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“Got it. Thanks.”
My stride is much longer than hers as I make my escape from her. I position myself at the mouth of the dining room to greet my guests. I sigh, seeing crowds of familiar faces I don’t care for. Here we go again.
One hour into the party, I really wish we had the shindig at my mansion. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the image of Katie returns. If we had this party at my home and she showed up, we would most certainly relive what happened last year. Over and over again, until the sun came up.
Before my slacks can tighten, I focus on the guests. A few business associates and friends come over to shake my hand.
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” Dan Gordon, an executive, says, clapping me on the back. He’s wearing a shamrock tie and his breath indicates he’s been partaking in Irish Car Bombs. I grimace. It’s going to be a long night.
Even as I talk with him, making jovial conversation, my gaze roams idly over the room. And then I spot her. My Katie. What the hell? My body jolts in shock, and I’m floored. I actually rub my eyes to make sure I’m not hallucinating from the alcohol, but there she is. The beautiful brunette’s standing at the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, watching the room like a hawk. She looks slightly fuller than I remember her, her breasts definitely larger, but it may just be the shapely dress she’s wearing. It’s been over a year, so change was bound to happen. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, though. What is she doing here? Was she on the list? Or is she working this event? Did she come to see me? My heart beats rapidly, partly thrilled and partly anxious at the sight of her.
A celebrity grabs my hand violently and shakes it, thanking me for inviting him to the party. I don’t even register what I’m saying back to him; I can’t focus on anything but her. When he’s out of the way, I stare at the vision once more. She hasn’t seen me yet, so I’m free to ogle her. Beyond her appearance, it seems like something else has changed. Like she has a different air about her than she did when we slept together last year. I can’t really pinpoint it, but I shake the thought away. I’m just lusting over the woman, nothing more. It’s been so long since I last saw her, so there’s no point in trying to figure her out like this.
A girl that looks familiar passes by me—it’s Amanda’s assistant. I quickly grab her arm before she slips by into the crowd. She’s startled and immediately turns red and looks down. “Mr. Moore,” she mumbles, fidgeting with the clipboard she’s holding.
“Hi—Laura, is it?” I ask kindly. She nods, going even more red.
“Great job with the caterer choice,” I tell her. “What’s the name of the company?”
Laura’s eyes widen with shock at the compliment. “T-thank you!” She peers down at her clipboard. “It’s called New Wave Events, owned by Katie Martin.” She looks up excitedly. “Amanda let me handle the event planning, she just managed the guest list. I was worried I wouldn’t do a good job, but I’m so glad that you—”
Aha. So Katie is the event planner for this party. “Thanks, Laura,” I interrupt hurriedly, not even looking at her anymore. I walk away, already searching for my girl again.
Suddenly, I see her. She strolling the edges of the party, looking for cups to refill or plates to clear away. And then suddenly, our eyes meet. Hers get slightly wide, and then they close. Her chest heaves with a deep breath, like she’s upset or meditating. Once her eyes open, she scans the room again. I’m dismissed.
What the fuck? Is she actually going to ignore me? I know for sure she recognized me. It’s my fucking party, after all. She obviously knew I’d be here if she chose to work this event. Well, two can play at this game. Instead of walking over to her, I focus all of my attention on being the world’s best host. Guests come over and shake my hand, and I thank them for attending and sharing this holiday with me. St. Patrick’s Day is a somewhat inconsequential holiday, but my friends and business associates will take any excuse to drink and be merry. It’s all on my dime after all.
When the steady flow of guests turns to a trickle, I chance another look at Katie but I can’t spot her anywhere. No matter. I’ll find her later and confront her about never returning any of my calls. And then maybe we can find a nice closet to rekindle our old flame….
Amanda appears at my side. “Mr. Moore, it looks like everyone has been seated. Shall I tell them to start offering the hors d’oeuvres?”
