Chapter 2
Ava
Together we march through the front door as I try my best to present the most nonchalant demeanor I can manage. And that’s no easy feat, because the home gets more impressive with every step.
The artwork hanging on the walls varies from abstract to extreme realism. A painting of a young South Asian boy emerging from a lake looks so clear, I have to squint to determine it’s not a photograph. If I were in a museum, I’d spend extra time studying it, but for now I have to pretend none of this impresses me.
As I thought from outside, all the furniture is white, along with the floor and walls. The massive artwork is the only pop of color, but it’s all the home needs. Several people are wandering down a hallway, and I absentmindedly follow them before realizing Petra’s gone in a different direction.
Shit! Now, I’ll never be able to find her. Glancing around, I rack my brain to remind myself what she wore. By the time I’ve remembered the red dress, there’s a new group of party goers walking in the front door, and this group actually looks unimpressed by the marvelous home. Snatching my phone out of my purse, I send Petra a quick text asking where she went before my attention is stolen.
The artwork seems to get even more grand the further you go down an empty hallway, so I follow it as if I’m in an art gallery, because that’s what it feels like. Gripping my phone in one hand, and my small clutch in the other, I make my way to a quiet area of the house, where no one seems to have explored.
A series of black and white photographs lead up a staircase, and I’m captivated by their story. Each photo appears to have been taken outside of a small restaurant somewhere in Europe — Paris, I think. In the first one, a mother sits in the chair holding a small boy. He seems intrigued by the camera, but the mother’s eyes are captivated by him. You can see the love and admiration as she watches the innocent joy in her son.
My eyes wander over to the next photo, this one about three steps up from the first, and a middle-aged, overweight man stares into the camera with a frown as a small woman stands beside him with a smirk. Their body language would make you think they’re not with each other, but if you look closely, you can see their fingers interlocked as they hold hands.
My mind races, making up possible stories — how he is a grumpy stickler who never smiles, while his wife swears he’s a softie inside. I bet she bakes pastries and writes love stories or something equally romantic. The photographer had to know the viewer would be lost in the details of their work. It’s quite fascinating, actually.
“Just do it.” I hear from the top of the stairs, and my attention immediately turns to a man in a black suit surrounded by a group of women and two men. They all seem to be listening to him intently, and when his blues eyes flash to me, I feel my breath catch in my throat, as the world pauses around me.
Never in my life have I seen a man so devastatingly handsome, but his glare is so intimidating, I’m frozen.
“What are you doing up here?” He barks, and I turn to look behind me, hopeful he could be speaking to someone else.
“You. What are you doing up here?” He confirms my fears, his eyes piercing through me.
“Pictures,” I utter. My mouth is dry and the complete sentence I had in my mind seems to have died on my tongue. “I was looking at the pictures,” I add after a deep swallow.
The entire entourage is staring at me now. Some of the women are grimacing as if I’ve chosen the wrong steps to walk up, but the two men both share a look of sympathy.
“I’ll be down soon,” the man says to the group and they scatter without hesitation, some staying on the upper level, while a few rush past me so fast I’m hit with a gust of wind from the stampede.
“Come here,” he orders, his eyes squinting as he looks down the stairs at me.
My body follows without a second thought and I climb the stairs slowly, both excited and afraid to be closer to this man who seems to have a hold on everyone around him.
“What are you doing here?” He asks again as I approach him on the top step.
My mouth is dry and my heart is racing, but this time my sass is far from missing. “I told you I was looking at the photographs,” I repeat, glancing down the staircase at the last image he’d interrupted me from enjoying.
This one features three young boys, with a worn soccer ball at their feet. Their arms are wrapped around each other’s shoulders to show their closeness and their smiles are happiness personified.
“Yes. That’s what you said, but the party is obviously not upstairs.” He says lowly, his voice is even sexy.
Now my hands are sweaty, and I can feel my chest rising and falling rapidly as I repeat Petra’s mantra in my head, act like you’ve been here.
Our eyes linger longer than necessary as I try to take in every detail I can manage. He’s strong. I can see that even through his suit as his biceps flex while he grits his teeth. Even more impressive is his jawline, which is like a Roman sculpture. My eyes wander to his full, pink lips and I know it’s a mistake when I swallow hard, my stomach muscles tightening with desire.
“Are you stealing from me?” He finally asks, but his words are too soft to be true. I can sense he just wants to continue this interaction, and he seems to be the type of person who would react much more hostile if he truly believed I was attempting to take something from him.
“Are you kidding me?” I scoff.
“I’m just saying, why are you upstairs, wandering around a clearly empty wing of my home when you see the party is elsewhere?” He stresses the words my home just like an arrogant man of wealth in LA.
“Do you want to search me?” I challenge, slamming my clutch purse on an end table behind him before holding my arms out to my side.
To my surprise, he decides to take me up on my offer, stepping so close I can see the shine on his mouth after his tongue glides across his lips. I can smell the cologne on him when he moves, a delicious aroma with rosewood undertones. His hands slide from my wrist, up my forearm, and an electric current rushes through me from the connection. His skin is soft, and his hands move with a sense of confidence, just like everything else about him.
There’s not a word between us, but from the way his lips part, as the cool minty breath escapes him, I can tell he’s attracted to me. And if my eyes are as revealing as they usually are, he can tell I’m seconds away from jumping him.
“Are you satisfied?” I smirk, but he doesn’t answer.
Instead, with his eyes locked on mine, he runs the palm of his hand down my chest, splitting my breasts as my body silently pleads with him to go further. My pelvis is tightening with anticipation, while his hand stalls on my belly.
“I think you’re clear,” he whispers, our faces too close for standard tones.
Dropping my arms in disappointment, I smile at him. However, before I can come up with a response, my phone vibrates in my hand, and I glance down to see a text message from Petra.
Come outside now!
“I’ve gotta go!” I blurt out before taking off down the stairs as fast as possible. Petra has been known to get thrown out of events after a couple of drinks, and the last thing I need is for her to forget about me, leaving me stranded.
“What’s your name?” I hear him yell from behind me, but I simply look over my shoulder, taking in his gorgeous face one last time. A look of confusion clouds his blue eyes, and I can’t blame him.
I know I’m darting out of the party like a lunatic, after wandering into the restricted area of his house, but at that moment I’ve got bigger fish to fry.
Just when I make it outside, I see Johnny getting out of Petra’s Mercedes as she anxiously waits to get in. When our eyes lock, she waves me on with a sense of urgency that prompts me to race down the front lawn in my stilettos.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, out of breath as I settle into the passenger seat.
“That party was dead. Let’s go to the club,” Petra sighs while scanning her rearview mirror before taking off down the narrow street.
“Are you serious?” I ask in disbelief. I thought she was in some sort of trouble the way she rushed me, but the truth is I’m more annoyed that I leave that mystery man a second before I had to.
“Trust me. You’ll never see any of them again. The place was filled with pretentious bastards. I wish we’d never gone,” she says with a roll of her eyes, and something tells me it’s deeper than she’s letting on.
Her insecurity about not being in the upper echelons of LA society has led to several embarrassing showdowns for her, and I decide not to press the issue any further in case that happened tonight.
“We’re going to Icon,” Petra announces after a long pause.
The ride is short, but without the usual blaring music it feels awkwardly long. My thoughts drift back to the man at the party, and I find my thighs squeezing together as I recall his hands sliding down my body.
There was something about him that was so enticing. I’ve never felt so captivated in someone’s presence before, but now I can’t shake the feeling. Staring out the window as the bright lights of Hollywood pass, I remind myself that we’re from totally different worlds.
He lives in the Hollywood Hills, for Christ’s sake. Next door to celebrities, overlooking the city from a vantage point people like me could only dream of. He had to be in the entertainment industry with a face like that, but I don’t recognize him.
“We won’t be long in here,” Petra disrupts my thoughts as she pulls to the valet parking stand.
Icon is a large club, which means she knows someone working in every section of the place. After a brief conversation with a guy at the valet stand, we walk to the crowd of girls in skimpy dresses surrounding the bouncer, who is trying his best to not care about all the attention.
“Trevor!” Petra yells, throwing her hands up as the group of girls turn to acknowledge the woman responsible for putting a trace of a smile on the bouncer’s stone face.
“Petra! How are you, gorgeous?” He smirks, reaching down to lift the velvet rope so that we can both walk through. There are snickers of both curiosity and jealousy as we make our way into the club.
“Let’s get drinks,” Petra whispers in my ear as the deafening music kicks in, making it all but impossible for us to communicate any longer. I nod before following her to the bar.
Of course, she knows a few of the bartenders and they clamor to get her what she wants. For all the trouble I give her, I can’t deny how connected she is. She knows everyone, and going out with her is like being with a celebrity.
We knock back our drinks and watch the people on the dance floor.
“I’ll be back,” I hear her whisper, but by the time I turn to ask where she’s going, all I can see is the back of her red dress as she slithers through the thick crowd.
Turning back to the bar, I look at my now empty drink with annoyance. There’s no way I’m waiting for her to return to order another drink from her friends. So, although it’s against her rules, I decide to pay for my cosmo myself.
It’s then I realize I’m not carrying my leather clutch any longer. My thoughts scramble, trying to retrace my steps. Did I leave it in Petra’s car? The idea is unlikely, but all I can hope for. If not, it’s most likely on the lawn of that mansion, and Lord knows I don’t need another run in with that God of a man.
Shit!