Not in person, of course, but everyone knew the socialite, heiress to her father’s unbelievable real estate fortune and one of the core Bright Young Things. But the dozens of photographs I’d seen of her were nothing compared to the real thing. A picture could never capture the sheer allure of her, the charm of her presence that existed by nature alone, without a single word of encouragement.
It was no wonder everyone wanted to know her. I counted myself among them for the first time whether I liked it or not.
I took a sip of my scotch to fortify myself, gathering up my wits and lining them up like soldiers. When I lowered my glass, she was watching me with her head cocked.
“I’m surprised you bumped Lily off Ash’s arm,” she said. “How big of a favor does he owe you?”
“Big enough that this doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“Well, I’m glad you managed it. Where’s he been hiding you?”
“Nowhere. Never wanted to come before.”
One of her dusky-blonde brows arched, tugging the corners of her lips up with it. “Oh? And what changed your mind?”
“Ash can be very convincing.” I glanced around the room in appraisal.
She moved to my side to assess the room with me. “And what do you think? Does it live up to the hype?”
I glanced at her with a smirk on my face and a thud of possibility in my sternum. “Exceeds all expectations.”
Another laugh, another pretty blush, her gaze moving back to the crowd. “Glad to hear it.”
“Why? You didn’t throw this elaborate shindig, did you?”
She laid an amused, mildly patronizing look on me. “That’s cute.”
“You didn’t say no. Should I call you Cecelia?”
“You can call me whatever you’d like,” she answered with a smile. “But those of us who are at every one of these parties have a certain ownership to the thing, even though we didn’t put it together. We’re just the pieces that make up the whole, but don’t mistake it for more than it is. We have the distinguished Cecelia Beaton to thank for our good time.”
“Hear, hear.” I raised my glass, and she lifted an imaginary one in salute, eliciting a frown. “You don’t have a drink. How about I rectify that?”
But as I slipped my hand in the small of her bare back to guide her toward the bar, she stepped into the crowd, turning to face me as she went. “I think I can manage. Nice to meet you, Levi.”
“Not as nice as it was to meet you.”
With hot eyes and a lovely smile, she headed away. The crowd parted before swallowing her up again.
And I gave myself a new mission, one that superseded my reconnaissance.
On the wings of a smile, I knocked back my scotch and turned for the bar.
There was something about that girl. A curiosity, one I found myself compelled to unearth. I wasn’t easily struck, and that alone was all the reason I needed to find her again tonight. So I picked up my metaphorical shovel and made a vow to find out just what it was about her that obliged me to dig. Maybe I’d learn more than I bargained for.
And if I was lucky—very, very lucky—I would kiss Stella Spencer, well and thoroughly, to see just what all the fuss was about.
2
Seeing Stars
STELLA
Levi was right. I needed a drink.
I was a little ashamed of the extra sway in my hips as I walked away, but I couldn’t help but want him to watch me go. Doing my best to cover my deliberate grab for his attention, I nodded and smiled at the faces I passed, scanning for Betty and Zeke. One of them would have a spare drink. I didn’t care what it was.
If I didn’t cool down, I was likely to burst into flames right there in front of everyone.
I could feel Levi’s eyes on me, eyes as dark as the shadow of his beard on a jaw cut from stone, dark as his hair, long enough to curl around his ears and lick the collar of his shirt. Something in my chest shuddered at the memory made just a few short seconds ago, and it took an excessive amount of willpower to stop myself from looking back at him, just to make sure he was still there.
Unknown faces—especially faces as gorgeous as his—were a commodity at these parties, which must have had something to do with the intrigue. Maybe it was that in all the years I’d known Ash, I’d never seen Levi before. Maybe it was in the way he’d looked at me, as if I were a juicy, rare steak, and he hadn’t had a meal in a week.
I had a feeling he’d devour me. All I had to do was give him permission.
Permission granted, I thought in his direction with my smile on the rise.
The thought sent a delectable shock of heat from my stomach to the juncture of my thighs. I wasn’t one to sleep with random guys at these parties—that was more Betty’s brand. But it’d been a month since my steady, Dex, had gone off and gotten himself a girlfriend, and a serious one at that.
Dex and I had been a convenient thing for years. When either of us needed a date, the other was there. Two in the morning You up? texts were always answered, no questions asked. I couldn’t call it a fling. That would imply it was here and gone. I couldn’t say it wasn’t a relationship either—we partook in cuddling and pillow talk and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. But he’d told me from the start that not only was he not looking for a relationship, but he wasn’t even interested in being monogamous, citing monogamy as a societal expectation that defied our human nature or some bullshit like that.
And I’d told myself I wasn’t in love with him. But it seemed, in the end, we’d both been lying.
It’s fine. Who even cares? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and I’m pretty sure I just snagged a hammerhead.
I pursed my lips to stifle a laugh.
A trickle of sweat rolled into the hollow of my throat. It was as hot as the inside of a furnace, and though my dress was airy, the heavy beaded details stuck to me like flypaper. My smile widened with pride as I looked around the party, taking it all in. The music. The atmosphere. Their happy faces that told me exactly what I wanted to know.
I’d thrown one hell of a party.
Being Cecelia Beaton had become a full-time job, one spent planning and dreaming and imagining the next party, the next good time. Other than Genie—the event planner I’d snagged while she was still in college and paid buckets of money to keep quiet—very few people knew, though it still felt like too many.
Legally, I was fully protected. Cecelia Beaton was the business I’d set up in Delaware, where the records were sealed. Money was paid into the business from an offshore account, and Genie and I talked on WhatsApp under fake numbers. We hadn’t even seen each other face-to-face in months, not with the paparazzi staking her out. But enough nonessential people had interfered that I’d had to do my fair share of bribing, and a few members who had fallen out of line or disobeyed our credo had been publicly shamed—a task Betty and Zeke took great pleasure in. It was the only time we used our powers for evil and happened to be the most effective way to keep everyone on their best behavior.
I spotted Zeke, not only for his formidable height, but that said height was topped off by platinum-blond hair in perfect finger waves. With a sigh, I beelined for him.