The intercom buzzes, and Allie gets up to answer it. I expect—no, I hope—that the call from the doorman is to tell us the food is here. The second glass of champagne is going straight to my head with an empty stomach.
Food arrives and another bottle of champagne is opened. Our girls’ night in soon descends into a giggle fest.
I do miss these nights since moving to London, but I guess when we do get to catch up, it does make them more special.
At the Carlson Christmas Charity Gala
Placing my hand on my stomach, I hope to settle the nerves that are break dancing there and threatening to reject the salmon canape I stupidly popped in my mouth. A quick scan of the smattering of guests that have arrived early confirms that Drew is not here yet.
I wish I could sneak away from where I’m standing with Logan and Allie just inside the entrance of the grand ballroom. However, Mom and Dad expect the family to be available to greet guests not far from the entrance, so I’m stuck, my eyes darting left and right, expecting Drew to walk through the door at any moment.
Usually, I don’t mind this part of the evening. In fact, I enjoy welcoming people, and I’m proud to stand beside my parents and brothers. We’ve been a close-knit unit ever since I joined the Carlson clan. The idea of three instant big brothers was initially daunting for seven-year-old me, but eventually, with Hunter’s encouragement, we all slotted in together, like pieces in a puzzle.
This is my home turf, which makes the possibility of seeing Drew feel more personal. Up to this point, Drew has been compartmentalized in my mind away from my real life.
Thirty minutes later, the family duty part of the evening is done. I run my hands over the smooth forest-green silk crepe fabric that hugs my body—my so-called revenge dress. In my mind, it’s less revenge and more elegantly simple. The only adornment is a band of beading edging the deep V between my breasts and on the thin straps over my shoulders. But my favorite part of the dress is the completely open back. This dress is all about drawing the observer’s eye to key areas, my cleavage and my butt.
Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately at this point, it has all been for nothing, because there is still no sign of Drew. Maybe he decided not to come after all. We move toward the bar area, but every so often, I glance back to the entrance. Even from this distance, I still can’t settle into enjoying the evening. The glass of champagne clasped tightly in my fist isn’t releasing the tension in my body either. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous.
I look down, realizing the glass I’ve been holding is empty. I’m not sure when that happened, but as a waiter passes nearby, I grab his attention to trade my empty one for a full one. With the cold liquid fizzing on my tongue, I glance again to the entrance, and there he is. I nearly spit my drink back into the glass.
Until this moment, I couldn’t believe he would come. Mostly because I can’t imagine the reason why.
Allie follows my gaze and nudges my arm. “Is that him? Holy hell, his hotness is burning my retinas.”
Logan glares at her with his classic, well-rehearsed grumpy face in place. “Seriously? You’re here to meet the guests, not drool all over their tuxedos.”
“And you’re here to not be an asshole, Logan,” she quips, rolling her eyes, then turning slightly away from him.
“I’m going to get another drink,” Logan announces before storming off.
“Whoa, you two are sounding toxic. Whatever is going on with you guys lately, you need to sort it out.”
“Let’s just forget about him, because I think your scorching-hot author dude needs your attention. Wow, he is one fine-looking specimen of a man. You should go talk to him before someone else does. Go on.” Allie nudges me in Drew’s direction.
Spinning on my black satin Jimmy Choo sandals, I demand, “Are you insane?” Did she not listen to a word I said the other night about my feelings around Drew? Was I not clear that I’m hopeless at resisting him whenever he’s nearby? Why on earth would I want to go talk to him?
Before I can say more, Logan returns, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “What’s up?” I ask, glad for the distraction.
“The guy who was going to be the silent auction prize is a no-show, and Dad wants me to do it.” Allie bursts out laughing, drawing one of Logan’s infamous glares. Every year, one of the silent auction prizes has been a dinner date with one of Manhattan’s most eligible bachelors. Hunter and Blake have stepped up to do this in the last couple of years, but Logan has always managed to avoid it.
“You have to bid on me, Kitty Kat.” Poor Logan. I imagine he sees this as his worst possible nightmare.
“I can’t bid on you; you’re my brother. But Allie can.” We both turn to look at her.
She holds her hands up. “Why on earth would I want to pay for a date with him?” Logan’s mouth drops open, but no words come out.
“Allie, be nice,” I warn. “Logan will pay you back, and you don’t actually have to go on the date.”
“Please, Allie. Just this one thing is all I need,” he begs, and the fact that he’s asking shows his desperation. I’ve never heard him ask Allie for anything in all the years they’ve known each other.
She folds her arms across her chest. “Fine, I’ll do it. But you owe me.” Logan nods his head sharply once.
“Yeah, okay. But can we please just get your bid submitted now?” They wander off in the direction of the silent auction tables.
During Logan’s little drama, I lost track of Drew. I search the crowd gathered near the entrance, but I can’t see his dark head.
If he’s not there, where is he?
