Chapter 17
ARDEN
“You clean up nicely… for a thief,” Locke’s voice drifts in from the bathroom doorway, smooth and dangerous and threaded with amusement.
I glance over my shoulder to find him leaning there, just watching me. The smile on his face isn’t one I’ve seen there before, like he knows something I don’t, and it makes my pulse quicken in ways I wish it wouldn’t.
What am I saying? Of course he knows something. He knows exactly what we’re about to walk into. I’ve never met a celebrity in my life, and tonight I’ll be surrounded by them. Exciting, but intimidating.
I take a deep breath. I’ve been in plenty of rooms I didn’t belong in, and I’ve owned every single one of them. Wit, posture, the art of listening. I know the drill.
I don’t wait for anyone to let me in. I wait to find the cracks in their confidence that I can use to my advantage. Being an outsider isn’t a weakness; it’s my superpower.
I finish my makeup, slide on the pair of pointed black stilettos Locke bought me, and give myself one last look in the mirror.
Wine-colored silk hugs my curves, with a halter neckline that plunges deep, meeting a fitted waist, and leaving my back exposed. The fabric pools behind me in soft drapes. It looks elegant… until I move.
Then the twin slits up both thighs flash skin with every step, leaving little to be imagined. It has a classy sexiness, and I’m hoping it’s tempting enough to catch the eye of a certain actor.
I stride toward the doorway where Locke still leans, blocking the exit. “You’re just jealous that I look better than you. Don’t worry, I won’t steal the spotlight too much.”
Locke lets out a bark of a laugh. “Let’s hope you don’t cause too much of a stir.” His eyes sweep down my body and back up again as he says it, heat in every inch of his gaze.
I grin up at him. “Looks like it might be too late.”
I follow him out the door where a blacked-out SUV is already waiting for us. The windows are so dark there’s absolutely no chance of anyone seeing us inside. I didn’t know Locke had a driver, but I step inside and settle into the black leather seats, nonetheless.
We’re mostly quiet in the car. My mind is too busy racing. It’s like too many tabs are open in my brain. Thoughts keep swirling and crashing into each other until I can barely remember who I am or why I ever agreed to this.
We finally catch a glimpse of the venue ahead: an extravagant outdoor garden sprawling around a glittering reception hall.
A swarm of photographers out front crowds a small red carpet, cameras firing like machine guns. Even from here, the flashes are blinding. My eyes fly to Locke’s. He’s calm and steady, like this is just another Friday night.
He must catch the look of dread on my face because he whispers, “I thought you were ready to steal the spotlight.”
But the focused look that follows tells me he already has a backup plan. He leans forward and mutters something to the driver. The car keeps rolling, bypassing the chaos.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from asking where the hell we’re going. This doesn’t feel like the moment for questions.
The driver takes us around the block, to the opposite side of the garden. Locke murmurs that someone will open a service door and, sure enough, we hop out of the car and slip into the reception hall unseen.
Relief washes over me as soon as we’re inside. He notices, guiding me forward with a hand at the small of my back. The gesture is protective, not romantic, but I still feel a spark where his skin grazes mine.
The reception hall is mostly empty. Tables are still being set, and a lone microphone waits on stage. Soon there will be speeches and champagne toasts, but for now, we move quickly, blending with the trickle of service workers.
The sight before me and the sweet perfume of flowers steal my breath when we exit the building and step into the garden. Winding pathways are lined with flowers in varying shades of pink, purple, and blue.
String lights hang between the trees scattered over the grounds, and sitting areas consisting of vintage couches and coffee tables holding appetizers are placed in small grassy nooks. It’s breathtaking and not at all what I expected.
I’d expected something flashy, loud, and overstimulating. Not this serene and low-key vibe. I’d also expected crowds, but we’re early, and only a few other guests hover near the bar.
Locke orders us a round of drinks, and by the time he returns to the small coffee table flanked by two surprisingly comfortable chairs I’ve chosen, the crowd has swelled.
Celebrities flood in from the red-carpet entrance we managed to avoid. Actors, models, musicians. Some I recognize; some I don’t. No one noteworthy, at least not to me.
Then, I feel it. There’s a shift in the air, like all the oxygen is being sucked out of the room. And I see her step in: Sienna Vale.
The face of beauty. An untouchable goddess. The woman every girl wants to be. Her image has covered magazines, perfume campaigns, and lingerie ads for as long as I can remember.
Yet here she is, glittering in champagne sequins with a blush-pink faux fur shrug slung low around her shoulders. A walking disco ball who looks perfectly at home, thriving in this space. I try to rip my gaze away, but my eyes refuse to listen.
As she settles in at a table, her eyes sweep the crowd.
She notices Locke first, and her face lights up with recognition.
When she notices me next to him, her eyes narrow in assessment, and she immediately stands again.
A venomous smile curves the corners of her mouth as she strolls in our direction.
I know that smile. It’s the same one I wear when I’ve chosen my mark. Lucky us.
Locke seems to have noticed, too, because he’s gone completely still. I’ve never seen him like this. Not speaking, not smirking, not even pretending at control. If he’s still breathing, I can’t tell.
The man who commands every room he walks into is frozen solid. There must be a history here, and whatever happened between them is clearly something even I can’t comprehend. I brace myself as she closes the distance.
“Locke!” she croons, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that looks staged for cameras that aren’t even here. Clearly, this is her performance, and we’re just the supporting actors.
“Sienna,” Locke mutters in a tone full of grit and disdain. Letting her and me both know exactly how he feels about seeing her tonight.
She ignores it, taking a step back to brush away a strand of hair that has fallen in front of his face. “It’s been so long; you look even more handsome than the last time I saw you.” Her gaze snaps to me as she says it. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, but keep my mouth shut.
Locke backs away to escape her grip. His lips twitch, and a spark of amusement glints in his eyes as he pulls me in closer. “This is Arden. My date.”
I slide my arms around him and flash her a wicked smile. “Nice to meet you, Sienna. I’m a huge fan.”
A look of surprise that quickly turns into irritation takes over her expression, but she recovers fast, bypassing me and turning that smile back on Locke. “I didn’t realize you were bringing company.”
“Funny,” he shoots back, “I didn’t realize you were still relevant enough to be here.”
Sienna’s eyes narrow, just a fraction. “Careful, Locke,” she murmurs. “We both know how messy things can get when we argue.”
I lean in closer to his chest, and his arm comes around me without hesitation. Sienna’s smile tightens in a way that lets me know she isn’t a fan.
The tension hangs between us, her eyes daring me to look away first. I won’t. I’ve had too many run-ins with real-life monsters to let a washed-up mean girl have the upper hand.
Instead, I shift my hold on Locke so that we face each other. I reach up, my fingers tracing the exact line of his temple where her hand just was.
I don’t just touch him; I purposely hook my finger under that same strand of hair she just tucked away and pull it back down. I watch it fall across his forehead, messy and effortless, exactly the way he usually wears it.
Those golden whiskey eyes meet mine, and his breath hitches, a low, rough sound that has nothing to do with the woman standing two feet away. I keep my hand there, my thumb tracing the edge of his cheekbone as I finally turn my head to look at her.
“I don’t know,” I say, my voice dripping with feigned innocence as I admire my work. “I think he looks much better when he isn’t so polished. It’s a bit more authentic, don’t you think, Sienna?”
The silence that follows is deafening. Sienna’s face goes from pale and flawless to blotchy, insulted red. She looks like she wants to reach out and strangle me. Locke’s hand settles firmly on my waist, pulling me flush against his side, claiming me without saying a word.
Sienna scoffs, and her nostrils flare. A sharp intake of breath is the only thing keeping her from making a scene. Without another word, her heels echo a sharp clicking sound against the walkway as she retreats into the crowd.
I wait until she’s out of earshot before I finally let go of him, though I don’t move out of his space. His expression is full of shock, a dark sort of amusement, and something else… something raw, almost primal.
“So…” I murmur, “you dated Sienna Vale?” My heart hammers in my chest from the rush of watching her perfect mask crumble, and the heat of his hand still resting comfortably on my waist.
His jaw flexes, disgust dripping from his voice as he says, “Honestly? It’s something I try to forget.”
I’m still perplexed, but grinning when movement near the entrance catches my eye, and everything inside me goes still. A man just walked in fashionably late.
He’s taller than I expected, maybe six-foot-two, with a perfect tan and Hollywood smile that probably cost more than my car.
He pretends not to notice that all eyes are on him as he adjusts his pristine navy suit jacket and runs a hand over his slicked-back blonde hair.
But it’s the eyes that get me. They’re bored, predatory, scanning the crowd like everyone here is beneath him, no matter who they are.
“Well, well,” I breathe as Locke straightens beside me. “It’s him.”
He nods once. “I know he looks harmless, all charm and practiced smiles, but don’t underestimate him.”
“I won’t.” I down what’s left in my glass, setting it on a nearby table as I step toward the crowd. “But he’s about to underestimate me.”