“Taylor?”

I send the caterer to set up with her crew in the kitchen before swirling around to face my balding douche of a boss. “Yes, sir?”

His gaze unashamedly scrolls down my body, his lip curling up at the corner before he looks around the expansive area of the venue I chose for tonight.

“Not bad, I suppose,” he comments, his focus returning to me.

I fold my arms across my chest, clutching the clipboard I’m holding so I don’t “accidentally” Frisbee it into his face.

Forcing a fake smile, I say, “Thank you, everything has gone surprisingly well.”

He nods and pulls the clipboard out of my hands, checking it over. “Seems like you’ve got this all under control… for now. I’m impressed.” He looks at me, making me squirm under his intense stare. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

I take the clipboard he offers me, barely holding in a gag as he winks before strolling away. Did I mention he’s a creepy asshole? I know what he actually wanted to say was, “Don’t let the guests see you looking like that.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn around and walk toward the room I’ve been using to keep all of my things in, my six-year-old Converse squeaking on the freshly polished floors. I’ve been running around all day so there’s no way I was going to wear my usual blouse, pencil skirt, and heels. He should be more than grateful I’m even here doing this. I’ve worked my ass off for the last four weeks planning this New Year’s party instead of attending the winter ski trip my friends and I go on annually.

Do you know how hard it is to find everything you need for a party at this time of year on such short notice? But I pulled it out of the bag with little to no thanks from A-hole boss.

I thought I’d be much further in my career by now, but here I am three years later, still a PA to the most obnoxious man on the planet.

“Aaah!” I don’t notice the man in front of me until we’ve collided and I’m careening toward the floor.

I throw my arms out but his hands snake around my waist stopping my fall. “Do you always stare into space when you’re walking?”

His voice is like silk draped over freshly shaven legs, caressing you until you have no choice but to wrap yourself in it because it feels so good.

I’m placed back into a standing position and it gives me a chance to look at my savior, brushing my hair out of my face before my eyes widen to epic proportions.

Holy Christ on a bicycle, who is this guy?

His eyes are the shade of dark chocolate, shining beneath a midnight-black mask covering the top half of his face signaling he’s here for the masquerade ball tonight.

As my gaze moves up to his roughly styled, equally dark hair, he clears his throat, a smirk kicking up the corner of his lips. “I guess staring is your thing.”

I should be embarrassed he caught me blatantly gawking at him, but I’m not. “Only when something is worth looking twice at,” I state confidently, watching his smirk flatten as his features turn into a questioning expression, his gaze scanning my face. “Sorry for running into you and running off, but I have to go.”

He slots his hands into the pockets of his slacks, staying silent as he turns to watch me walk away. My lips pull up at the corners as I feel his gaze on my ass.

Spinning around as I reach the room I’ve been keeping my belongings in all day, I raise my brow. “I guess we have something in common, huh? Thanks for breaking my fall.”

I don’t wait for a reply, walking into the room and closing the door behind me with a giant lady boner I need to forget all about because I have a job to do.

Walking over to the sofa in the middle of the room, I take the headset I’m wearing off and open the makeup bag I left there.

My cell rings while I’m blending out my eyeshadow, so I put it on speaker and place it on the table in front of me.

“Hello?”

“Are you getting ready?” my best friend, D, asks—her real name is Damia, but she hates it and insists everyone calls her D.

“Party face is going on as we speak.” I finish blending my eyeshadow before lining my eyelids with black liner, finishing with a small flick at the corners. “I wish you were coming.”

She sighs. “I wish you were here more like. The men here are ridonculous, Tay.”

I snort. “Ridonculous? Another one of your made-up words, I assume?”

“Yeah, because...” She pauses. “They’re gorgeous! Ergh, you should’ve seen this one I met in the bar last night. He looked like he’d be able to toss me about in the bedroom.”

“D!”

“What? It’s true. He had dark brooding eyes just begging me to bend over for him.”

I snort out a laugh and nearly mess up my mascara. “So, you’re having fun?”

“Fuck yeah.”

A pang of jealousy flows through me, but it’s gone as soon as it comes as I concentrate on adding a tiny bit of blush to the apples of my cheeks. “Make the most of it, you’re home with me tomorrow.”

“I love you, Tay, but I want to live here in the land of hot men.” I chuckle and she sighs. “Anyway, pipe dreams aside, you better try and enjoy yourself tonight.” At my silence she adds, “You’re still wearing that dress, aren’t you?” My gaze roams over to the lacy black dress hanging on the back of the door. It’s an off-the-shoulder number that plunges between my breasts before accentuating my waist and skirting out. It’s asymmetric so the front is shorter than the back and I’m wondering why in the hell I didn’t bring an alternate dress. “Don’t tell me you’ve backed out.”

“No, just starting to wish I brought a second option.”

She tuts. “You’re going to look so hot. I want lots of photos.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I catch the time on the clock out of the corner of my eye and curse under my breath. “I have to go. I need to finish off my makeup and put that ridonculous dress on.”

She chuckles. “See, my new word’s catching on already.”

“Hi, Tay!” I hear in the background.

“Tell Davey I said hi, but I’ve really got to go,” I reply, rummaging through my makeup bag for my lipstick.

“Miss your face, it’s not the same without you here.”

“Miss you, too.”

We hang up and I slick on my lipstick, blowing out a breath as I look in the mirror at the changed woman in front of me. My chocolate-brown eyes pop with the black of the eyeliner and my blood-red lips look plump. I pre-curled my hair this morning so now it’s dropped and has a wave to the long, brown layers.

I double-check the door is locked before pulling off my t-shirt and ripped jeans, adorning myself with a black lacy bra and underwear set D bought me for Christmas a few days ago. Next: the dress.

When Davey—one of my other best friends who happens to be a fashion guru—insisted I tried it on when we walked past the store window, I protested. I don’t wear dresses like this, but this is a special occasion. How many times do I get to go to a masquerade ball?

I zip the back of the dress up and slide my feet into a pair of black heels, finishing off the look with a black lacy mask to match my dress and a quick spritz of perfume in all the important places. Grabbing my cell, I place my money, lipstick, and keys into a tiny rectangle—otherwise known as a clutch bag—us women are supposed to carry our stuff around in with us all night. Placing the headset I was wearing earlier on my head, I pick up my clipboard and lock up the room.

Making my way to the front of the venue, my headset chimes so I press the button on the side. “You have Taylor.”

“Where are you?”

Hello to you too, Mr. A-hole!

I put on my most pleasant voice, trying not to sneer at him. “On my way toward the lobby, sir.” I spot him with his back to me, standing next to the reception desk as I round the corner. “I’m right behind you.”

He turns around, craning his neck to see behind me. “Where? I need you here now, the guests are about to arrive.”

I click my headset off as I reach him, his black tuxedo looking like it’s about to pop open from too much food over Christmas. “Here.”

He looks at me, taking in my dress with greedy eyes before putting on a dazzling smile. “The party hasn’t started yet. How did you get in here, beautiful?” I’m point two of a second away from saying, “Are you high?” before he narrows his eyes in recognition. “Taylor?” I nod in confirmation. “I didn’t recognize you.”

So close to rolling my eyes, I smile instead, ignoring his comment. “You said you needed me?”

He lifts the silver mask he’s wearing, letting it rest on his forehead. “The guests are about to arrive and you weren’t here.”

Now he needs me to babysit him greeting the guests?

The muscles I’m using to plaster on a fake smile start to ache and I cover it up by looking over at the staff that have started to gather by the front doors. The smile turns more genuine as I say, “Alright, everyone. It’s showtime.”