I walk just fast enough to look like a woman with somewhere to be and make my way up the wide stone steps, ignoring the yelling behind me.
The red carpet leads me straight into a glass-paneled entryway, all gleaming marble and chandeliers dripping crystal. My heels click too loud against the floor as I approach the check-in table, where a hostess in a sleek red dress waits with an iPad.
“Good evening,” she says smoothly. “Name, please?”
“Jessica Brooks,” I manage. My voice almost doesn’t shake.
Her eyes flick down to the list, then up again with a smile, warmer than I expected. “Welcome, Ms. Brooks. You’re at Table One.”
“Thank you.” I return the smile, already taking a small step toward the entrance. Halfway past her, thenerves that have been chewing at my stomach snap. I whirl back. “Sorry, where exactly… um, am I going?”
“Straight through the lobby, second door on your right. The ballroom’s open seating until the program starts.” She glances over my dress again, tone softening. “And if I may say, that gown is stunning.”
Her compliment is like an anchor, taking me by surprise. “Thank you. I made it myself.” My smile becomes real.
Her brows lift, impressed. “That makes it even more stunning.”
That carries me.
I follow the faint sound of music and chatter down the corridor, each step lighter. The closer I get, the louder it grows—clinking glasses, low laughter, the hum of money and fame.
When I step into the ballroom, it’s like stepping into another world. Gold light spills over a sea of people in tuxedos and gowns. Waiters weave through the crowd with trays of champagne.
I can feel eyes turning. Women glance over their shoulders, some with curiosity. A few even whisper to each other, pointing discreetly at my dress. Onewoman gives me a warm smile and nods, silently complimenting me. I return the smile; my nerves subside just a bit.
But under the cocktail of emotions, there’s that same reckless thrill. Because somewhere in this sea of power and polish, he’s here.
“Jessica!” I startle at the sound of my name.
A woman is weaving through the crowd with the speed and authority of someone who runs the whole damn city. Petite, sharp-featured, brunette bob, clipboard in one hand, headset wire tucked behind her ear.
“Jessica Brooks?” she says again, smiling as she stops in front of me, breathless but bright. “I’m Tinnie, media and PR for the Blazers.”
Her handshake is firm. She’s already scanning me from head to toe as she speaks. “I’m so glad you made it. And wow, that dress…” She whistles softly. “You designed this, didn’t you?”
“Guilty.” My cheeks warm.
“It’s incredible,” she says sincerely, then glances over her shoulder, scanning the room like she’s tracking an incoming meteor. “God, where is…”
I blink, automatically following her gaze. Are we looking for someone?
Before I can ask, a man appears through the crowd. Tall, broad, beige suit, shoulders too wide for the seams trying to contain them.
Tinnie lights up. “Addams!” she calls, waving him over. “Perfect timing.”
He grins and strides toward us, exuding easy, natural confidence.
“Addams, this is Jessica,” Tinnie says quickly, gesturing between us. “Jessica, Addams.”
He extends his hand. His grip is steady, his smile disarming. “Hey there. It’s nice to finally meet the woman who broke the internet.”
“I’m… trying not to think about that.” I laugh nervously.
“Good call.” His grin deepens. “If you start reading comments, you’ll need tequila and therapy.”
Tinnie is already checking her watch, half-turning away. “Addams, can you take her to Table One, please?” She leans toward him, “Make sure she’s sitting next to Dominic.”
My breath catches, and my stomach flips. He’s here.
