Chapter 16 Fifteen
Fifteen
James
Rifling through his closet, he blew a breath through his lips. He hadn’t bothered to go shopping, thinking he had plenty of suit options to choose from at home, but, God, was he wrong.
Even though he left work right after the walkthrough with Fukada, he still only had three hours until he had to leave for the gala. It wasn’t nearly enough time for him to stress.
Gem had offered to go in his place, but he shot her down. While tempting, from a humanistic standpoint, it was better for him to go himself.
His gaze bore down at the outfit options he had thrown on his bed, but the longer he stared, the more horrendous they looked. Muttering under his breath, he shoved them back in his closet.
God, he wished he had some help. But everyone he trusted enough with this was busy with work or something else.
Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he ruminated for a minute before FaceTiming Philip and Luc anyway, hoping they weren’t too busy.
After a few seconds, they answered.
Philip propped the phone against something, his fingers returning to his computer keyboard. “Hey, cabrón.”
“What’s up, mec?” Luc chimed. The camera moved with him as he walked.
James sat in defeat and explained the situation to them. Christ, there were only two-and-a-half hours left. But his stress dwindled that time down to nothing in his mind, and quick tasks like showering stretched into eternity.
“Okay, let’s make it simple,” Philip said, his attention now completely focused on the camera. “Choose three suits. You pick one of the three.”
Luc nodded. “Pip’s right. You’ve gotta limit your options.”
James frowned and left his phone on his bed as he picked options off the rack.
Why was this so hard? It should’ve been a straightforward process.
But … he cared more than he liked to admit what Sophie thought of him. He didn’t want to give her the wrong impression.
What was she even wearing?
It would be a lot easier if he knew, but she hadn’t mentioned anything in the past few days. Why hadn’t he just asked her point-blank?
He balanced his phone against the lamp on his nightstand. “Okay, here’s what I’ve got.”
Backing away from the camera, he held up a pale pink jacket he bore no memory of buying, and a stark white shirt.
"This is kind of an unconventional option, I know,” he started. “But hear me out, I think this would make me stand out in a crowd.”
That was what Marilyn wanted, right?
A smile spread Luc’s lips. “It works, but—”
“Tell me, cabrón, are you trying to kill someone?” Philip interrupted.
James scowled and put down the clothes. He grabbed the next set he’d put together, displaying the white shirt and matte black jacket.
“Better.” Philip tilted his head. “But—”
“Foutu—is that velvet?” Luc demanded. “Tell me that’s not—did I let you buy that?”
Philip typed something on his computer. “He’s going to get mugged.”
Luc got into an elevator. “I’m the one holding the gun.”
“Fine, a ‘no’ would’ve sufficed,” James grumbled. “Okay, the last one I have is just a regular suit. But are you sure I shouldn’t—”
“No, cabrón,” Philip cut in. “Look, don’t overthink. Just act like you always would.”
Luc strode down a hall. “Yeah, don’t be an idiot, and remember, you’re not actually her date. So, keep your hands to yourself.”
All James’s practiced self-control went out the window as the car Marilyn arranged rolled to a stop outside his building.
The driver took James’s overnight bag and opened the door for him, and James’s mouth ran dry.
The streetlights illuminated the dress Sophie wore, the deep green material sinuous.
He greedily drank up her frame, the extremely form-flattering dress outlining every well-defined curve.
Hands to yourself. Hands to your goddamn self.
But he couldn’t stop his eyes.
In the light, his gaze easily picked out the top quality fabric that marked it as an Oscar de la Renta. He made a mental note to ask her later how she got her hands on the dress that looked like it was made specifically for her.
Sophie met his searing gaze and smiled, crossing one leg over the other. “James.”
“Sophie,” he greeted. “You look—”
Stunning, intoxicating, breathtaking.
“—beautiful,” he settled.
Scarlet lips curved upwards. “Thank you.”
“Ah, James,” Marilyn greeted. “Good to see you. This is my husband, Tom.”
She gestured to the portly man with a receding hairline and bushy mustache beside her.
James greeted both of them before climbing into the car.
Marilyn and her husband took up the back row, leaving James no choice but to sit two seats down from Sophie.
He gritted his teeth as the material of her dress shifted to reveal silver stiletto pumps, the thin straps snaking around her ankles and mocking him.
“You cleaned up nice,” Sophie said.
He grinned and lowered his voice. “As opposed to when I’m wearing nothing at all?”
She flushed magnificently and discreetly checked behind her shoulder before knocking her ankle into his.
In the middle of a turn, the driver was forced to make a hard stop, and James pitched sideways into her.
His hand shot out to grip the driver’s seat headrest before he could completely land across her lap. His other hand automatically covered her head, the cool windowpane slapping into his knuckles.
She gasped as the driver called apologies before continuing forward.
James backed away, but his gaze feathered across her lashes and the part of her ruby lips.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She stared out the window, the glow of passing buildings highlighting her crimson cheeks.
“New York drivers,” Tom huffed.
James grinned, a sting of pain flared across his knuckles, and he looked down at the reddened skin.
“Is your hand okay?” She frowned.
He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. The important thing is that you are.”
In his peripheral vision, the flush of her cheeks matched his knuckles.
The car slowed as the hotel where the gala was being held came into view, scattering bright lights onto traffic and gaggles of people. The driver tacked onto the row of cars, depositing new groups on the sidewalk.
The vehicle jolted, and his knee brushed hers. The motion was small enough to be construed as an accident, but neither of them shied away from the contact.
“James,” Marilyn said. “When we get in, I want you to start talking to the gentleman at the table next to us. I have it on good authority that he heads a prominent news outlet.”
“Of course.” James cleared his throat. He couldn’t forget the purpose of the party tonight, and yet …
His gaze lingered on Sophie, whose knee still touched his.
Electricity played jump rope with his heart, arcing up and down his limbs.
Yeah, okay, he was doing this.
Fuck Luc.
James pulled out his phone and opened the thread he had with Sophie.
Save me a dance later
Marilyn mentioned there would be dancing after the silent auction, where she instructed him to bid on a few things. Nothing too drastic that he would regret in the morning, but enough to make people think he had more of a purpose to attend than just shoulder rubbing.
His phone pulsed.
Should we be texting when they’re right there? They might catch on
James glanced over his shoulder and smiled.
I think they’re too into each other to notice. Besides, your knee has been touching mine for the last few minutes and no one’s said anything. So save me a dance
Will you have time to?
I’ll make time