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At seven, I rush into one of the upstairs bathrooms and twist up my hair before I climb into the shower. The fancy body wash on the lip of the tub smells like Hayes—like a summer night on a beach somewhere glamorous. I stand for a moment inhaling the scent before I realize how weird that is and get on with it, washing quickly and drying off before I slip into the green silk dress I brought.

My normal makeup is lip balm and mascara, but tonight I do the full deal: I’m not half-assing things at an event full of the city’s most beautiful women.

I slide on my heels and fluff my hair before I head downstairs to find Hayes wandering aimlessly, looking a little lost. He stops in place when he sees me.

“I didn’t recognize you for a moment,” he says, clearing his throat. “You made an effort for once.”

It’s not the most effusive praise I’ve ever received, but I shouldn’t have been hoping for praise in the first place.

“It’s going to be hard enough standing next to a bunch of actresses and models. I figured some makeup was necessary.”

His eyes flicker over my face. “You’re prettier than any of them even without makeup,” he says gruffly.

I blink in surprise, my jaw unhinged. I’ve heard Hayes spew flattery before, but this is different. Almost as if he said it by accident. As if it was something he didn’t want me to know.

“Thank you,” I whisper, but I’m not sure he even hears it as he turns on his heel and walks away. I watch him go, and something begins to flutter in my chest. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was hope.

* * *

The party is every bit as lavish and insane as Hayes wanted it to be. There’s a tequila luge in the shape of a woman’s face, a chocolate fountain, and one full table loaded with more tiny desserts than I’ve ever seen in one place. Massive silver balloons and Chinese lanterns sway in the breeze, and servers pass neon green drinks on trays, narrowly dodging attendees dancing to the music that booms from the sound system.

I’m running for several hours straight, dealing with obnoxious guests demanding special food and trying to lift the tequila luge while someone’s drunk spouse is snatching a bottle of Patron off the bar for a private party he wants to hold in a cabana. It’s only when someone asks me where Hayes is that I stop long enough to realize I haven’t seen him in a long time.

I search the lawn and then the house, eventually finding him sitting alone on one of the upstairs balconies. It’s so quiet here, it would be easy to forget there’s a party going on at all.

His mouth hitches up slightly, a failed attempt to smile. “You did a good job,” he says. “No. Let me correct that. You did an amazing job. It would appear, therefore, that you are good at something other than writing, contrary to your claims.”

I wonder, for a half second, if he threw this entire ridiculous party simply to prove that to me before I dismiss the idea. He’s not that selfless.

“If it’s amazing, why are you up here? Shouldn’t you be choosing the eighteen women you’re going to let stay over tonight?”

He leans back in his seat, a glass of wine held to his chest. “That would be thoughtless of me, since it would mean making you get eighteen women out of my house in the morning.”

“The thoughtless part would be bringing that many women up in the first place. No way you’d satisfy all of them.”

His mouth hitches up to one side. “That sounds like a challenge.”

I picture him attempting it, which leaves me both irritated and titillated at once. I turn to head back downstairs and his hand encircles my wrist.

Such a small point of contact and yet, for a moment, it’s all I can notice.

“Sit,” he says. “You’ve done enough tonight, and your car’s blocked in.”

I take the chair across from him. It’s my first time off my feet all night and I groan in relief as I sink into the cushions. He reaches across the table and pours me a glass of Malbec. I take a sip, letting it roll around in my mouth. I’d forgotten what a pleasure good wine could be. A warm breeze carries the scent of night-blooming jasmine from his side yard and I breathe deep, resting my head against the chair’s soft back. He must, at some level, think a massive party like this one is fun, even if he’s not enjoying it tonight. For me, the wine in my hand and him sitting across from me is enough.

“So, if you’re up here alone,” I say. “I can only assume that means you’re busy thinking dark thoughts about the emptiness of your life.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asks, swirling the wine in his glass.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Are you?”

“Maybe.” He glances at me with a rueful smile. “There’s nothing like inviting over every single person you know to make you realize you don’t like any of them much.”

I ache for him. His life could be so much fuller if he’d just allow it to be.

“You probably need a few people you’re willing to talk to sober,” I say softly, curling up in my chair.

He stares into his wine glass. “At the moment, I guess that’s mostly Ben and you.”