Chapter 12
Bryce
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting my tie for what feels like the hundredth time. The tuxedo fits perfectly, the crisp lines accentuating my frame in all the right places. I run a hand through my hair, ensuring that every strand is perfectly in place before giving myself a once-over in the mirror.
Satisfied with my appearance, I grab my car keys from the coffee table and make my way to the door.
I'm having a work event tonight, and I'm determined to make a good impression. Especially since I'll be taking Marissa as my plus one.
I step out of my apartment and make my way to Marissa's door, my mind racing with thoughts of the night ahead.
There's a flutter of excitement in my chest at the idea of spending the evening with her. We've never done something like this before, and I don't know why, but it feels like a date.
I reach her door and take a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. Moments later, the door swings open, and I'm momentarily rendered speechless by the sight before me.
Marissa stands in the doorway, a vision of beauty in a sleek, form-fitting dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. Her hair is swept up in an elegant updo, framing her face in loose tendrils that cascade down her neck.
She looks stunning and radiant, and a swell of pride rises in my chest, knowing she'll be on my arm tonight.
"Hey, Bryce." She greets me with a smile, her voice pulling me out of my reverie. "You ready to go?"
I shake my head slightly, clearing my thoughts, before offering her a crooked grin. "Yeah, let's get going. Can't keep them waiting, right?"
Marissa nods, stepping out of her apartment and locking the door behind her. As we make our way down the staircase and towards the car, I can't shake the feeling that tonight is going to be a night to remember.
I try to be subtle as I drive, but I can't stop stealing glances at the damsel beside me. She's perfection and simply too good for me.
Marissa has always been the sunshine in my storm. In the beginning, I used to think that she was that way because she didn't have any problems of her own. But I later realized that she just always created her own happiness.
Finally, we arrive at the venue, and the music pulses through the air as Marissa and I step out of the car and make our way towards the entrance of the party.
I can feel the tension radiating off her as she catches sight of the paparazzi gathered outside, their cameras flashing and bulbs popping in a relentless barrage of light.
Her grip tightens on my arm, her nerves palpable as she watches them. A jolt of emotions cascades through me and envelopes my entire frame at her eccentric touch, but I fight to keep my poker face.
"It's okay," I murmur reassuringly, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "Just smile and wave. They'll eat it up."
She nods, her expression tense as she forces a smile. But despite my attempts to ease her nerves, I can see the apprehension in her eyes as we approach the entrance. She waves at the cameras, but I can tell she's uncomfortable, and she's doing her best to put on a brave face.
The paparazzi swarm around us like vultures, snapping photos and shouting questions as we make our way inside. But I turn on my charm, politely smiling at the cameras but ignoring the questions.
Once we're past the sea of flashing cameras, I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful to be away from the prying eyes. Usually, I’d love the attention, but being with Marissa makes me want to shield her from them.
The instant we step inside, the noise and chaos of the outside world fades away, replaced by the low hum of conversation and the soft strains of music. The party is in full swing, and the room is filled with actors and celebrities mingling and schmoozing.
Eyes zero in on us as my friends and colleagues say hello. Marissa is no doubt the most beautiful woman in the room, and I don't fail to notice how the admiring glances of my peers follow us.
My male colleagues flock around her like sharks, vying for her attention and showering her with compliments.
Marissa's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes as the men crowd around her. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, angling away from them. I feel a surge of heat flush my face as I watch my colleagues flock around Marissa.
I lead her towards a quiet corner of the room, hoping to provide a moment of respite from the overwhelming attention. As we settle into a cozy seating area, a couple of my male colleagues approach, each greeting Marissa with a bit too much enthusiasm.
"Hey, darling, you look absolutely stunning," one of them says, leaning in a little too close for comfort.
I would bury my fist in their faces if I could, and the thought catches me off guard. These are feelings I'm not accustomed to when it comes to women. But she's different.
"Thanks," Marissa replies, trying to play it cool.
I give him a curt nod, my eyes narrowing in warning. But that doesn't seem to deter him or the other guy beside him.
"Hey, Bryce, long time no see!" he exclaims, clapping me on the back as he sidles up to Marissa. "And who's this lovely lady you've brought with you?"
I grit my teeth, forcing a courteous smile as I step protectively closer to Marissa. "This is Marissa," I reply through clenched teeth, my tone giving off the don't-mess-with-me vibe.
But their eyes still linger on her with a predatory gleam. "Well, she's certainly a sight for sore eyes. Can't blame a guy for admiring the view, can you?"
My blood boils at his brazen comment, my temper flaring as I square off against him. "Actually, I can. And I suggest you back off."
He raises an eyebrow in amusement. "What's the matter, Bryce? Can't handle a little competition?"
I grit my teeth, my temper flaring as I shoot him a warning glare. "This isn't a game, . Marissa isn't some prize to be won."
Jake chuckles, unfazed by my threat. "Relax, man. I'm just having a bit of fun."
My fists clench at my sides as I struggle to suppress my anger. "Stay away from her. She's off-limits."
But he just laughs, an annoyingly cocky smirk on his face. "Whatever you say. Just remember, you're the one with the reputation of jumping from one woman to another. I would treat her right if she were mine."
Seething with anger, my hands ball into fists by my sides. I want nothing more than to wipe that smug grin off Jake's face, but I know that would only make things worse.
Who is he to act like Marissa is just some prize to be won?
"Watch your mouth, dude. You don't know anything about me."
But Jake just shrugs, turning away with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Suit yourself."
With that, he saunters off into the crowd, leaving me fuming with anger and frustration. I can feel Marissa's eyes on me, so I put my emotions under control.
I've always been known to be a bit of a troublemaker, but I don't want her to think that way about me, too. Her opinion matters to me.
But as I take a deep breath and try to regain my equilibrium, I tell myself to calm down because, after all, Marissa is just my friend and assistant. Nothing more than that. So why does the thought of her with someone else leave me feeling so unsettled?
I might be a playboy with a reputation for jumping from one woman to another. But when it comes to Marissa, she's unlike anyone I've ever met.
She's special. And no matter what anyone else says, I'll do whatever it takes to protect her from guys like Jake.
"Are you okay?" I ask her, and she nods timidly.
"Thank you for getting him to back off. He was making me really uncomfortable."
It’s all my fault for asking her to come with me. She’s my guest, and I'll make sure to keep her safe.
"I’m sorry for subjecting you to all of this."
"You handled it, so it's fine. I'm just glad to be here with you."
My heart does a cartwheel at her declaration, and I tip my head a little to hide the stupid grin on my face.
"I’m glad you're here too."
Halfway through the event, I finally decide to grant the reporters an interview. They swarm around us alongside photographers, eager to capture every moment of the evening, and I give them my signature dashing smile.
"So, Bryce, care to comment on the rumors about you and Sheila being romantically involved?" one reporter asks, thrusting a microphone in my face.
Sheila Smith is a wannabe who would do anything for fame. And currently, she's using my name to climb up the social ladder and build her social media fanbase. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, opting instead for a nonchalant shrug.
"There's nothing to comment on. It's just gossip."
But the reporter persists, pushing for more details. "But there have been sightings of you two together, and sources say you've been spending a lot of time with her. Can you confirm or deny these rumors?"
I grit my teeth, struggling to maintain my composure as the questions continue to come at me from all sides. The last thing I need is to fuel the fire of speculation surrounding my personal life. Sheila's really spinning all of this in her favor.
I don't want Marissa to think of me like that.
To make matters worse, I can't help but notice the way some of the men at the event are looking at Marissa, their eyes lingering just a little too long.
I try to ignore it, focusing on the conversation at hand, but the sight of a particularly bold guest leaning in close to Marissa, his hand brushing her arm, sends a surge of irritation through me.
Frustrated and unable to contain my anger, I make my way over to Marissa, grab her hand tighter, and turn to face the reporters. A sudden burst of defiance rises within me.
"There've been enough assumptions about my personal life. I'm putting an end to it right now."
The reporters fall silent, all eyes turning to me as I take a deep breath and steel myself for what I'm about to say next. "This is my fiancée, Marissa, and we’re getting married in a week," I announce, my voice ringing out with a clarity that leaves no room for distrust.
The reporters erupt into a frenzy of excitement, their cameras flashing as they clamor for more details. But I ignore their questions, focusing instead on Marissa as I squeeze her hand tightly.
Marissa's hand trembles in mine, her palm clammy and fingers twitching. Her eyes bore into me, and her pupils dilated with alarm. She stands frozen beside me, muscles tensed as if ready to flee.
Yikes.