Chapter Eleven – Verity
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VERITY
“ V erity, did you double-check that the florist is still set to arrive at eleven tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Even though it’s not my job, but Celine won’t hire any assistants except her own.
“Okay, good. Good.”
Jenna paces back and forth, nibbling on the corner of her thumb. I’m surprised she hasn’t turned the thing into a stump at this point.
The Kelton event is tomorrow night, and we’ve gotten no sleep all week.
I’ve probably been home a grand total of twenty hours, all of which I’ve spent passed out in bed.
It’s times like these that I miss being an hourly employee because the work I’m putting in and the pay I’m getting out do not add up.
“And all the goodie bags are packed?”
“Yup.”
“With the gold ribbon, not the one that came out a little bronze?”
“The gold one.”
“Perfect.” She twirls around and gives me a small smile. “I think it’s looking good.”
We’ve only set up the bare bones today, but it is coming along nicely.
Seeing our logo gleaming in gold metal on the black stone does make me feel good about myself even though I’d looked at forty thousand fonts before saying screw it and just creating my own custom one for Mr. Kelton—which, I admit, ended up being the best.
This project has been a pain, but seeing it all starting to come together is melting my icy annoyance. I’m proud of what we have created, and I know it’s worth all the overtime I racked up perfecting every design element and making sure the files were correct for the production team.
Tomorrow, we’ll have to come in at the crack of dawn and continue overseeing the rest of the setup.
Well, technically, I don’t have to be here first thing, but Anne volunteered to help out, which means I have to.
Typical corporate politics. I’ve put way too many hours into this project just for her to swoop in at the end and act like she’s been toiling away.
Sure, she’d had a part in the branding, but I’ve been Jenna’s right-hand woman, and I’ll make sure Celine knows that.
I won’t let myself get knocked to the side like always.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out to check the notification.
CULLEN: Hey angel
A smile breaks out across my cheeks.
ME: Hey!!
CULLEN: Are you still working?
ME: Wrapping up right now
CULLEN: Want to grab a bite?
ME: Ur in town??? I thought u didn’t get in till Mon?
CULLEN: Surprise ;)
ME: 100% yes
CULLEN: Perfect. Meet me at the Scarmont Rooftop when youre done
ME: Ok 3
“Verity.”
“Huh?” I blink up to see Jenna staring at me.
“I was saying you could head home.” She tilts her head. “Although, looks like you might have other plans based on that smile. Boyfriend?”
“What? No. I—well, kind of.”
Cullen isn’t my boyfriend by any official means, but we are technically dating.
We’ve been texting practically every single day, even video chatting sometimes—thanks to my own personal blunder after happy hour margaritas with Imani.
Our impromptu pizza date the other week tipped my heart over the edge.
I can’t deny that the crush I have on him is morphing out of my control.
Things are moving along really well, and he is actually taking the time to get to know me, even with all the distance between us.
I haven’t felt this special in a long time, and it makes me want to keep him close.
“Good. Our work tries to take too much away from us. You’re still young; enjoy what the city has to offer.” She gathers up her handbag and gives me a soft smile.
I’ve never really gotten that personal with Jenna before.
We tend to keep work stuff at work and personal stuff personal.
While I could tell you her exact coffee order and that she’s allergic to pine nuts, I barely even know that she’s married, aside from the fact she went on her honeymoon while I was interning.
“Thanks, Jenna. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I quickly gather up my work tote, shoving all my stuff inside, before making a jog for the elevator. I pull up the map on my phone and do some math to figure out the best train to take to get to the Scarmont.
My skin buzzes with excitement and I can’t stop grinning—not even when I get on the subway and see a questionable puddle of liquid in the corner. By the time I get to the Scarmont, my cheeks hurt, but I don’t care.
It’s only been a week since I last saw him, and I’ve been counting down the days until he was due to fly back. I can’t wait until he officially moves here and we can spend even more time together.
I might be getting ahead of myself again with that train of thought, but at this point, I don’t really care. We’ve been on three amazing dates so far, each one better than the last. The more time I spend with him, the more I realize we are two puzzle pieces that slot perfectly against one another.
It isn’t just that we share a lot of the same life values, or that he also appreciates Dijon mustard on his fries, or even that he agrees that pickleball is a weird sport.
It is the little things, like how he sends me videos of coffee shops in the city we should check out and texts me pictures of the sunset from his balcony in Miami saying that he wishes I were there.
Cullen puts in the effort to make sure that I feel special, that I feel wanted in a way that doesn’t make me feel like a burden.
He goes out of his way to spend time with me even though I know he has a busy schedule.
For the first time ever, I can honestly say that I am dating a guy whom I could maybe see long term plans with.
Which might be a totally nuts thought because we aren’t even official yet, but I have a gut feeling. My parents always say that once they met each other, they just knew. I am getting the same vibes when I am around Cullen.
I enter the lobby of the boutique hotel, a rich bergamot scent hitting me square in the face, and pause for a second.
The luxe air settles on my shoulders, and I’m taken aback by the contrast between the sensual vibe in here and the bustle outside.
Two women in stunning little black dresses step around me in their towering stilettos, making their way to the elevator bank. I realize a small issue.
Big issue, actually.
“Shit.”
I shuffle to the side and study my reflection in the square mirror on the lobby wall.
My hair is limp and oily after running a stressful hand through it a million times this past week.
I was planning on washing it tomorrow before the event and hadn’t banked on going out tonight.
My forehead is shiny as hell, and I have minimal makeup on because it’s not like I have to make an effort at work.
Which is why my clothes are just simple black chiffon trousers held up with a thin red belt, a classic white tee tucked in, and sneakers.
I’m wearing sneakers to the Scarmont Rooftop.
Oh my God, will they even let me up there in sneakers? I have no clue if they have a dress code.
I let out a groan as I tug my hair into a high ponytail, hoping it will conceal the worst of the damage, and then dig around my tote for a lip gloss that’s somewhere in its depths.
The very same tote that I’ve had since college and is fraying at the seams. Every day is a guess about whether or not the strap will survive or snap.
I need to replace it, but I just haven’t seen the need to budget for it when it still works.
It’s yet another thing about me that doesn’t fit in with my surroundings.
I give my reflection one last look and just pray to the heavens that Cullen thinks I’m halfway decent.
The security guard manning the far elevator, sectioned off with a velvet rope, gives me an up-and-down look, which really doesn’t help with my self-esteem.
“Hi, I’m headed to the rooftop.”
“ID.”
“Right, right.”
I pull my wallet from my bag and hand him my license, which he checks briefly before handing it back. He doesn’t say anything else until the elevator opens and he removes the velvet rope for me to enter.
“Enjoy your night.”
“Thank you.”
My nerves start to needle under my skin as I make my ascent, and when the elevator opens to the top floor, I start to feel really out of place.
The gorgeous girl manning the door gives me the same look as the security guard, her gaze sticking briefly on my sneakers before she plasters a thin smile on her face.
“Hi, do you have a reservation?”
“No, I’m meeting someone. They’re already here.”
“Mm. Okay.” She doesn’t look like she believes me. “Who?”
Yup. Knew it.
“Cullen.”
“Last name?”
Shit.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t—”
“Hey, is everything okay?” A deep voice cuts in, and my stomach does a flip, recognizing it.
Cullen stands in the doorway looking effortlessly sexy in a navy shirt and dark pants. The woman startles at his presence, but he just gives me one of his signature smiles before swooping down to plant a kiss on my cheek.
“I’m glad you could make it.”
“Me too.”
He snakes an arm around my waist and rests his hand on my hip, tugging me closer. “Come on.”
He pays the woman no attention, stealing me away and leading me through the doorway.
Two-thirds of the rooftop is enclosed but features tall floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city.
The room is lit with ambient lighting from black wrought iron chandeliers that dress the dark décor with an amber glow and a musky patchouli scent is pumped into the air.
Soft chatter comes from the packed tables, and I struggle to see a spare seat.
A large door leads to the actual rooftop, where I can spot a large number of people milling about, drinking cocktails and taking obligatory photos with the skyline behind them. A dull thumping noise hints of a DJ somewhere in the mix.
Cullen leads us to a two-top tucked away on the far side, flush with the windows. The stunning view of the city below us makes the experience feel even more lush.