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I round the vehicle and meet her on the sidewalk.
I circle a possessive arm around her waist.
“Come to think about it, we’re making history in three ways tonight,” I say.
She frowns up at me.
“I can only think of one. What are the other two?”
“One, the unveiling of SCORE Yours’ lineup of prototypes.” I lift one finger as I enumerate my points. “Two, this is our first big affair since dating. Three, this is our first time together walking the red carpet.”
“You’re right.” She smiles wide. “I can see the headlines now—”
“‘BREAKING NEWS: MISS HOLY CHIC STEPS OUT IN STYLE WITH SEXY-AS-FUCK CEO BOYFRIEND’,” I say with a grand hand gesture.
She laughs, and laughs, and laughs.
“All right, Miss Holy Chic, get it together.”
“I’m ready!”
I search the crowd until I see Joey.
She waves.
“The team is in position,” I tell Arianne.
“At least we have backup just in case the piranhas decide to eat us alive.”
The press can be heartless. Lucky for us, Joey is in our corner.
We barely take a step when the press assaults us.
“Beckett! Arianne! Over here!” A tall blonde photographer waving a hand is the first to catch our attention.
I angle my body so we’re both facing her.
She points a lens at us, and a group of photographers huddle around her and follow her cue. For a few seconds, they’re frantically taking photos while shouting our names.
“Who’s on the invite list?” A well-known celebrity blogger shouts that question.
“Family. Friends. Influencers. Celebrities.” I rattle off the list. “In other words, the usual suspects.”
I’m downplaying it.
He’ll find out soon enough since all of our guests will walk the red carpet. Given my contacts—and Rhys’s—it’s an impressive list.
Amongst the heavy hitters expected tonight, Cello2Cello will show up to support us. So will Gage, the executive producer of the show the three of us co-judge. My buddies Collin and his big brother Shane Dennison are among the lineup of illustrious guests. Cesar and Diana are among the stars coming out tonight along with a lot of people on Rhys’s side.
“Are you two dating?” An older man wearing a pair of enormous glasses with a blue frame and yellow-tinted lenses shouts the question. The crazy colors of his glasses match his outfit—yellow pants and a blue shirt.
Talk about making a statement.
“It’s official, we are,” I say.
“Do you go by #BeckAri or #AriBeck?” he asks. “I tried other options—like #ArBe—but the first two are solid.”
This guy has too much time on his hands.
