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The whir of the machine filled the air. Kris tapped her fingers on the table, bored beyond belief. She’d much rather plan MentHer’s summer gala than sit in an overly air-conditioned office, pretending she gave a shit about coddling celebrities.
Kris had nothing against celebrities—she just didn’t want to work for them. She was Kris Carrera, for Chrissakes. When she turned twenty-three, she was going to inherit a trust fund that would make most of these stars’ net worths look like pennies.
She slipped another press clipping onto the glass. Two more hours until she could leave and work on the MentHer gala. She enjoyed event planning, and she liked the mentees a helluva lot more than she liked the newest teen idol.
Kris’s phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Nate:What are you doing tonight?
Her heart flipped. It was so sudden and unexpected she actually stumbled and nearly twisted her ankle in her Louboutins.
What the hell?
She hoped she wasn’t having a heart attack. She was too young and beautiful to die.
Kris stared at Nate’s message. No more flips, but the stupid organ in her chest pounded like she’d just finished a marathon.
She liked it better when she was pissed at him, like she’d been…wow, had that only been four days ago? The Ferris wheel, the hospital, their kiss, it all felt like a lifetime ago. And yet, her skin flushed and her blood pounded at the memories of his lips and hands on her like they were making out right now on top of the copier.
Get it together.
Kris sucked in a deep breath and, after a minute of deliberation, typed a terse reply.
Kris: Party planning.
Nate: Victory party?
She assumed he meant victory over Gloria. She couldn’t believe he’d closed a hotel date with the Stepmonster. Well, she could, but she’d been planning it for so long it seemed surreal.
It had gone a long way toward dousing her anger over his dick move on Saturday.
Kris: No…but I like the way you think.
Kris mentally added “Plan victory celebration” to her to-do list.
Nate: Any chance you’re free for another victory party tonight?
Nate: I got a new role. For Oscar Bravo’s latest movie. It’s a small part, but it’s with Oscar freaking Bravo. Figured that’s worthy of dinner.
A grin spread across Kris’s face as pride fizzled in her chest. When was the last time she’d been this excited over someone else’s accomplishments? Probably never.
Kris: Are you asking me on a date?
Nate: Do you want it to be a date?
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and Kris’s heart did another flip. She’d always imagined she would die in her bed, dressed in her most glamorous Oscar de la Renta gown and smelling of Chanel perfume. Now, she was sure she was going to die in this tiny beige room, surrounded by reams of printer paper and finicky office equipment.
She had no other explanation for why her heart was acting up.
But until death claimed her, Kris had to respond to Nate’s question.
Did she want to go on a date with him? Logic said she shouldn’t. She’d hired him to seduce her father’s fiancée, and they were from two different worlds. Mars and Venus. Saturn and Jupiter. Mercury and Pluto (she didn’t care what anyone said—Pluto was a planet).
Kris: I can spare a few hours.
Kris: Since you’re starring opposite Oscar freaking Bravo and all.
Question evaded. It was the coward’s way out, but she’d never claimed to be a brave hero.
