Chapter 11
MINJI
“Can you stop pacing back and forth? You’re giving me a headache,” Demi rasps through the phone.
“If I could leave and come get you, I would, but you see me? I’m putting on the finishing touches.
” She points to the floral arrangement behind her.
“You look fine, Minji. The dress looks fantastic on you. ?? ??? (Your body is tea).”
I turn to look at the phone. “Someone’s Korean is getting better.” I smile, genuinely happy with her pronunciation.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. What time did Aaron say he was picking you up again?”
“He said seven-thirty,” I reply, checking my reflection for what feels like the hundredth time. “Maybe this is too much. Maybe I should change into something less eye-catching.” I haven’t worn a dress without stockings in a long time.
“Don’t you dare!” Demi’s voice rises sharply through the speaker.
“I swear, Minji Lee, if you put on one of your lawyer suits, I will leave this venue immediately and drag you back here with that dress on. Hell, if you need me to hype you up, then…that dress is gorgeous on you, and if you don’t wear it tonight, you’ll regret it.
The boobs are sitting pretty, your ass looks amazing, and if Aaron doesn’t think about eating that kitty when he sees you in that dress, then he is fucking blind,” Demi finishes with a dramatic flourish.
“Demi! Why are you like this? This isn’t a date, remember?”
“Because I’m Demetria, your fave bestie and only bestie, Lawrence.
And sure, Babes, keep telling yourself that it’s not a date.
” She adjusts something in the floral arrangement behind her, causing the camera to shake slightly.
“Besides, you’ve already done your makeup to match the dress.
Changing now would be a crime against beauty.
” She points out from over her shoulder.
She has a point. I’ve spent an ungodly amount of time on my appearance tonight. Soft pink eyeshadow that makes my dark eyes look soft and alluring, a swipe of rose-gold highlighter across my cheekbones, and lips painted the exact shade of my dress.
“What if I’m over or underdressed?” I ask, voicing the fear that’s been gnawing at me. “What if everyone else is in jeans and t-shirts with superhero logos?”
Demi rolls her eyes so dramatically, I can practically hear it. “It’s at The Beaufort, Mimi. Nobody shows up to The Beaufort in a damn Batman T-shirt. And all the people I see walking by are dressed to impress. Once again, this isn’t fucking Comic-Con.”
My doorbell rings, sending my heart into my throat. I can feel my body heating up, and my palms start sweating.
“It’s him,” I whisper, suddenly feeling like I might throw up. “He’s early.”
“Early is good! It means he’s eager.” Demi’s grin is knowing. “Now get the door and knock him dead. Call me later with all the juicy details!”
“There won’t be any—”
“Bye, Mimi!” She ends the call before I can finish protesting.
I take one final look in the mirror, smoothing the silky fabric of my dress over my hips. I grab my clutch, slip on my heels, and make my way to the door, taking deep breaths with each step.
When I open the door, Aaron is standing there in a perfectly tailored navy suit, white shirt open at the collar, no tie.
The casual elegance of it makes my mouth go dry.
His eyes widen slightly as they travel from my face down to my heels and back up again, lingering just a second too long on the places where the dress hugs my curves.
“Wow.” Did I just make Aaron speechless? “You look… incredible.”
I fight the urge to fidget under his gaze. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“I try.” That dimpled smile does unfair things to my lady parts. “These are for you.” He extends his hand, revealing a small bouquet of peonies and ranunculus in soft pinks and whites.
“O-oh. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” he replies, his voice warm. “May I come in while you put them in water?”
I step aside, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of my apartment. It’s immaculate, of course—I’m not one for clutter—but it feels strangely intimate having him in my personal space.
“Nice place,” he comments as I lead him to the kitchen. “Very you.”
“Is that a compliment or an observation?” I probe, finding a crystal vase in one of my cabinets.
“Definitely a compliment,” he replies, leaning against my kitchen counter. “Clean lines, elegant but not fussy, and unexpectedly warm.”
I arrange the flowers in the vase, grateful for something to do with my hands. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”
“Like their recipient,” he flirts and I roll my eyes despite the flutter in my chest.
“That was cheesy, even for a romance writer.”
He laughs, a deep, genuine sound that fills my kitchen. “I save my best material for my books. Ready to go?”
I grab my clutch from the counter. “Let’s do this.”
In the elevator, Aaron’s gaze flickers to me in the mirrored wall.
Once, twice, a third time. The air crackles between us, shrinking the already confined space.
I stand precisely eighteen inches away, studying our reflections in the polished doors.
We complement each other perfectly, his navy against my blush pink.
Our eyes lock in the mirror. “Something wrong?” I ask.
One corner of his mouth curves upward. “Quite the opposite.”
I shift my attention to the illuminated floor numbers above. “Your subtlety needs work,” I murmur, fighting a smile as his reflection reveals that crooked grin with the single dimple.
The rest of our descent passes wordlessly, the silence humming with possibility.
Outside, a black town car waits. Aaron guides me with a hand at the small of my back. I suppress a shiver as I slide into the leather seat. He follows, and as Manhattan traffic swallows us, he turns. “Nervous?”
“Of course not,” I lie. “It’s just a party.”
“It’s okay to admit you’re out of your comfort zone.”
“Fine. I’m a little nervous. Comic books aren’t exactly my area of expertise.” I smooth an imaginary wrinkle from my dress.
“You don’t need expertise to enjoy yourself. Just be open to the experience.”
The car weaves through traffic, the city’s lights painting streaks across the windows. I find myself studying Aaron’s profile when he’s looking away. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinks. The man is handsome.
“You’re staring,” he says without turning his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Just returning the favor,” I reply, not bothering to deny it. Something about tonight feels different, like we’ve stepped outside our usual roles into a space where different rules apply. “So, tell me about Axel.”
Aaron’s expression softens with affection. “Axel is an enigma to say the least, and he is my older brother from Horizon House.”
“Horizon House?”
“The orphanage we grew up in,” he explains.
“Oh.” I nod. “You don’t need to go into further detail. I remember I told you our personal lives are off limits.”
“Unlike you, I don’t mind sharing.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to share after you—”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
As we glide through Manhattan traffic, Aaron’s voice fills the space between us, painting pictures of his childhood with Grayson and Axel.
His eyes soften when he mentions their names, his hands animated as he describes their escapades.
When he casually mentions being chased by a neighbor’s Rottweiler, he visibly tenses, fingers curling slightly into his palm.
Later, he drops it so casually—‘after my engagement ended’—then glances at me sideways, waiting for the question I refuse to ask.
I keep my expression neutral, nodding at appropriate intervals while maintaining the careful distance between our bodies on the leather seat.
I’ve spent years building walls around client confidentiality.
These personal revelations of his are just another type of information to file away and never access again.
When we arrived at The Beaufort Hotel, I’m taken aback by how over the top this launch would be. Why are there so many photographers out front?
“I didn’t know launch parties are this extravagant,” I murmur, still looking out the window.
“Usually, Axel keeps it lowkey, but his new event planner is really over the top.”
“I’ll say.” I look back at him.
“You don’t mind taking any pictures, do you?”
“As long as these pictures don’t circulate in any magazines, I guess we can take a few photos.”
“Just a few photos to commemorate the occasion.” Aaron assures me with a smile that somehow makes me believe him. “Nothing that will end up in the society pages.”
The car pulls to a stop at the curb, and I take a deep breath as the driver opens the door. Aaron slides out first, then extends his hand to help me. I hesitate for just a second before taking it, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine.
The moment my heels hit the pavement, I’m overwhelmed by the sensory assault. Camera flashes pop like miniature lightning strikes, the buzz of conversation, the imposing facade of The Beaufort rising above us. I instinctively move closer to Aaron, my shoulder brushing against his arm.
“You, okay?” he asks softly, his breath warm against my ear.
“Fine.”
Aaron offers his arm, and I take it, partly for stability in these heels and partly because it feels right.
The cameras flash as we make our way toward the entrance, and I’m suddenly grateful for all the time I spent on my appearance tonight.
His hand covers mine where it rests in the crook of his elbow, his thumb brushing lightly across my back.
“You’re a natural,” he whispers, his lips close to my ear as we pose briefly. The warmth of his breath sends yet another shiver down my spine.
“Years of appearing composed in front of hostile opposing counsel,” I reply, maintaining my smile for the photographers. “Though I’m seriously reconsidering putting on these heels tonight.”