’m a badass boss bitch who can handle anything.
Except the memory of him.
Except the fear.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I jerk so hard I nearly drop it. It’s just an email notification. I laugh once under my breath, but there’s nothing funny about it.
A shadow falls across the doorway a second later.
Gia leans against the wall and crosses her arms. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, squaring my shoulders and heading back toward the party. “Just got dizzy for a second.”
She knows I’m lying. That doesn’t mean I’m going to talk about it here. This is neither the time nor the place to relive the horrors that caused me to flee across the damn continent.
When I step back onto the rooftop, I’m all business. I replace the missing sponsor plaque three minutes before Mr. Reynolds takes the podium. Once he’s done, I steer him through a slew of reporters to keep him on time so he can sit down and we can serve dinner.
By the time dinner starts, the hard part of my job is over. Candlelight glows over designer gowns and expensive suits. Everyone is at least two drinks in, and convinced the event is flawless. As long as the waiters don’t mix up the vegetarian and vegan dishes, all that’s left is to coast through the next hour and hand things off to the cleanup crew.
A little after midnight, the last of the important guests begin to leave. Mr. Reynolds is thrilled with how the event went. Mrs. Reynolds hugs me twice. One of the beauty editors tells me she’s passing my name to someone at a luxury hotel group, which fills me with a sharp, bone-deep pride. The venue manager squeezes my elbow on the way out and tells me my team was a pleasure to work with.