"It does."
"Good." He adjusted his cuff. The same thing he did in the fitting room when he didn’t know what to do with his hands.
"Thank you," I said. "It’s beautiful."
"It’s adequate."
I smiled. He didn’t. But his eyes stayed on mine a beat too long.
"You look…" He stopped. His ears had gone pink again, and I was starting to collect those like souvenirs I had no business keeping.
"Adequate?" I offered.
"Don’t be absurd." He cleared his throat. "Shall we?"
He offered his arm. His gloved arm, bent at the elbow. Formal. Like we were entering a ballroom in a period drama and not a hotel in South Beach. I half expected him to bow.
I took it. His arm was solid and warm, even through the fabric of his jacket.
Every head in the room turned when we walked in together. I kept my back straight and my face composed and pretended I belonged here. Jace handled the red carpet with controlled endurance. Forward motion, minimal engagement.
He didn’t shake hands. Just nodded. Even spoke briefly to people who approached and kept every exchange under thirty seconds. At one point a woman in a red dress reached for his arm and he sidestepped her so smoothly it looked choreographed. The woman didn’t seem offended. She seemed impressed, which told me this happened to him a lot and he’d perfected the dodge.
"Friend of yours?" I murmured.
"I have no idea who that was."
"She seemed to know you."
"Many people seem to know me," he replied, tone even. "It’s an asymmetrical arrangement."
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. He glanced at me, caught whatever was happening on my face, and for half a second his mouth twitched.
I texted Miley a photo of the venue. She responded with:
Miley
I HATE YOU. BRING ME NEXT TIME OR I’M CHANGING THE LOCKS.
The CEO of Meridian Studios approached Jace, and I recognized him. As they talked, I took the chance to find the bar.
I was returning with sparkling water when I nearly walked into a man’s chest. For the second time in my life, I almost collided with a stranger at a public event, and I was starting to think the universe had a theme.
He caught my elbow before the water spilled. "I usually buy a woman a drink before she throws one on me."
I was still processing the near-collision when he let go of my elbow, stepped back, and I got a full look at him.
Oh no.
Christopher Vale.
I knew his face because every human with a streaming subscription knew his face. The lead of the action franchise that broke records last summer. Miley’s borderline religious devotion. If she knew I was standing three feet from this man right now, she would astral project to this venue and personally strangle me for not calling her immediately.
He introduced himself like I didn’t know who he was. Up close, he was taller than he looked on screen, with dark hair, an easy posture, and the kind of face that made you understand why cameras were invented.
"Anna," I said. "Wilson. I’m with Hunter Interactive."
"I heard rumors that Jace will be here tonight, turns out it’s true?" His eyebrows went up and his grin widened.
