Chapter 10
Ellie
Sweet Jesus, those men know how to make an entrance. I’m in the lobby of the hotel when they arrive. They get out of their vast stretch limo with such athletic grace you can tell they’ve been doing it their whole lives. Or maybe rich kids get lessons in things like that.
Elijah comes out first, accompanied by his dad, Dalton James.
Even in his seventies, Dalton’s rocking full-on silver fox, with the same gray eyes as his oldest son.
I haven’t met the next two in person, but I recognize them right away.
Nathan emerges with his gorgeous wife Mel, then Drake with his, Amelia.
I know from some pictures Mason shared that Amelia recently had a baby, and that Drake handles her with such care it almost makes me cry.
What must it feel like to have a man so tender, and yes, so completely hot, look at you like that?
He gazes at her like she’s the most beautiful woman in the entire world. Which means she is.
Then he climbs out of the car, and I let out a little squeaking noise as I watch him join his family.
The brothers group together, and paparazzi flashes go off as they smile with practiced ease.
Holy crap, he looks amazing. Wearing a tux, like the rest of them, but somehow different—maybe vintage—although it looks custom-made, perfectly molded to the contours of his body, the black material stretched taut around his tree-trunk thighs, yet still fitted on his waist. Vintage or not, it looks so good on him that my eyes almost fall out of my head.
No man has a right to look that hot. He’s so hot he could be single-handedly responsible for global warming.
Tall, broad, brawny, but still moving with such grace. Like a huge jungle animal, prowling and hunting and…shit. Get hold of yourself, Ellie. I’ve read way too many romantasy novels this year.
Maddox is a man. Just a normal human man, not a shapeshifter or a character from a book.
He is not my romantic lead, and I most definitely do not give off main character energy.
At least not to him. He made that clear years ago, and I need to remember that when I find myself wondering what it would be like to touch him.
To lose myself in those eyes any time I wanted.
I scoot back into the main room where the event is taking place.
There’s a dinner, some entertainment, and a charity auction.
Looking around at the rest of the clientele, I’m guessing I won’t be in the right league to buy anything.
But that’s okay—this is a fundraiser for Amber’s Intrepid Young Voices Foundation.
I researched it before I came, and it does amazing work.
It gives bright and talented kids from difficult backgrounds the chance to shine with funding, mentoring, and education.
Nobody would know it to look at me now—at least I hope not—but I came from a difficult background myself.
I know how much it means to have someone believe in you when you’ve almost given up on yourself.
When the world, and the people who are supposed to love and protect you, tell you that you’re worthless.
Sometimes, all it takes is for one person to really see you.
So while I won’t be paying fifty grand for the signed Yankees hat being auctioned off, no matter how much I wish I was, I will make a donation to this fantastic cause.
I scan around for the table where the Jamestech squad is sitting.
Nobody else is at their seat yet. This seems to be the part of the event that’s for milling around, socializing, comparing outfits and sharing in gossip.
I glance at my phone. There’s actually an hour until dinner.
My tummy rumbles at the thought, and I’m glad I stuffed a granola bar in my purse before I left.
Maybe I can sneak off and give my body some fuel to work with.
I’m tense, for all kinds of reasons. I’ve had a busy day at work, I’m feeling a little nervous about my fancy dress, and…Maddox is here. Enough said.
I grab my purse and make my way through the crowds.
I say ‘excuse me’ maybe a hundred times, each instance feeling more awkward.
This is one of the things about being a larger person in a world that does not always seem right for you—I always feel self-conscious when I have to squeeze past chairs and slide between backs, half-worried I’m going to spectacularly knock a bottle of expensive wine off a table with my ass.
I finally reach the exit, and see a sign that says ‘Secret Garden.’ Well, it can’t be that secret if there’s a sign pointing towards it, but it’ll probably do just fine. Maybe it’s for smokers, or nervous girls who need five minutes alone with a granola bar.
I’m strolling in its direction, my heels clacking on the marble floor, when I see him.
He’s split off from his brothers and chatting to one of the wait staff.
The guy is laughing with his full chest, and I remember that about Maddox.
The way he talked to the people who worked at the restaurant in Morocco, taking a genuine interest in their lives.
Asking about their recipes. Not just being a stereotypical traveler douchebag.
He was charming, but it felt real. Authentic.
I gulp, clutching my purse like it’s a shield.
Charming, right up until the point he shattered my self-confidence.
I need to get out of here. I’m too hot. The dress is too tight.
Maddox is too everything. I glance at the exit, planning to make a dash, but it’s too late.
As if he sensed me watching him, Maddox looks up.
Our eyes meet over the crowd, and I simply cannot move.
I feel like prey as he pins me down with his dark gaze. Fuckbuckets! He’s coming over.
Maddox crosses the room in just a few giant strides. Unlike me, apologizing my way through the crowd, it just seems to effortlessly part for him.
Is he actually heading toward me? Maybe I’m imagining it and the men’s room is right behind me.
No. He’s here. Right in front of me. His eyes run over my body, and when they settle on mine, it feels like they light up. Which can’t be true. Even after we reconnected, he’s only ever been polite, treating me like a friendly employee of his family’s empire.
Close up, he looks even better. That tux is definitely vintage, and even that puts a dent in the way I want to feel about him. He has all the money in the world, but he’s made a sustainable choice with his outfit. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
“Ellie,” he says, standing close. “Wow. That dress is stunning on you.”
Is he kidding…or does he actually mean that? I’ll either be thanking Katy for pushing me out of my comfort zone or strangling her for making me believe I could pull this off.
“Oh, this old thing?” I mumble. “It’s just something I threw on.”
After hours of shopping, deliberating, and eventually clamping my eyes shut as I handed over my credit card. “But thanks,” I add.
He’s too close. I can’t breathe. His gaze rakes over me. Not in a Leery Larry way, but the kind of way that makes butterflies take flight in the pit of my stomach. “You look beautiful. Really fucking beautiful.”
I glance up. Is he mocking me? He’s laying it on too thick. I roll my eyes, even though I didn’t mean to. Shit. That was rude. I hope he doesn’t notice.
“What’s with the eye roll?” he asks immediately.
Dammit. “I’m sorry if my compliment made you feel uncomfortable.
It wasn’t intended to, I swear. Although…
” He tilts his head, scrutinizing me a little too closely for my comfort.
I feel like he can read my mind, and I don’t want him in there poking around in all my jumbled up thoughts about him.
“I don’t think it was the compliment. So what’s really behind the sassy attitude, Ellie? ”
Sassy attitude? Is he for real? He hasn’t even seen sass from me. Now I don’t care that he’s my boss’s little brother and feel very annoyed that he’s here, in my face yet again.
Okay, so part of me wanted to see him, but that part of me is stupid, and it needs to take a hike.
This man isn’t good for me. He’s never been good for me.
Him rolling up looking like a stud-muffin good enough to eat is bad.
But then he patronizes me by telling me I’m beautiful, and accuses me of giving him sass when I don’t simper and fall at his feet?
Maybe I was wrong and he’s another one of those assholes who expect the curvy girl to be grateful for his attention.
If so, he’s going to be very disappointed.
I realize I’ve been slouching, trying to make myself smaller.
I stand up tall. Shoulders back, tits out, chin up.
“You obviously never thought I was beautiful when we met back in Morocco,” I say.
I was aiming for cool and dismissive, but I actually sound snarky.
Which kind of proves his point about the sass.
I don’t think I’m going to win here, so it’s time to make a sharp exit.
I turn to leave, following the sign for the not-so-secret garden, because I have to get away from him before I say or do something I regret.
I can’t bear fakeness, and I hate the way he always acts so nice around me.
He always makes so much effort, and it’s exhausting when we both know the truth.
Why does he act as though he likes me when we both know I’m not his type at all?
I’ve always believed in that old adage, when people show you who they are, believe them.
And he showed me his true self in Marrakech.
Sure, he seems kind and sweet, but that’s just part of his charming persona.
I’m pretty sure he can’t help it and was probably just born that way. But it’s all so goddamn unnecessary.