But the music thrummed at a seductive throb, the lights were low, and a buzz of excitement circulated amongst the well-dressed attendees.
Hello. Open bar.
“What can I get you?” The bartender was unintimidatingly cute. I needed to get back to finding that attractive instead of the brooding dominance of Mr. Created by Angels Until the Devil Took Over.
His eyes took a leisurely journey over me, and I remembered the dress.
“White wine. No, wait. Champagne,” I decided. If I spilled it, it wouldn’t stain, and the bubbles would keep me from mainlining it.
“You got it,” he said.
“That dress on you,” I heard a familiar voice say.
I turned and found Christian James, designer extraordinaire, behind me, a wicked grin on his handsome face. He pressed a palm above his heart, letting his fingers mimic a beat.
“It would appear the designer is a genius.”
“Clearly,” he said with a blinding grin. And there was the dimple. Yum.
From a detached, purely scientific distance, I weighed my reaction to the man. Charming. Funny. A damn genius with a needle and thread. He was flirting with me, and I was enjoying it.
And then there was a lightning strike of awareness a second later when I caught a glimpse of Dominic across the room. He was in conversation with a mix of beautiful people, but he was looking at me.
One look at the man in his jeans and boots and that fucking vest that I knew he was wearing just to piss me off and my heart rate accelerated into cycling class territory.
Did I somehow get off on the rejection? I took a hasty gulp of champagne.
Well, there would be no more rejections because I was done where Dominic was concerned. He couldn’t have been clearer. And neither could I. Plus, if I were stupid enough to offer myself up to him one more time, I’d lose the last piece of my self-respect.
If only I could just erase him from my brain. Even now, I could feel him glowering at me. A tickle of discomfort between my shoulder blades, a shiver of awareness up my spine. It almost felt… exciting. And that made me want to barf.
Maybe it wasn’t the cheese hormones. Maybe it was something much, much worse.
“Do you mind?” Christian asked, offering me his hand. “So I can see how the fabric moves? Also, I just really like looking at you.”
“It’s your party,” I said, putting a little more effort into the flirtation.
He put my drink on the bar and took my hand.
“Beautiful. I could see you in this in white. A beach wedding. Flowers in your hair. Very bohemian. After the ceremony, you’d jump into the ocean with your very lucky groom.”
I was blushing.
“The beautiful, blushing bride,” he mused. “What are your thoughts?”
“I don’t have the time or prospects for marriage.”
He grinned again. “I meant the dress. If this were your wedding gown, what would you add? Take away?”
“Shimmer.”
“Ah, yes,” he said approvingly. “Something subtle that would catch the sunlight and make you look—”
“Magic.”
“Exactly.” The eyebrow he arched was elegant. “Turn for me?”
I shrugged. He pulled me in like we were on the dance floor and then gently pushed me away. I twirled like that faceless ballerina in the jewelry box my dad got me for my fifth birthday to store all my plastic rings and bracelets.
Then he was playfully pulling me back in. On a devilish grin, he used my momentum and leaned me back over his leg in an extravagant dip.
The guests around us broke into spontaneous applause, and I came up laughing. God, it felt good to laugh.
Someone at the bar behind us slammed a crystal glass down hard enough to crack it.
“Let me help you with that, sir,” the bartender said, taking the broken glass from Dominic. That glower was a whole lot warmer up close. I felt like my dress was going to catch fire, burn off my body, and leave me standing here naked. Maybe I should have worn pasties again.
“Dominic.” Christian turned his wattage on my boss and offered him that friendly manshake with the shoulder slap. “Good to see you. I’m hearing a lot of good things about you at Label.”
Dom’s eyes blazed with something unrecognizable. He was looking at me.
“Do you have a minute? I’d like to discuss some logistics.” The question was for Christian, but Dom’s eyes burned into my flesh like a brand. The hand he clamped on Christian’s shoulder didn’t look friendly as he steered my dance partner away from me.
“Honey, I don’t know what that was about,” the bartender said, staring after the men. “But Vest Guy looks like he can’t decide if he wants to spank you or devour you.”
I blinked. “So I’m not imagining it?”
“That was a code nuclear. If I had lady parts and took him to bed, I’d be concerned about my vagina spontaneously exploding.”
It was a real concern.
“I think I need another drink.”
“I think you do too,” he said placing another flute of champagne on the bar and then pouring a shot. “This is to take the edge off Vagina Exploding Vest Guy.”
“Thanks.”
“Cheers, doll.”
I made a few rounds, checking in on Dalessandra, and landed with a few of the ad sales reps near the kitchen. We’d astutely discovered we got first dibs on trayed appetizers if we actively stalked the waitstaff.
I kept tabs on Dominic as he circulated the room. Every time it looked as if he were heading in my direction, I made a hasty exit and went somewhere else. I’d even hidden in the restroom for twenty minutes trying to calm down. He was prowling. We were circling each other, and I just didn’t have it in me for another argument or another ten reasons why I wasn’t good enough for him.
“Can we just talk about how delicious Dominic Russo looks tonight?” Nina from advertising sighed into her wine glass. She was tall and slim with untamable curly hair and blue eyes that always seemed to twinkle.
“Yes, please,” Ruth said, feigning a swoon.
“I don’t think it’s fair that someone that attractive isn’t dating. Me. Dating me,” Copywriter Missie said. Missie was a petite little thing who had a tendency to burst into song when she was nervous.
“What’s his deal?” asked Gola, who was looking entirely too fabulous in a navy slip dress that highlighted her truly fantastic shoulders.
“Yeah, Ally. What’s his deal?” Ruth asked.
All eyes turned in my direction.
“Uh, how should I know?”
“You work five feet from the man. How is your brain still functioning?” Nina asked. “Mine would have turned to hormonal mush by now.”
“Have you tried giving up cheese?” I offered.
“Ally is immune to the guy,” Gola insisted.
“Immune? I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, pretending not to remember that I’d recently put new batteries for my vibrator on my shopping list.
“He’s so different from his dad. Like, besides the looks, I can’t believe they’re related,” Missie said.
“Yeah, Dominic Russo wouldn’t corner someone in the copy room and show them his dick,” Gola agreed.
No, he wouldn’t. Not even if she—I—wanted him to.