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I turn to look in the direction of the voice as a blonde approaches. Her face reflects the many Botox injections she’s had, leaving her with an almost perfect face except for the overly filled lips.
I don't recognize her, but she knows my name.
“Hi,” I respond casually, looking at her as though in a bid to remember where I know her.
“Alice,” she says. The lines on her forehead crease, mirroring the turmoil within her.
The corners of her lips, which had held a hopeful smile just moments ago, now droop.
“I’m not quite sure I remember, Alice,” I say, distracted by my incessant search for Carissa.
Then I saw her.
“I would love to stay and chat, but I have to go now.” I force a smile and make my way to Carissa.
She stands there, looking radiant in the dress I had chosen for her, holding her own in the midst of the bustling event.
My initial disappointment gives way to a sense of pride. She navigates the room with grace, commanding attention with her poise and confidence as she engages effortlessly in conversations.
It feels as if she’s embraced the challenge and risen to the occasion, proving herself not just as my assistant, but as a remarkable individual in her own right.
“Excuse me.” I break her out of a conversation and take her to a corner of the room.
“Jayden, you missed the interesting part of tonight,” she says, all smiles as she takes a sip from her champagne glass.
“What was it?” I ask, satisfied that she isn't upset about my tardiness.
“The food,” she says. “Sadly, I didn't eat much so I didn't rip the dress.”
We both laugh before I realize we have been holding hands the whole time. We hold each other’s gaze for a second before slowly letting go.
“I knew you’d look beautiful in this dress. You make the dress beautiful,” I say and pick up a glass of champagne from a server. “I’m sorry I let you walk in here by yourself.”
“Aren’t you a sweet talker?” She blushes. “It’s okay. I actually enjoyed myself.”
“I can see that.” I take a sip out of my champagne glass and raise a brow.
“I’m so tired. If I have one more drink, I’m gone,” Carissa moans, placing the back of her palm over her face.
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I didn't mean that. As a matter of fact, I would love to spend some more time with her and maybe cuddle up later tonight.
“It’s almost time for the auction. You can drive me home after that,” Carissa says with a smile.
Throughout the evening, I observe how she connects with others, her laughter filling the air, and her charisma drawing people to her.
I realize that her entrance alone has become a symbol of her independence and capability.
I am so proud of her.
The dress I had chosen for her has merely been the canvas upon which she has painted her own masterpiece.
She has not only held her own, but truly shone, leaving an indelible mark on the event and on my heart.
When I drop her off at the end of the night, I can’t resist the urge to kiss her.
Our lips meet in a tender, lingering embrace. A delicate dance of desire and a silent conversation of longing and connection.
