I scowl at the faces of eager reporters as they call out questions about who my date is and what designer she’s wearing. How the hell would I know?
“Mr. North, are you serious about this one? We hear she’s living with you!”
My hands fist, and I take an aggressive step towards the reporter, only to feel Jordan’s grip on me tighten.
“That’s enough,” she says, still smiling, and we move toward the steps. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
We hand over our coats, and I worry that the room is still too cold for Jordan with all that bare skin. All eyes seem to gravitate to the slit in her dress that shows off her long, lean leg, and I’m wondering how I’ll get through the night without punching someone in the face.
I’ve been to hundreds of events with women, and never have I minded if other men admired my dates. One of the things that make using escorts less complicated is that I’ve always known they had other men, so it never bothered me when they’d stare.
But everything with Jordan is different.
“Alexander, good to see you again.” One of our old clients greets me and talks about how great it is to be back in New York. He introduces me to his new wife and a business partner of his, but it’s all white noise in my ears as I focus on Jordan.
And I’m not the only one who can’t take his eyes off her.
Jordan
Most people don’t know that wealthy people carry a scent. They don’t wear a recognizable perfume, but their superiority flavors the air.
The first hour of the event and the bouquet is dizzying.
So far, it’s been nothing but a whirlwind of introductions and small talk. Alexander wasn’t kidding when he said he’s not good with people. He either flat out ignores them or answers them with one syllable or a grunt. I found myself doing most of the talking and would squeeze Alexander’s arm when he was expected to respond.
“… you should see our tower in Tokyo.” Edward Gordon has a sleek gray mustache, and his teeth are so white they’re nearly translucent. “I think you’d be impressed by the design.”
I squeeze Alexander’s hand to get him to respond, wondering if he’s even been listening to this guy talk about his towers like they compensate for his less-than-impressive manhood.
Alexander looks bored as hell. “No. I wouldn’t.”
I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling, and Mr. Gordon’s cheeks flush.
“I assure you—”
“The design lacks distinction.” Alexander hardly spares the man a glance. “It’s a concrete pillar without personality—anti-social and devoid of life.” He sips his sparkling water. “A place where the art of architecture goes to die,” he mumbles into his drink.
I clear my throat quietly. “Don’t be mean,” I whisper.
Mr. Gordon’s face is now an angry purple, but Alexander doesn’t seem to notice or care. It’s as if my date has missed every single social cue as he continues to stand in the awkward moment without regret.
Mr. Gordon’s spine stiffens. “You’re awfully arrogant.”
Alexander shrugs. “Just honest.”
“If you’ll excuse us, I think it’s almost time to take our seats.” I drag Alexander away before things can get any worse. I’m grateful I wore a heavy-duty deodorant tonight since every awkward conversation is making me sweat.
“Is it something I said?”
I expect to turn and see Alexander smiling mischievously, but he seems genuinely curious. “Not everyone is going to appreciate your honesty as much as I do—look, there’s Hayes.” I squint at the handsome, sandy-brown-haired brother. “Or Hudson.”
“Hayes,” Alexander grumbles. “He’s been staring at you all night.”
“Me?” I lock eyes with the crabby twin, and his glare tightens. “Oh wow, yeah. He’s not happy to see me.”
“No, he’s not.”
I pull Alexander toward him anyway.
“Aren’t you two the it couple tonight,” he says, sounding bored and unimpressed. “She’s the only thing anyone’s talking about.”
Alexander takes a long, appreciative look from my hair to my toes and back to linger on my lips. “Rightly so.”
The muscle in Hayes’ jaw jumps. He sips what looks like scotch from a crystal glass.
“Where’s your date, Hayes? Or was New York fresh out of women whose only requirement is a pretty face?”
His hazel eyes flicker. “All I need are the ones who care about the money.”
“Gross,” I mumble into my champagne, amazed, once again, that he and Alexander are blood relatives and yet so different.
“My bitches,” Kingston says as he saunters toward us with a pretty woman under his arm. His model-handsome face and perfectly-shaped brows make him appear ripped from the pages of the latest high-fashion magazine. “Jordan, you’re looking fuckable, as always.”
Alexander jerks forward toward his youngest brother, but I keep my arm locked on his.
“Thank you. I feel terrible about the dress, though.” I pout. “Alexander rarely manages to get me naked without doing irrevocable damage to the material.”
“Aaaahhh,” Kingston chuckles, the sound low and lazy—turning on all the women within hearing distance, I’m sure. “I like the visual.”
His date is tall and thin, model-gorgeous like him. She’s quiet and doesn’t seem to care that Kingston eyes every beautiful woman in the room right in front of her.
Hayes’ date eventually joins us. She is polite and beautiful, and I can’t believe she’d actually choose to date an ass-munch like Hayes.
“How did you two meet?” I ask them. Because I seriously have to know.
She looks to Hayes for him to answer.
“Ellie here was supposed to be Alex’s date.” He smirks. “Paid. In. Full.”
Alexander’s big body rocks forward as if he wants to go after the twin, but I dig in my heels and hold him back.
Thankfully, I already know about Alexander’s history with escorts, so his attempt to upset me falls flat.
“Damn, I’m sorry about that, Ellie. Looks like you’re stuck with the consolation prize.” I throw Hayes an exaggerated frown.
Ellie rolls her lips together, and humor dances in her eyes.
“I think we should go take our seats,” I whisper to Alexander after the third and final announcement.
We end up at a table with Alexander’s family and their respective dates. The dinner is delicious, the conversation tolerable, and although Alexander doesn’t say much, he manages to look only moderately miserable.
His dad gets up and gives a speech about the children’s charity, and I listen intently. The money goes to education for kids in the foster system, and I wonder if the choice of charity has anything to do with the fact that Alexander was in foster care.
He opens the silent auction, and with a round of applause, people get up from their seats to peruse the items available for bidding.
Alexander turns toward me at the table. “You want to bid on anything?”
I chuckle and sip my champagne, continuing to discreetly people watch. Because the number of couture gowns in this room is staggering.