Chapter 14
MYA
“You look great, MJ,” Tiana says as I study myself in the mirror, patting down the dress she let me borrow for the evening.
The floor-length, deep emerald silk gown clings in all the right places and skims down to a slit at my thigh.
The neckline dips just enough to hint at cleavage without being over the top, and the thin straps show off my shoulders.
The fabric catches the light every time I move, making me look far more glamorous than I feel.
Tiana insisted on lending it to me, swearing it was a crime to leave it hanging in her closet.
It’s for the annual charity gala W.H.M. Construction hosts at the swanky Thompson Hotel—a fundraiser for women’s shelters across Seattle.
Every year, the event makes headlines. Paparazzi crowd the entrance, hungry for shots of celebrity guests and Seattle’s elite dressed to the nines.
Politicians, CEOs, actors, pro athletes—you name it.
It’s the kind of event that gets splashed across glossy magazine pages and gossip sites by morning.
All W.H.M. employees are invited and expected to attend, which means I’ll be rubbing elbows with people who practically invented the term “old money.”
Demi whistles low. “Damn, Mya. Forget the celebrities, you’re about to make headlines yourself.”
I giggle, taking one last look in the mirror. For half a second, a ridiculous thought slips in.
What will Mr. Miller think when he sees me like this? I can almost picture him in one of his perfectly tailored suits, handsome enough to make the air shift when he walks into a room, his eyes dragging over me the way they did that day in his office.
Heat climbs up my neck. Snap out of it, Mya.
This is the same man who’s spent weeks grunting at you like you’re an inconvenience.
The same man who cornered me in his office, pressed too close, voice rough as he warned me not to test him. My pulse stumbles when I think back to how dangerous and intoxicating it felt, how a single second of weakness could’ve tipped me over an edge I’m not sure I’d come back from.
Fantasizing about my boss is beyond stupid.
By the time we’re all finished getting ready, my bedroom looks like a tornado hit it. There are makeup brushes scattered across my vanity, bobby pins littering the floor, and three different curling irons cooling on the dresser.
Tiana and Demi insisted on coming over to my place so we could all get ready together. They’re headed out for a girls’ night on the town, while I attend the gala.
“Okay, before we go our separate ways, we’re toasting,” I announce, grabbing a bottle of cabernet and three glasses in the kitchen.
“Hell yes!” Demi cheers.
As I turn my back to them, I hear Tiana rummaging in the drawers. “Do you have a corkscrew?” Then, there’s a startled sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“What the hell are these?”
My stomach drops. I know exactly what she’s holding. I spin around and see her clutching the letters I hid away. Tiana’s wide eyes lock on mine, as if I’ve just been caught committing a crime.
Shit.
I find the corkscrew and twist it into the wine bottle, pretending like this moment is perfectly normal.
“Mya.” Her voice is panicked. “Tell me this isn’t real.”
Oh, it’s very real. I’ve been pretending those letters didn’t exist for weeks now, stacking them in drawers, telling myself I’d deal with them later.
But later kept getting pushed back.
First it was finishing my master’s thesis. Then job applications. Then starting at W.H.M. I told myself that once I landed the position, everything would even out. That I’d catch up—but I just didn’t.
Tiana opens one. “Collections?!” she all but shouts, waving the paper like a flag of shame.
Demi blinks. “Wait—what?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, humiliation prickling under my skin. “It’s not a big deal,” I lie, reaching to snatch the letter, but Tiana yanks it out of reach. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
Tiana huffs, frustration lacing her words. “You should’ve told me. You should’ve told Mom. Anyone.”
I force out a tight smile. “I don’t need rescuing, okay? I’m handling it. I’m not working at the cafe anymore. I have a real job now, remember?”
The second the words leave my mouth, I wince. Real job. Willow’s is a real job, and Tiana, Demi and I put in the hours there. My throat tightens. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
They both wave me off, though Tiana’s jaw ticks.
“Forget it,” she says. “Anyway, I thought you had a scholarship for college.”
“I did. A partial one.”
“How partial?”
“Enough to get me in, not enough to keep me afloat.” I shrug, forcing a brittle laugh. “I thought I could cover the rest, that I could keep up.”
“But you couldn’t,” Demi says gently.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
Tiana’s eyes soften, but there’s hurt there too. “You should’ve told us.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Just—don’t tell Mom. Please. I don’t want her to worry about this.”
She opens her mouth to argue, then closes it again, rubbing her forehead. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I prefer ‘stubborn,’” I say with a tentative smile. “Look, I’ll take care of it, just like I’ve been doing with my other debts.”
Her brows snap together. “Other debts?”
Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.
I shift my weight, gripping the back of a chair. “Nothing serious.”
“Mya.”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. My credit score isn’t great.”
Her eyes widen, and she throws her hands up. “Not great? Oh my God!”
“Please don’t say anything to Mom, TJ,” I beg.
She blows out an exasperated breath, crossing her arms. “Fine. Well, if you get evicted, I guess you could just move back home. We all miss having you there anyway.”
I shake my head quickly. “The last thing I want to do is move back, Tiana. I do miss you guys, but I like having my own space and independence. That would be my literal last option. No offense.”
Tiana rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
Demi pipes up, sliding into the conversation with a softer tone. “You could always come stay with me. Put your stuff in storage until you find a new place.” She rounds the island and loops an arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze. “Either way, we’ve got you, babe.”
I smile at her, warmth tugging at my chest. “Thanks. What would I do without you two?”
“Live on the street, that’s what,” Tiana deadpans.
I shove her shoulder, laughing. “Fuck off.”
We sip our wine, and Tiana and Demi start chatting animatedly about where they’re headed tonight, while my mind drifts elsewhere.
How am I going to get out of this mess?
Maybe I can ask for an advance. HR might be able to help me out. It’s worth a shot.
I set my glass down, pull up my email on my phone, and draft a message to Claire, head of HR.
I hit send and take another gulp of wine. Here’s to hoping.
An hour later, I’m in front of the Thompson Hotel. The ride only took twenty minutes, but the moment we pulled up, it felt like stepping into another world.
People are everywhere. Cameras are flashing; traffic jammed at the curb as sleek cars drop off Seattle’s elite; paparazzi swarm the front entrance, their shouts cutting through the night. The instructions in the employee packet had been clear: use the side door if you want to avoid the chaos.
Clutching my small black purse tighter, I maneuver around the crowd, hugging the edge of the hotel until I spot the discreet staff entrance.
A black town car glides up then, and Worth steps out, broad shoulders filling his perfectly tailored tuxedo. My stomach does a traitorous flip.
A woman emerges after him. Tall. Leggy. A beautiful redhead in a black sparkly gown that probably cost more than my annual rent.
Diamonds glitter around her throat, wrists, and ears, catching every camera flash.
Her manicured hand slides into the crook of Worth’s arm like it was designed to rest there.
She’s elegance personified. Gorgeous. Exactly the kind of woman who belongs on his arm.
I scoff under my breath. Another night, another beauty. Another headline waiting to happen for the blue collar playboy.
Worth Miller rotates women like he rotates luxury watches.
He and his redheaded goddess pause at the curb, immediately swallowed by the frenzy of flashing bulbs.
The cameras eat them alive. She tilts her chin, dazzling smile locked in place, while Worth stands steady beside her, jaw set, every inch the composed CEO.
He doesn’t look uncomfortable, but almost detached, like this is just another transaction.
Still, the sight of them posing together twists something in my stomach. They look perfect, fitting effortlessly into each other’s worlds. I feel like a fraud in comparison, sneaking towards the staff door in my borrowed dress.
Just as I start to move again towards the side entrance, his head turns, as if pulled by some invisible thread and his gaze lands directly on me.
My breath catches, heat racing down my spine. For one impossible second, it’s just Worth and me, locked across the crowd. His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to read me from a distance, pin me in place.
Heart hammering, I duck my head and hurry inside, pushing into the quieter hallways of the hotel. The muffled beat of music and the hum of voices guide me toward the ballroom.
Only then do I let out a breath.
I shake off the memory of Worth’s gaze on me and step deeper into the room, scanning the crowd for familiar faces from the office.
I’m about to head towards the bar when someone falls into step behind me.
“Jones.”
I turn and blink. For a second, I don’t even recognize him.
Griffin. In a tux.
The rugged, slightly scruffy architect I’m used to seeing in jeans and work boots is gone. In his place is a man in a perfectly fitted tuxedo, white shirt crisp, bowtie knotted just right. His copper hair is smoothed back, his jaw clean-shaven, and damn, he looks good, polished.
My lips tug into a smile. “Wow. You clean up nice, Hayes. I almost didn’t recognize you without sawdust on your boots.”