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Aspen
“Ican't believe we're here,” Jesse said as we got out of the back of the limo that Crossland had sent over a half hour earlier. He’d flown us to Charleston, unable to travel with us because he’d come out early to help Bristol with a few things before her fashion show.
Cameras flashed in so many directions that you’d think we stepped into a nightclub with a strobe light. A red carpet lined the entryway, reporters and paparazzi and influencers on one side of a velvet rope while celebrities slowly made their way inside the building.
“I can’t either,” I said, unable to deny the surreal feeling washing over me as Jesse proudly took my arm and led me up the red carpet.
Thank God for Jesse. I don't think I could’ve made this walk by myself.
Crossland had called earlier and mentioned that his sister needed his assistance, some last-minute low-stock fashion emergency, and was sad that he wouldn't be able to walk me in. But he would meet us inside, and it practically melted my heart when he automatically included Jesse in this invite-only fashion event.
“If anything, this is a good networking event for you,” I said. “Show the industry how you’re a big-time designer too.”
Jesse grinned down at me. “I’m a small fish in a big pond,” he said. “But I like it that way. I enjoy knowing I can hand craft my pieces and drop them whenever I want. It suits me. But, you know I’d never turn down an invitation like this.”
“It’s definitely something, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
I’d met some celebrities at Weston's wedding last weekend, but I was still starstruck at the amount of A-listers walking ahead of us on the same carpet. I may have felt out of my depth on Crossland’s private jet, but standing here? Smiling for cameras snapping pictures of Jesse and myself—Jesse striking poses that were absolutely model worthy while I did my best to smile and not cross my eyes—I felt like I was on another planet.
There was a literal movie star with a career spanning longer than I'd been alive, walking not six feet ahead of us. He stopped to talk to a reporter and we waited, not wanting to invoke some red-carpet taboo by walking behind someone as famous as him.
Ahead of him, I could see some well-known hockey and football players, lead singers, and other movie stars making their way into the building, not to mention models upon models that I’d seen on magazine covers and reality shows.
At least Jessebelongedhere. He owned this vibe and was in the industry. I wouldn't be surprised if some people in the audience were wearing one of his designs today.
This life was just unreal to me. A life with paparazzi and endless wealth? That only existed in fairy tales, but somehow, I was living right in the middle of one.
Yes, it had aturn me back into a pumpkindeadline, but that was a few months away. For now, I needed to do what Jesse kept telling me to do, which was enjoy the hell out of it while I could. I took a steadying breath, remembering the end game—Breckenwould be taken care of after this all ended for me. That’s all that truly mattered.
“Aspen,” Crossland's voice sounded over the calls of the reporters and the chatter around us as we waited our turn on the red carpet.
I scanned the crowd, finally locking eyes with him as he made his way toward us.
He wore a stunning midnight-black suit, each cut of the fabric made specifically for him, with an ice-blue tie that made his eyes pop. His smile beamed, his trimmed goatee shaping his chiseled features as he locked eyes with me, spotting us on the red carpet.
“You made it,” he said as he finally made it to us. He shook Jesse's hand before extending an arm toward me.
And I fell under that arm like a magnet pulled me toward him. The move almost effortless now since we'd done it so much at the wedding.
The same wedding where we’d danced and laughed, and where I swore he got jealous when I spoke to that football player from Weston's team. He’d assured me there was nothing to be jealous of, and I don't know why those words stung, but they had. I'd quickly forced the small hurt away and chalked it up to my own trauma of not feeling like I belonged or being told I wasn't worth the fuss while growing up.
Jesse took a calculated step away as reporters called Crossland's name and asked him who he was with.
I glanced up at Crossland at the same moment he glanced down at me, and it was such an awkward moment that we both started laughing.
“This is my girlfriend, Aspen Reed,” Crossland said without looking at the reporters, holding that irresistible smile of his.
My grin deepened, and my heart expanded despite knowing this was all fake.
Butdammit, Crossland said it like he was genuinely proud to have me on his arm.
In reality, he could have any of celebrity or model or heiress on his arm if he wanted. More than one, actually.
But he was here with me.
And regardless of the circumstances, I was going to take that as a win.
