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Then Ashton St. James walks into the grand foyer, and I’m immediately struck by two things.
One, the man is extremely good-looking.
And two, he’s definitely drinking my sister in.
For some reason—maybe his name, maybe the fact that he’s an event coordinator—I’d just assumed that he might be some bland, uninteresting background drone like every other person I’ve seen mill about any given room Cee’s in. But the way he saunters in with this sort of Big Dick Energy, gaze honed on her…
Interesting.
He’s wearing a gray suit that fits snugly on his large arms. His shirt is a blue button down, left open just enough for me to notice the muscular ripples on his chest. His beard is a shadowy scruff, his thick hair similarly disheveled but in a very attractive, still-professional way.
“Ashton,” Celine murmurs, and I can’t help notice that her tone downshifts into something purrier.
Very interesting.
“Cici!” He wraps his arms around her and places a kiss on her cheek. The hug lasts a good few seconds longer than a polite, professional hug ought to, and for a weird moment, I feel like some sort of voyeur.
He pulls away from her and she glances over to me. “I want to introduce you to my sister, Taylor.”
“I’m so sorry!” he exclaims, doing a double-take upon catching sight of me. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No hard feelings. It’s hard to notice me when Cee’s in the room.”
He smiles and he most certainly doesn’t disagree. Instead, he extends his hand out to me. “It’s a pleasure, Taylor.”
We shake. “Likewise, Ashton.”
“Taylor moved back into town recently,” Celine explains vaguely. “She’s going to be helping us coordinate the charity gala for The Metropolitan.”
“Is she?” Ashton asks. I detect a note of disappointment in his tone, if not his eyes.
I’m aware that I might be reading too much into this, but I’m fairly certain that I’m intruding on something that used to be a two-person gig.
“But I really don’t have much experience coordinating,” I interject. “If I get in the way, feel free to kick me out.”
“Nonsense,” Celine replies immediately. “You’re smart and capable. You’ll learn fast, and if not, we’ll teach you. Isn’t that right, Ashton?”
“Of course.”
He’s being polite, though. His smile is tight and his mannerisms are stiff. He and Cee are standing close together with the casual comfort of intimate familiarity.
Which begs the question: why did Cee ask me to be here when I’m clearly the third wheel?
43
TAYLOR
“Celine.”
She doesn’t answer.
There’s a chill out in the garden. The bent cherry blossom tree is offering its tissue paper pink flowers in our direction, but the romance of the scene is lost on me. I’ve got too many questions to ooh and ahh over the foliage.
“Celine.”
My sister casts a glance towards the glass doors. Ashton excused himself a second ago to use the bathroom, so the coast is clear, but she’s obviously nervous. Her eyes keep darting to the foyer like she’s waiting for a ghost to lunge out from behind the piano.
“Celine!”
