Chapter 4
Alexander
“ T his has to be the worst idea ever,” I mutter under my breath as I step out of the car, adjusting my tie.
The venue screams old money with Renaissance paintings and marble busts watching from every corner like silent judges.
Massive crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, casting prismatic light across the polished floor.
Despite the museum atmosphere, the hall buzzes with life.
Circular tables dot the space, each crowned with towering roses and lilies that perfume the air.
Cameron drags me through the entrance, and I squint against the glare bouncing off crystal and silverware. My lips curl into a practiced smile while my shoulders stiffen, bracing for the onslaught of expensive cologne and meaningless small talk.
This is my personal hell. Give me a dingy office space over a flashy gala any day.
I fidget with my bow tie, resisting the urge to loosen the tight knot around my neck.
Cameron nudges me in the ribs. “Stop looking like you’re about to face a firing squad,” he says and nods at someone across the room. “Relax. You’re here to mingle, not negotiate a hostile takeover.”
“Mingling is a hostile takeover.” I scan the room. Everywhere I look, there are clusters of people laughing, clinking glasses, and exchanging superficial pleasantries. “This is torture.”
“It’s called socializing,” Cameron corrects, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and shoving one into my hand. “And it’s good for you. Now, go make yourself useful.”
I glare at him, but my hand closes around the glass anyway. “Useful how?”
“By talking to people. Preferably someone who isn’t counting down the minutes until they can escape. Like her.”
I follow his gaze and freeze.
Ethereal is the first word that comes to mind when I lay eyes on her. Her movements are light, almost floating, and her blonde hair catches the light as she tilts her head to examine the statue in front of her. The red dress she’s wearing is striking, clinging to her curves in all the right places.
There’s a man beside her, trying so hard to capture her attention, but she barely seems to notice him. He leans in, grazing her arm. After a few more attempts at conversation, the man gives up and walks away, leaving her alone.
“Who is she?” My voice is low, almost hoarse.
He smirks. “Not a curvy brunette, huh? Well, you can go up to her and find out. But first, come say hello to Cassandra. You haven’t seen her since you left for college, right?”
It takes effort to look away, but I fall in behind him as he threads through the crowd toward a familiar figure. Cassandra stands near a grand piano, laughing at something the man beside her has just said. The moment she spots Cameron, her face lights up.
“Cameron!” she exclaims, stepping forward to hug him.
Then her eyes land on me. Her smile falters, and she glances over my shoulder, scanning the room.
I stiffen, wondering what she’s looking for.
After a beat, she shakes it off, her features softening into a charming smile.
“Alexander Hawthorne. What a rare sighting. I was beginning to think you’d become an urban legend. ”
“Just buried in work,” I reply with a half-smile. “You know how it is.”
“Oh, I do,” she says, studying me. “I’m guessing Cameron had to employ actual blackmail to get you here tonight.” Her tone is teasing but with an edge I can’t quite place.
I shoot Cameron a look that could curdle milk. He responds with an unrepentant grin. “Someone has to remind him there’s life outside spreadsheets.”
Cassandra’s laugh rings out, turning heads throughout the room.
“Well, thank you for your service, Cameron. Though you should have completed your mission by bringing Lauren too. The Hawthorne siblings, emerging from hibernation together—now that would have been something.” She taps her champagne glass against mine.
“But perhaps it’s merciful to introduce just one Hawthorne at a time.
I’m not sure this crowd could handle the full effect. ”
My sister Lauren is in her final year of acting school, and she’s been too busy with her auditions and rehearsals to attend events like this. I don’t blame her, I’d rather be elsewhere, too. But duty calls, and the Hawthorne name demands its due.
As Cassandra and Cameron exchange a few more pleasantries, my gaze drifts back to the woman in the red dress. She’s still standing by the statue, her attention now on a painting hanging nearby.
I’m drawn to her. It’s not rational. It’s a gravitational pull, insistent and impossible to ignore. The air is charged, as if the entire gallery has narrowed to a single point: her.
“Excuse me,” I mutter, barely aware of the words leaving my mouth. I step away from Cameron and Cassandra. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation I haven’t felt in years.
When I’m finally within arm’s reach, I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to approach her. The woman is so engrossed in the painting that she doesn’t notice me at first. Her eyes are dark, flecked with gold, and her mouth is set in a thoughtful line as she considers the painting.
I find my voice. “Fascinating piece, isn’t it?”
She turns, and when those golden-flecked eyes meet mine, I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. There’s intelligence in her gaze, a sharpness that tells me she’s assessing me just as thoroughly as I’m drinking her in.
“It is,” she says, her voice low and melodic, with the faintest rasp at the edges. “Though I suspect most people here are more interested in being seen than actually seeing.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Guilty as charged. I’m definitely more interested in seeing you.”
Jesus.
I’m never this forward.
It’s as if my brain has short-circuited, leaving my mouth operating independently from my common sense. I want to close my eyes and cringe with embarrassment, but I can’t take my eyes away from the goddess in front of me.
A faint blush colors her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away. “That’s quite a line, Mr...?”
“Call me Alex,” I say, taking her hand before I can second-guess myself.
“Straight to names, huh?” Her eyes sparkle with amusement as she shakes my hand, her grip firm and confident.
I’m momentarily lost for words, captivated by the warmth of her touch and the intensity of her gaze. There’s a small beauty mark just above her left eyebrow, adding a touch of asymmetry to her otherwise flawless features. “I find formalities tend to get in the way of actual conversation.”
“Lucky me, then.” She lets her hand fall away, her fingertips trailing against my palm. “I’m Olivia.”
“Olivia,” I repeat, testing how it sounds. It suits her perfectly—elegant, timeless, with just enough edge to be intriguing.
She smiles, the corners of her mouth curving upward.
This evening may not be a total loss after all.