It’s another corsage. A red one this time.
He can deny it all he wants, but he really is the sweetest man.
“Hey, where’s my corsage?” Carla asks, playfully slapping Grayson’s chest.
“Sorry, babe.” His eyes narrow as he glances over at Ashton. “Thanks for making me look bad, asshole.”
We all laugh.
It’s a forty-five-minute drive from Gardena to the Taglyan Arts and Cultural Complex, which is near the famous intersection of Hollywood and Vine.
The charity event is being held in the Grand Ballroom, which Valentina assures me offers a dazzling combination of old-world opulence and cutting-edge audio-visual technology. The venue holds no importance to me, it’s the people I’m surrounded by that do.
Ashton places his hand on the small of my back as we enter the building. Although he couldn’t take his eyes off me on the drive here, he manages to behave himself, keeping his usual touchy-feely self at bay. If Carla and Grayson hadn’t been in the car, I know it would’ve been a different story. I would have had his hand, tongue, or possibly even him inside me by now.
Ashton’s thumb gently caresses my skin through my dress as we cross the polished marble floors of the long elegant foyer. “As much as I love this dress on you…” he whispers in my ear, “… I can’t wait to strip you out of it when we get home.”
“I look forward to it.”
His hand skates down, skimming over my ass and giving it a cheeky squeeze. When his movements freeze, and I hear him growl, I know he’s realized I’m wearing a thong.
“Fuck, Em.”
“No food porn tonight,” I say. “Just skimpy lace.” It’s the first time I’ve ever worn one, and it’s a constant struggle not to pull that thin piece of fabric out from between my butt cheeks.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“No.” I laugh.
“I’m about to walk into a room full of two hundred people with a massive hard-on.”
His hand moves down to discreetly adjust his crotch. “I’m sneaking you outside once the formalities are over. I need to see them.” Ashton’s words are laced with promise.
I gasp the moment we enter the ballroom. Now I understand what Valentina meant about the grandeur of this place. It is stunning. The circular glass-paneled roof is lit up in iridescent pink with a large crystal chandelier as the centerpiece. Another six are strategically placed around the outer edge of the room. The round tables which fill the space and surround the dance floor are exquisitely decorated, a huge arrangement of pink roses sit in the center of each one.
Pink being the theme color for the evening to represent breast cancer. Valentina told me over our lunch date that both her mother and grandmother succumbed to the disease. Her charity raises money to employ specialty nurses for each patient, giving them a personal one-on-one carer during the duration of their treatment.
Ashton greets people as we pass, stopping to talk with a few. He’s deep in conversation with a couple when a man approaches. “And who do we have here,” he says, reaching for my hand and bringing it toward his mouth.
Ashton’s arm slinks around my waist, drawing my body to his. “Back off, Hinkley,” he grumbles. “She’s with me.” My eyes dart to him, and there’s a murderous glare on his face. The man chuckles, holding his hands up in front of him.
I’m mortified.
Excusing himself from the people he was talking to, Ashton reaches for my hand pulling us further into the room.
“That was rude.”
“I don’t care. He has no right to touch you.”
“He was only going to kiss my hand,” I emphasize the word my.
“Well, he’s not allowed.”
“You’re acting like a caveman,” I say.
Ashton shrugs his shoulders, clearly still angry. “I don’t like people touching what’s mine, Emma. End of story.”
When it’s time to take our seats, Valentina hugs us, telling me how lovely I look. She introduces me to the other people sitting at our table, and not as Emma but as Ashton’s Emma.
Gah!
I guzzle down a few glasses of champagne between the first two courses. Ashton’s hand keeps moving to my lower back, his thumb rubbing over my thong.
“These are driving me crazy,” he whispers, leaning into me. “I need to see them.”
His words give me an idea. Removing the cloth napkin from my lap, I stand. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
“I’ll come with you,” Carla says. She hooks her arm through mine as we cross the room.
Entering the stall, I step out of my lace underwear, scrunching them up and shoving them into my purse. If Ashton wants to see them so much, who am I to deny him. My stomach feels jittery for what I’m about to do, but this is about healing, letting go, and learning to trust again. Ashton has proved himself worthy.
Exiting, I walk toward the line of sinks to wash my hands and wait for Carla.
“Ugh,” I hear someone say as they enter. “I was hoping you wouldn’t be here tonight, hillbilly.”
Through the mirror, I see Willow approaching. I was secretly hoping she wouldn’t be here either.
“Leave me alone, Willow. Valentina invited me personally.”
“Valentina invited me personally,” she says, mocking me. “You’re pathetic.”
We both flinch when a loud bang startles us. I glance over my shoulder and see Carla storming toward us.
Oh shit.
“Willow… Willow… Willow,” she says, cracking her knuckles as she approaches.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your worst fucking nightmare, that’s who,” Carla sneers.
A brief moment of terror flashes through Willow’s eyes, but she recovers quickly.
“Ignore her,” I say to Carla, reaching for her arm. “She’s not worth it.”
Carla shrugs out of my grip, her eyes never once leaving her target. “You’re lucky I don’t kick your ass.”
“Try it, bitch,” Willow replies, finding her backbone.
I gasp. Does she have a death wish? I know for a fact Carla could tear her to shreds. She’s a fourth-dan-black-belt—a lethal weapon.
Carla takes a step back and starts waving her open palmed hands around in front of her. Chopping the air, Ninja style. “Waaaaaa,” she says as she does it.
I have to bite my lip to suppress my laugh. She looks ridiculous, and she knows it.
One of Willow’s eyes twitches as she stares at Carla, anticipating her next move. When Carla lunges in her direction, Willow’s hands instinctively fly up to cover her face as she cowers.
Carla drops her arms by her side and laughs. “Just what I thought… gutless bitch. Stay the fuck away from my friend, or next time you won’t be so lucky. Got it!”
Willow nods. Too frightened to speak.
“Good, now get out of here before I hold you under the lights and melt your plastic ass.”
I place my hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter.
Willow turns, practically running toward the door.
“Are you okay, Em?”
“Yes, karate kid. I didn’t know you were friends with Mr. Miyagi.”
“We go way back,” she says with a wink as she moves over to the sink to wash her hands.