Page 5 of Faking Ties
There’s an air of mystery about her that piques my interest. I don’t even know who she is, and that’s unacceptable. With that in mind, I open my own door before the car is in position, or fully stopped for that matter, and am striding across the red carpet to catch up with her. The flashes of the paparazzi are like angry bees—nonstop, aggressive, and annoying. But I ignore it all to get to her. She’s like a beacon, drawing me toward her effortlessly.
The fans and paparazzi scream for her attention, but it becomes a jumble of nonsense as they growlouder the farther she gets down the red carpet. The woman startles at the increase in sound, but it’s at the worst time. Her ankle buckles as she takes a step up the stairs and time seems to slow as she plunges toward the ground. Instinct takes over, and a surge of adrenaline propels me into a sprint.
I catch her elbow and yank her upright just before she hits the stairs. Her nails dig into my skin with how firmly she’s gripping my arm. Flashes explode around us, and I’m momentarily blinded. I blink rapidly to clear my vision, and when I do, I get my first full look of her, and my lungs forget how to function.
The woman who caught my interest is Stella Wilde. She’s more beautiful in person than online, and that’s saying something. She’s the type of beautiful that people write songs about. Perhaps they’d talk about her heart-shaped face or her sexy-as-sin red lips. Or maybe they’d dedicate multiple songs to describing her green eyes that are as vibrant as a storm at sea. They’re a mesmerizing, dangerous beauty that threatens to pull me under. Flecks of gold dance within their depths, sparkling like sunlight catching on churning waves.
“How fucking embarrassing,” she mutters before clearing her throat and glancing at me. “Sorry, what I meant to say is thanks for the save.”
Her husky voice deserves to have an entire album dedicated to it. I could listen to her read the ingredients of a can of soup, and still beg for her to continue.
“Don’t worry,” I say, “you can thank me later with dinner.”
“Woooow. You’re mighty presumptuous. I think I’m going to take back my thank you.”
“You could,” I say when we reach the top. “But I’ve grown attached to it. Finders keepers and all that bullshit.”
She huffs out a husky laugh, one that reminds me of silk sheets and smoky bourbon.
“I…” I can’t think of a single thing to say, or, at least, a single thing that isn’t falling to my knees and begging to worship the ground she walks on.
“Stella,” a woman says, five steps away from us. “Are you ready? Let me show you to your table.”
Stella turns away from me easily, too easily, and walks to the woman, saying something too low for me to hear.
In the next instance, a man approaches me. “I’ll take you to your table now, Mr. Holt.”
“Only if that table is the same as Stella’s.”
“Oh.” He fiddles with his jacket. “That’s not possible. They’re assigned seats.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’ll move the name card myself.”
I stride toward the ballroom with a single purpose—find Stella Wilde. I’m not sure why I’m so focused on her, but there’s something about her that’s caught my attention. Sure, she’s fucking gorgeous, but it’s more than that. I haven’t been interested in a woman enough to pursue her in…ever. Normally they flock to me due tomy fame. But not Stella. She’s able to walk away as if she didn’t just take a bite out of my soul.
There are hundreds of people in the gold-and-black room. I lift onto my toes, scanning the guests. A flash of blonde hair appears to my right, and I head in that direction. Even with Stella’s height, and my own, it’s not easy to keep her in my line of sight.
“Mr. Holt, you can’t?—”
I spin around. It’s the man from the entrance. “I can and will. You think a little name card is going to stop me?”
“I…” His eyes widen and I take an intimidating step toward him. I’ve got a good six inches on his six-foot frame and at least a hundred pounds. “You have no chance to stop me from pursuing what I want.”
He swallows hard and murmurs something that sounds likeI’m not paid well enough for this shit. I give him one last hard look and continue my pursuit of Stella. When I find her, a man has his hand on her arm, and she recoils from his touch. She says something to him, and he laughs before throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his body. She stiffens and glares at him, but he doesn’t move away.
I increase my pace and overhear him say, “Come on, doll. You don’t have to play hard to get with me. Come sit with me and let me take you home when this thing finishes.”
“Get your hands off me,” Stella hisses, trying tomove away from him, but he just tightens his grip on her.
“There’s no need to be like that,” the douchebag says.
“Leave me alone.” Stella struggles to escape, but to no avail. Where the hell is her security? More than a few people take note of the altercation, but no one does anything more than take out their phone and hit record.
“Doll—”
“There you are,” I say, grabbing Stella’s hand and tugging her toward me. The guy lets her go easily, which is oddly disappointing because I wouldn’t mind punching him in the face for manhandling her. “Sorry I got held up.”
Stella sinks into my side, and I move my hand possessively to the small of her back. I glare at the asshole who clearly can’t take no for an answer. He looks vaguely familiar. An actor perhaps? Black hair, an aristocratic nose complete with a round jawline.
