Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
He looks completely unbothered by all of this—me, our conversation, the car ride, the photographers. But to me, the entire ride from my apartment to here felt almost surreal, like a blend of luxury and style but with all of the matter-of-factness of taking the SATs. While nakedly vulnerable. Not physically, but mentally. Because Dylan seems to know everything, see everything.
I never felt seen when I was with Evan. My heart twists, and I hate it. Tonight is not for my weak little heart. It’s for vengeance.
“Is it always like this?” I murmur to Dylan, who nods slightly and gives a cold smile to the photographers. Taking the cue from him, I smile as well, although I hope my smile for the paparazzi is a bit warmer. It serves both of our goals if I look like I’m enjoying myself.
I am enjoying myself, I remind my racing heart as anxiousness stirs in the pit of my stomach. I push aside thoughts of Evan, revenge, and even Dylan, trying to focus on the professional reasons I’m here.
“You’re going to do fine. Relax,” Dylan comments as we pass through the high arched doorway.
His bicep flexes, holding me to him, as we get into the elevator, and I notice he’s not letting me go. It’s comforting, almost, like I can lean on him a moment while I get a grip on my bearings. “Any last-minute advice?” My head goes light for a moment as we rush higher into the sky.
“Be yourself,” he says. “You’re charming and smart and would be an asset to any firm, so use every advantage you’ve got to make an impression.”
I nod as if that’s ground-breaking advice. It does help slightly, though.
The heart of the event is the ballroom of the Continental Hotel, which takes up fifteen floors of the Faulkner Building. Getting off the elevator on the top floor of the hotel, we walk down the hallway toward the ‘Grand Ballroom’.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I demand quickly, pulling him to a stop. “I know people will make assumptions, but it’d be nice to have at least one personal fact about you to deflect them with.”
Dylan looks down at me, considering his answer. “I built a model aircraft carrier in my office.”
“You built a what?” I ask, surprised at the randomness.
“Complete with an air wing. Hand built, hand painted, and thirty-six inches long,” he says as if merely stating facts. I can only guess how much time and effort he put into it, and simply because… what? He wanted to?
“So you like model aircrafts?”
“I admire the history behind aircraft development, but that particular project was… meditative.”
“Healing?” I guess.
“Something like that,” he states but doesn’t offer more.
We go through the entrance line, Dylan handing over his engraved invitation, and I let out a huff of a silent laugh. Dylan looks over. “What?”
"Thought you didn’t come to these?”
He shrugs, unbothered by his small exaggeration. “Rarely, not never.”
He starts to say something else, but a man catches his eye and begins walking intently toward us. “The man approaching is named Tyler. He’s a business associate.” Dylan’s quick with the information, uttering it under his breath before turning to the man.
“Dylan, how’s it going?” Tyler asks, offering his hand. They shake, much more enthusiastically than I sense Dylan would prefer. I also notice Dylan’s hand going around my waist, his fingers resting just outside my low back as if ready to pull me tight at a moment’s notice. “I scouted out the food. They’ve got bacon wrapped shrimp that’s gonna go fast.” He says it as though he’s sharing valuable information.
“Tyler,” Dylan says evenly. “Good to know.”
“And who is your beautiful companion?” Tyler continues on, as if on one long monologue. “Tyler Hunt,” he says, introducing himself before Dylan has a chance to make the introductions.
I take his offered hand, adding a warm smile. Dylan’s hand tightens slightly on my waist, and though I take it as a warning to stick close to him, it also feels surprisingly intimate. “Raven Hill,” I answer more breathily than I intended. I clear my throat delicately and allow Dylan to do the talking.
To me, he explains, “Tyler’s a senior account manager at First National. He and I have done a number of deals together.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” I tell Tyler. I’m more than aware of First National. This man has no idea who I am, but I hope one day, he will.
At Dylan’s silent encouragement, I practice how I’m going to approach the night with Tyler. For the rest of our conversation, I try to find the balance between chatting up Tyler, meeting him as a strong and intelligent equal, while at the same time staying with Dylan.
It’s hard not to want to cling to him. Not only because this room is full of people who are intimidating as hell, but also because Dylan is… magnetic. Even though he says little, I’m constantly aware of his presence, and when he does say something, his words carry weight.