9. Macey #2
After collapsing onto the king-size bed and avoiding a complete breakdown by the narrowest of margins, I got ready for the welcome ceremony in the bathroom.
Besides the dress, I only had spare mascara and red lipstick in my carry-on bag.
My hair was still messy from the plane ride, so I attempted to finger-comb it, only to give up and pin it to the back of my head.
There was no dress code for the welcome ceremony, but panic had already settled in. What if it was secretly a black-tie event? What if everyone showed up in Louboutins and all I had was two-year-old kitten heels?
“Well,” I muttered, giving my reflection one last doubtful glance. “Good thing they invited me for my pretty words and not my wardrobe.”
I turned to leave the suite, but Noah’s hand closed over mine, gently tugging me back.
When I glanced at him, his gaze was already trailing down to where our fingers intertwined.
Before, when I’d asked for his opinion, I’d barely noticed his eyes on me, too focused on the uncomfortable dress riding up my thighs, but now, his eyes moved upward, pausing for a heartbeat too long on the neckline of the dress.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and for a moment, something dark and smoldering flickered in his expression—desire, unmistakable and raw.
“Your words are pretty,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “but you’re even prettier.” It wasn’t a compliment; it was a fact, delivered with absolute certainty.
Then, like he’d realized he was holding fire, he dropped my hand, the absence of his touch sharper than I expected. His fingers brushed the door handle, but not before he added with a small, almost-gruff smile, “Red suits you.”
I hoped he meant it because that same shade of red flamed my cheeks all the way down to the welcome ceremony.
The ceremony was held in the ballroom. Soft, live music set the tone, with a quartet playing classics. Resort staff welcomed guests with warm smiles and fresh flower bracelets. Elegantly branded gift bags handed to us contained press releases, photos, and small gourmet treats.
Thick white drapes, chic furniture, and floral arrangements decorated the ballroom. String lights added a warm glow as the event extended into the evening. Stations were set up along the walls with samples of the resort’s culinary offerings, from seafood to sandwiches.
There had to be around a hundred people here. Everyone bustled around, glasses of champagne in their hands, greeting each other with hugs and smiles.
“I’ll be right back,” Noah whispered. I didn’t expect him to return, sure he’d find a familiar group of people to hang out with for the night .
I took one deep breath and reminded myself who I was.
It didn’t matter if I was considered the most unimportant person here or not.
I’d attended events like this alone countless times.
The trick was to find someone, or a small group, who also looked like they didn’t know many people.
Introduce yourself, tell a few jokes, then invite others to join in the fun.
Soon enough, you had a group of like-minded individuals to hang out with all evening.
A duo of girls in the corner caught my eye. They looked nice and easy to chat with. I inserted myself into their conversation, introducing myself with a handshake. They were warm and receptive. Two bloggers from Florida who focused on luxury travel.
“That’s so cool,” I said after they told me about their blogs. “How does it feel to live the dream life?”
The taller of the two laughed. “It comes with its own set of challenges, but it’s really rewarding.”
“So much better than working for someone else,” the other girl added.
For a second, I toyed with the idea of working for myself. To not have to wake up miserable at the thought of going into the office and seeing what mood Victoria was in that day.
It wasn’t realistic for me, though.
“What’s your writing process like?” I asked, then listened as they dived into the details of schedules, daily word count goals, and editing tips.
Some of it sounded familiar, but I mentally took notes on the rest. How they organized their trips, the nerves that came with pitching brands instead of being assigned a topic. I admired their passion.
“Everything okay here?” Noah wrapped an arm around my shoulder, tucking me into his side. He turned his face down toward mine. “For you. ”
He held out a champagne glass.
Even though he was my fake boyfriend now, he forgot this important fact about me. Good thing there wasn’t much of an audience here to witness this blunder. “I don’t drink?—”
“It’s sparkling grape juice.”
Oh.
“Thank you.” I accepted the glass and took a small sip. Bubbly and sweet. “Where did you get this?”
The waiters around the ballroom only carried trays of champagne, and the tables in the room only contained food. I would know, as the tiny brownies in the corner were calling my name.
“Bartender,” Noah said dismissively, then addressed the two bloggers. “Hi, I’m Noah. Macey’s boyfriend.”
Immediately the two girls fawned over us, saying how we were such a cute power couple. The compliments reddened my cheeks—I really hoped my luggage with foundation appeared tomorrow—and I leaned further into Noah’s side. How was he always so warm?
The three of us chatted for a few minutes, and they invited us to Florida sometime. Nice gesture, but I’d probably never see Noah after this weekend, let alone travel to Florida with him.
“Oh, look, it’s our best friend Jennifer.” Noah pulled me toward the public relations team, who each had giant smiles on their faces.
The rest of the night blurred into a mix of lively conversations and sampling everything from quesillos to pastries that looked too fancy to actually enjoy. I was pleasantly surprised by how warm and welcoming everyone was. But Noah? Noah was a different kind of magnetic.
He moved through the room with an effortless confidence as if he owned the space. Every person he passed lit up, eager to share a laugh or pose for a photo. He greeted everyone like they were old friends, making each interaction feel personal and genuine.
I could tell people were excited to chat with him, not just because of who he was, but because of how easily he made them feel seen. He made being around him feel like a privilege—no wonder everyone was clamoring for a selfie or a spot in his next Story.
I felt a sudden pang of thirst as my glass emptied, and after mentally adding sparkling grape juice to my grocery list, I excused myself from Noah’s side and the lively group of influencers we were chatting with.
At the bar, I flagged down the bartender’s attention. “Could I have another sparkling grape juice, please?”
“We don’t serve that here.” The bartender glanced at my glass and then back at me. “But we have champagne, soda products, and water.”
“Really? Then how…” I frowned as my hands played with the damp napkin under the glass. “Never mind. Thank you.”
They didn’t serve sparkling grape juice here.
Yet I just had a glass of one.
Noah had said…
Leaning against the edge of the bar, I let out a small laugh, the realization hitting me. Noah must have purchased it from the on-site convenience store.
He picked up on my amusement as soon as I returned to the group. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Let’s go try the brownies.”