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“I appreciate this, Matthew. Really,” I said as I got up to my feet, grabbing the paper from him. What should I do? Should I give him a hug or something? A kiss? That seemed inappropriate. So, instead, I extended a hand to him. He frowned, amusement graced his face but he shook my clammy hand.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Ms. St. James.”
Chapter eleven
Matthew
Tonight, the VIP banquet hall looked extra luxurious as it exuded opulence and sophistication, the perfect atmosphere for the event.
I personally didn’t know who our guests were but after they visited my office last night, basically begging for me to cater their event, I discovered that they were apparently celebrity lawyers who were celebrating their golden anniversary.
With research, I learned they previously had a reality show about their work. Although I was clueless about that type of niche, I knew they were a big deal in their field.
The walls were covered in elaborate tapestries and were illuminated by crystal chandeliers that cast a gentle, golden glow in the room. Each place setting reflected the hotel's unwavering dedication to detail with polished wooden tables tastefully decorated with exquisite linen and delicate china. A beautiful floral arrangement with golden roses and ivory lilies adorned the room's center, just as the couple wanted.
The atmosphere in the room was charged with anticipation as guests in their best garments mingled with each other. Three bartenders manned the open bar as guests ordered their drinks, and the waitstaff roamed the floor carrying trays of champagne and appetizers.
When Victoria and Daniel Hartman, the couple celebrating their anniversary, had visited me in my office, they already had their program planned out. It was like they knew it was last minute so they wanted to make our lives easier. Thankfully, they wanted a short program, nothing too formal—two hours max.
A simple dinner, with a toast and speech, their couples dance, an open bar, and an open dancefloor throughout the night. It was nothing too extravagant. But they had requested a live piano with tunes they had picked out as a family, which was a mix of classic pieces and modern ones. This was why I had asked Reagan to take the rest of the day to get ready. It was a challenge to be the one responsible for the ambiance of an event.
Speaking of, it was almost six PM and Reagan was still nowhere in sight. The couple had requested background music during the introductory and early parts of dinner.
I was at the back of the massive hall, sitting on a vacant chair away from the crowd, which meant I could see everything and everyone in the room. There was no sign of her. And trust me, I would know if she was around.
Reagan’s presence alone wasn’t something I could ignore. It was like my body was called upon when she was near. I could feel her in before I could see her. In a span of one month of us sleeping together, Reagan was starting to make her mark.
She was incredible in bed, and I couldn’t last a day without seeing her, or without thinking about her. But I kept on reminding myself that what I had with her was nothing but sex.
Right on cue, I spotted the assigned host walking by the stage, a sign that told me the program was about to start. The host was a man in his early twenties, probably a family member who was doing a gig for the guests, given how young he looked.
I could see that he was talking to someone behind the stage and that he was nervous despite his crisp suit. Uninterested in the event slowly starting, I grabbed my phone to check on Reagan.
Grabbing her phone number from the employee records was completely unnecessary, and it was putting me in a dangerous spot. Reagan was just supposed to be a mere fuck buddy, not someone I exchanged texts with at random hours of the night.
But there was nothing wrong with a boss having his employee’s number, right?
Matthew: I thought I said six.
Reagan: ?
Even through a mere text, she was giving me attitude. But I liked that about her. She was feisty and strong-willed. She didn’t care what people would say about her outbursts because what could they do? She didn’t care what people would say about her as long she wasn’t doing something wrong.
Part of me pitied her because I got the feeling that Reagan had learned to stand up for herself the hard way—because her father would push her buttons.
Matthew: Please don’t tell me you’re late, Reagan.
Reagan: Will you chill? I’m at the apartment changing.
Matthew: Are you serious right now? The party is about to start. I said six.
She was adorable and all but I hated her tardy ass. This was Reagan’s world and in the short amount of time we’d been sleeping together, I had learned that I was just living in it. Usually, I had no complaints. But when it came to compromising my business, that was a different story.
Reagan: Relax, boss ??
I was about to reply to her about getting her ass in the hall this minute when the host got a hold of the microphone and started with the introductions. He talked about the couple, about how they met, about their family. And just as I was about to hit send, the soft and faint melody of the piano filled the room.
I couldn’t believe that she would joke about something like being late at an important event. I’d make sure she’d love her punishment for this.
