Chapter 3 #2
I've lost my mind. But I still couldn't bear to take it off immediately.
I buried my face in the collar once more, inhaled deeply one last time, then forced myself to get up.
By the time I fully came to my senses, my heart was pounding painfully, my face and neck burning hot, even my fingertips trembling.
I looked down at the shirt on my body, feeling like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head.
God. What did I just do? I frantically pulled off the shirt, trying to fold it back the way it was, but it was already wrinkled, the collar creased with fine lines. I stood by the bed, wanting to evaporate on the spot.
"I'm screwed. Really screwed."
But screwed or not, I had to fix this. I could only smooth the shirt bit by bit, trying to lay it back at the foot of the bed in its original position, checking for any other traces. I straightened the sheets, nothing by the mirror, nothing dropped on the floor.
I put my own clothes back on, smoothed my hair, took three deep breaths, grabbed the suit, and headed out. When I reached the entryway, Cassius was sprawled on the rug, licking its paw. It looked up at me, that expression making me inexplicably guilty.
"Don't tell." I pointed at it, lowering my voice. "If you don't rat me out, I'll bring you treats next time."
Cassius flicked its tail, as if mocking me. I fled out the door.
When I got to the hotel backstage, the gala hadn't officially started. Everyone was crammed into one hallway—earpiece chatter, walkie-talkie static, footsteps—the air itself felt tight.
The styling assistant saw me and rushed over immediately. "Thank God. Mr. Vitale's already here. Dressing room's that way."
I followed her and handed the suit through the door, then waited outside. Finally, the dressing room door opened. I instinctively looked over.
Matteo emerged wearing the charcoal suit I'd brought, black tie making him look even colder, more striking. The moment my eyes met his, my mind exploded with images of that white shirt.
I looked away almost immediately. But it was too late—he'd seen me. His gaze was strange, both burning and icy, completely different from usual. He handed over a folded speech card. I reached for it, and the instant my fingertips touched his knuckle, my heart nearly leapt from my throat.
"Watch George. If he raises his hand toward you, give me version two."
"Okay."
"And." He leaned closer. "After the gala, I need to brief you. You're leaving with me."
"Got it."
He turned toward the main hall. I stared at his back for a long time. My cheeks were burning again.
"Rachel, do a final check on the seating arrangement. The Ashford family added two ladies at the last minute. The right side of the main table needs reshuffling."
I took the list, about to say okay, when a hand reached over with an opened bottle of water. Luca.
I took it and immediately drank two gulps. He looked at me, frowning.
"Did you run here?"
"Pretty much."
I didn't dare elaborate, just clutched my folder tighter. His gaze lingered on my face for two seconds before he finally just told me not to wander off.
"Anyway, keep your eyes sharp. If anything happens, find me."
I nodded. Drank two more gulps before finally pushing down the panic that wouldn't subside.
Six-fifty. Guests started arriving. The hotel ballroom came alive—jewels, gowns, heels, champagne towers, clusters of laughter, camera flashes glinting under the lights.
I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching those dressed-up socialites and ladies, suddenly grateful I hadn't been assigned to any damn social duties tonight.
I was still in my daytime work outfit—dark slacks, silk blouse, sharp blazer over it, hair simply pinned up. I just wanted to finish my work. Once the final speech ended, I could go home.
The gala began. The first and second rounds passed smoothly.
The third round was the so-called singles auction.
I'd never paid much attention to it. Every year, a handful of socialites and up-and-coming golden boys would take the stage, and the winning bids would supposedly go toward children's healthcare programs.
In the most charitable interpretation, it was a creative fundraising event. In the less charitable one, it was just another excuse for rich people to entertain themselves while pretending it was for a good cause.
I stood at the side stage watching the emcee warm up the crowd, watching the first lady get called, watching bid paddles rise one after another, watching the closing price climb to six figures.
The atmosphere below was good, even enthusiastic.
But I only watched the time. In twenty minutes, I needed to remind Matteo to prepare for the final speech.
Just as I thought that, a wave of perfume drifted over. Samantha walked past me with two older ladies on her arms. She wore a silvery-white gown tonight, shoulders and neck fully exposed, diamond earrings glinting blindingly under the lights.
When she reached me, she stopped.
"You're still wearing that."
I glanced at my suit. "I'm here to work."
She looked down, as if seriously examining me, then smiled.
"Such a shame." She swirled her champagne glass lightly. "For occasions like this, you should make yourself presentable once in a while."
"I'm not interested in being seen."
She said nothing more, continuing on with the two ladies.
I stood there, a sudden chill creeping up my spine.
But someone from backstage called for me, so I could only go fetch the donation list Matteo needed to see.
The list was on the far right of the back table.
I'd just found it when applause erupted from the stage again.
"Our next participant is appearing on our list for the first time tonight."
People below called out, "Mystery guest?"
"You could say that. She's young, beautiful, smart, and has been remarkably low-key all evening."
"Come on. I can't wait."
The emcee cleared his throat and held up his card.
"Let's welcome—Rachel Kane!"
I froze completely. The list slipped from my hands and hit the floor. All the sounds around me seemed to compress into one mass in that instant—applause, whistles, lighting crew movements, someone's heels scraping the floor—all crashing into my ears.
How is this possible?