She turned and caught sight of a dark shape at the top of the stairs. Her breath caught as she recognized Drew, in a black suit that was most definitely not off-the-rack. It was cut too sharply, fit him too perfectly. His white shirt was crisp and tailored, the red tie a classic accompaniment for the season.
She inhaled and held her breath as he descended, not at all used to seeing him like this.
And she thought he wasn’t right for a suit? Dear God, he looked amazing, especially with the slight scruff across his jaw. A little sexy and daring to go with the classiness of the attire.
One of the waiters came by bearing a tray of champagne. As Drew came up beside her, he scooped up two glasses and handed one to her, then smiled.
“You look stunning,” he said. “One of your designs?”
“Yes.”
“The way it fits you is sinful.”
“Thank you. It’s supposed to be family-appropriate and conservative.”
“Babe, nothing that hugs your body like that could ever be considered conservative.”
She couldn’t help but be pleased that he noticed. “Thank you. Again. And you look amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“Where did you get the suit?”
“I’ve had it for a while. Occasionally I have to play dress up, and the New York media can be tough. Plus, I dated a model once and she told me off-the-rack was shit and I needed to have a suit made for me.”
Carolina laughed. “It’s good that you can be taught about fashion.”
“I pick up things here and there.”
She could tell from the way he dressed. Even in casual clothes, he always looked good. “You’ll make a fine model for my line.”
“Good to know I won’t embarrass you.”
She took a sip of champagne. “Not with that body you won’t.”
“I see how it is. You’re just using me for my model physique. You don’t appreciate my brain or my superior hockey talents.”
“I do appreciate how smart you are.”
He laughed. “Come on, gorgeous. Introduce me to all the bigwigs here.”
She loved that he was comfortable in his own skin, that he wasn’t intimidated by the large crowd that had started to gather, including a doubled Secret Service team.
By nine p.m. the house was packed with people, many of whom Carolina knew, some she didn’t. But her parents, of course, knew everyone in attendance, and Carolina had no problem introducing herself to those she didn’t know. There were television personalities who’d finagled an invitation, as well as throngs of media willing to give up their Christmas Eve to be in attendance at the vice president’s personal residence.
She’d long ago lost sight of Drew as she was called away for family photographs and then an interview about her new fashion line, which she was glad to do. Anything to bring attention to her work was a good thing, even though she was asked the typical questions.
“Miss Preston, with your family money, connections, and of course, now that your father is the vice president, do you think it will be difficult for your fashion line to be taken seriously?”
“Miss Preston, do you believe the fashion world will have a hard time believing someone of your background is all that serious about fashion, given that many will think you’ve bought your way into your own line?”
“Miss Preston, how much influence has the Preston name, money, and the vice president had on launching your line?”
She had to smile and grit her teeth through all the insulting questions, and explain that she went to college and majored in fashion design, that it was her dream to be a fashion designer long before her father ever became the vice president, and that she had worked for several designers as an apprentice, seamstress, and assistant designer before she ever decided to launch her own line, and that she may have the financial resources, but she believed she also had the talent to design. And that come Fashion Week, she hoped she’d be able to prove that.
What she wanted to tell them all was that she’d paid her dues, she’d worked hard, and she’d proven herself a capable designer. She also wanted to tell them all to shove it, but she had to be polite. The media could make or break a fashion designer, and being a rude bitch wouldn’t gain her any favors.
When she finally managed to pull herself away, she found the nearest waiter and grabbed another glass of champagne. She headed down the hall into one of the private rooms off-limits to guests. After two rather large swallows and several deep breaths, she had managed to calm down, though not nearly enough.
“Wow, those were tough questions.”
Drew.
She nodded. “Yes, but not the first time they’ve been asked, and probably not the last time, either.”
“They were insulting.”