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There is no flipping way this is happening. But there, clear as day, is a summons to the black-tie event held by the Everette family every year to celebrate the patriarch’s birthday.
The email gives some shallow reason for needing a PR representative present, but this screams of Damon. Is this some sort of twisted game? Did he not play with me enough the other night? Unlike what I told myself, I didn’t for a single second forget what happened. I swear the memory is burned at the back of my eyelids. Every time I shut them, I see the way the muscles in his arms flexed with each downward stroke of his fist.
I shake the thoughts from my head and hit Reply on the email.
[email protected] to [email protected]
I’m sorry to inform you I am unavailable to attend the gala.
Best wishes,
Misty Hart
Junior PR for the Boston Bruins
Perfect. I smile, cool and professional. Moments later, a message pops up in the company’s messenger app. My cursor hovers over the red dot notification. Something tells me I know exactly who it is.
Damon Everette - CEO of Everette Industries: Mandatory attendance. See you there.
Black tie, dress appropriately.
He didn’t even bother to say hello. There is no rational reason I need to be there. I had nothing to do with the planning since it’s an Everette family event and not a Boston Bruins event. My back teeth grind as my fingers hover over the keys, awaiting my reply.
Misty Hart - Junior PR representative: My apologies. I’ve previously booked the weekend off and have a prior engagement.
I’ve barely hit Send when his reply comes through.
Damon Everette - CEO of Everette Industries: Not a request.
Gah. I snap my laptop shut, frustration burning in my chest. I couldn’t just say no, no matter how badly I wanted to skip it out of spite. A slow, mischievous smile pulls at my lips. He can insist I show up all he wants, but he has no control over how I dress. If he wants to boss me around, I’ll show him exactly what happens.
The driver, Nicholas, comes around to open my door when we pull up to the Everette hotel. He’s an older gentleman, likely late fifties, with a soft smile and warm eyes. It took him a bit to open up, but by the time we arrived, I’d learned he has a beautiful wife, Sarah, and two kids. Once we got to the topic of his kids, he’d rambled on freely about the youngest entering her first year in law school and the eldest being the top of her class in med school.
I’d gotten a text before he arrived at my apartment, letting me know the company was sending a car.
Probably didn’t want me showing up in an Uber.
I chuckle internally at the thought of the look of horror on all of these rich people’s faces being forced to witness my lowly commoner state.
The building’s architecture is full of art deco elements, making it feel like it’s from a different time, but there’s no mistaking the luxury details of the marble exterior or the stained glass windows in white and black.
I take Nicholas’s hand as he helps me out of the car. “Thank you.”
He gives me a nod and stands with his hands behind his back. There’s a rigidness to his posture that screams of years of training. “Of course, miss. I’ll wait out front for you when you’re ready to leave.”
I adjust the strap of my dress so it lies flat against my shoulder. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure I can grab a cab at the end.”
“I assure you, Miss Hart, I do have to do this. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
I’m still puzzling through what he means when a man in a black suit ushers me toward the entrance. “Right this way, Miss Hart.”
I don’t recognize him, and he must notice the confusion on my face because he answers. “We’ve studied the guest list thoroughly. You’ll find all members of the staff will know who you are.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Weird.”
He laughs, a glint in his eyes. “Not used to this?”
“Is anyone?”
