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ONE
There must be worse ways to be uninvited to the glamorous dinner at the conclusion of the exclusive event you’d spent months of your life managing, but it was difficult for Teela Carpenter to think of one as the door to the function room shut in her face.
Her chance to enjoy an excellent meal and observe Hollywood royalty in an intimate setting closed with a polite, crisp snick.
And it’s not like that was an everyday opportunity. People had paid a small fortune for the privilege.
Not that she was devastated. Exactly. It was just business.
She was thirsty, and her feet ached, and it would be tedious explaining to potential new clients that yes, she had managed the detail of a much-talked-about global forum that brought together household-name leaders in technology, politics, business, and social welfare. And yes, the star of the show, in his first public outing as an activist and not a movie star, was heartthrob, Haydn Delany. And that no, she had not personally met the man dubbed the sexiest alive.
All of which was annoying.
But it was difficult to be too disappointed, what with all the sparky new feathers in her professional cap and the part where she was the architect of her own rejection.
In the seconds after her client, the event promoter, Lynda Chen, had stuttered in pink-faced panic about her mother, not so affectionately referred to as Dragon One, showing up uninvited, and being a place-setting short for dinner, Teela summoned the last reserves of her grace under pressure and volunteered her seat at the table.
It was the right thing to do.
Her assistant Sophie was unlikely to agree. Harsh.
Carpenter Conference management might have handled everything from venue selection, ticketing and insurance, travel and accommodation to the staging, run order and the fragrant native floral table centers she wasn’t going to get to see in situ, but Teela was the hired help, not a paying guest, and her inclusion at the official dinner had been a courtesy.
It wasn’t going to be easy to explain to everyone back at the office, her family or her bestie, Evie, how she’d willingly missed out on having dinner in the same room as the Sexiest Man Alive, given she’d been in his general proximity for a good part of the day and not managed even the most inconsequential nod and empty smile.
From Sophie there would be a lot of open-mouthed eye rolling and head-shaking indignation. It might well be deserved. There’d been nothing stopping Teela taking the initiative and introducing herself to Haydn. Nothing except an appreciation for how unnecessary to the work they were both doing that was.
And Jesus, Mary and Joseph, his proximity, like everything else about the actor, was sexy. He was the most big-ticket famous person she’d ever orbited. Teela really hadn’t properly prepared herself for that. An oversight in the planning stages. Oh sure, she knew he was hot stuff—who didn’t—nearly everyone on the event team was in a hyper-aware state, but he was also the job, not her long-lost lust object and she hadn’t realized she might need to practice keeping her tongue from lolling.
Haydn had passed her in the backstage area earlier in the day on the way to his on-stage interview presentation, his famous faded baby-blue eyes fixed attentively on Lynda as she gave him last-minute stage instructions. The very ones Teela had meticulously prepared.
If he wasn’t the actually the Sexiest Man Alive—for the fifth time, according to Gentleman magazine’s annual poll—he’d done an excellent imitation of him by simply walking down a dimly lit, slightly damp-smelling backstage corridor.
He wore a beautiful navy suit and a crisp white business shirt with the collar open. He had a brace on his wrist from an accident he’d had learning to surf with his bestie, another hunky movie star, and famous lover of pranks, Rylan Rumble. The gasp-inducing spill captured by someone with a drone camera and uploaded to social media.
He had perfect, thick, wavy sink-your-hands-in-it hair and satisfyingly broad shoulders, and he moved like he was never unsure of what came next. Unlike on screen, in real life, he wasn’t especially tall. Teela hadn’t had to look way up at him as he passed. He seemed right-sized for her, except the waves of charisma that came off him might’ve knocked her over, making him an unaccounted-for workplace hazard.
He’d said something to make Lynda laugh, succeeding in making her look less like she might throw up her breakfast, where Teela had failed with that particular challenge.
Gorgeous looking, attentive, charming and commanding. Plus, he wanted to make the world a better place by stopping aid piracy. There was a reason everyone on the team was a little over-excited. He might truly be too good to be true.
Sigh.
On stage during the forum, he’d bantered with the female host who baited him mercilessly to the delight of the audience. He wanted to talk refugee-aid projects and his fund raising for satellite surveillance. Chaffing at the brief, she’d wanted to focus on behind-the-scenes movie drama and his famously declared lifetime bachelor status. He won. But it was a narrow victory and Teela had felt for him as he managed that tension without losing his gracious manner with thousands of eyes and the weight of the me
dia’s expectations on him.
He’d spent the rest of the time in exclusive meet and greets and specially selected media interviews that Lynda’s PR team had managed, and then been whisked away to see potential Delany Foundation donors.
Teela’s last chance to have her own grip and grin had been at the dinner he’d swept in late for and she was now self-uninvited to. That’s what she got for being an event uncrasher.
Doing the right thing. Rookie mistake.
That Sophie would agree with.
Teela stood on the empty balcony where the guests had enjoyed pre-dinner cocktails, struggling to come to terms with the reality of her sudden redundancy after countless twelve-hour workdays. It was an odd flattening feeling that made her body feel heavy and lethargic. The rest of her on-site team had left for the night and Lynda, the hotel staff and its famous chef had everything under control from here. There really was no valid reason to stick around.
Too tired and hungry to summon the energy for the trek to her car and the drive home, she checked her email, scrolling one more time through the event social media pages, smiling at all the selfies starring Haydn that had been posted.
When the head waiter appeared with a selection of drinks, a plate of canapés and a thank you for not making her rearrange the table settings, Teela chose a sparkling water gratefully and sipped and nibbled while reading a string of increasingly ribald messages from Evie that had started early in the morning and ran through the day.
Is he stupendously hot up close?
Are you breathing the same air already?
Has he touched you?
Have you offered to show him the city, the best places to eat? Your body?
Make sure to use plenty of tongue when he suckcums to your fresh charm. Evie spelled succumb wrong, deliberately. That spelling was likely in her phone’s dictionary from overuse.
What are the abs like?
Have you pashed yet?
How is the dick action? Alive, dead, dead sexy?
She was convinced she was alone with the lights of the harbor foreshore and the ferries shuttling back and forth on a balmy summer evening, trying to come up with a fittingly humorous response to Evie, when he said hello.
She jumped, slopping her drink over her hand and fumbling for the shoe she’d stepped out of.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
That voice, unmistakably rich and deep like hot mint chocolate topping poured on melty vanilla ice cream. The makings of waking dreams and endlessly unfulfilled midnight desires. And that was before she turned to face him. He truly was lovely to look at, effortlessly arresting. All his features best aligned for viewing pleasure.
“I’ve disturbed your peace,” he said.
He’d made her vital organs snap to attention and start a parade.
“No, please. I was about to leave. I’ll give you your privacy.” It was the right thing to do. Again. Dammit. How is this my luck?
“Aw hell.” A hand combed through his hair, leaving it adorably ruffled. She wouldn’t be the only one who itched to smooth it, ruffle it again, grab a handful when he—oh Lord, keep it tidy.
“Now I feel worse. You were communing with the pretty sunset and I made you spill your drink and put that torture device back on. Don’t go because of me.”
Teela looked down at her red shoes, her rebellion against dressing with necessary corporate restraint, mostly because it was easier not to look directly into Haydn Delany’s eyes until she’d collected her wits.
When she looked up again, he held a cigarette. “I bummed this off the concierge. I hoped you might have a light. You won’t put out a press release or turn me into a meme, will you?”
Tidy be damned. “World’s Sexiest Man’s Nasty Cancer Risk Behavior. Details at eleven.”
