“Not your style?”
“Oh, no. Every room in my house one day will be a ball room. Baseballs, footballs, basketballs, the male anatomy type of balls.”
My head shook. Whispering romantic things in my ear one minute to referencing his testicles the next. I had no idea where I stood with Soren.
“They didn’t card us.” Soren lifted his glass of champagne, clinking it against mine.
“We’re not in a bar.”
That was when we rounded the corner into the ballroom. We both came to a halt. I’d never seen anything so lavish, not even on television. There was an actual symphony playing music at the other end, people waltzing from the looks of it, and waiters dressed in tuxes holding silver trays with an array of finger foods I couldn’t name.
Everyone looked expensive. The air even smelled expensive, whatever that scent was. There were dozens of other tall, young women milling around, models no doubt, but I didn’t miss how the arms they were hanging off of belonged to men two, if not three, times older than they were. Soren was by far the youngest guy in attendance. Other than the servers.
“Yeah, about the bar.” Soren took in the scene with me. “Can we go to one? Now?”
“You’d get carded there, you know.”
“Don’t care. I’d rather get kicked out of some dive than spend a night in this place. With these people,” he added under his breath when a guy wearing a floor-length fur coat passed in front of us.
Truth be told, I wanted to leave too. Yes, I loved the fashion industry, but I couldn’t say I loved the parties if my first two minutes at this one gave an indication to how they went.
“Just mingle with me for a little while, and then maybe we can sneak out,” I whispered, my hand covering my stomach as we moved into the room.
People were starting to notice us, though they made an effort to make it seem they weren’t. Thank god I’d brought Soren. I couldn’t imagine walking into this viper’s den alone. I had yet to see a familiar face, though I recognized a few from magazine covers. None of those faces seemed particularly welcoming either.
Soren leaned in. “Take a drink. It will help.” When I took a sip of my champagne, Soren took a drink of his too. “You’re going to leave your jacket on, right?” He shot a thumbs-up at a couple of guys looking at me and whispering to each other. I thought they were a couple of photographers.
“Soren,” I sighed.
“Just . . . I can take a few guys at a time. A dozen of these kind, no problem.” Soren’s eyes landed on a group of guys wearing matching polka-dot bow ties with their tuxes. “But I don’t really feel like being held down and glittered to death.”
He held his champagne glass in the direction of a guy whose tux looked like it had been hand-done in gold glitter. We’re talking the kind of stuff kids love to get their hands on and make a mess with. That kind of glitter. This was my first industry party, but I supposed I should have known formalwear had a generous definition in this group.
“So, yeah. Guess I could have gone with that powder blue tux I was really itching for, right?”
“But at least you look like James Bond instead of Peter Pan,” I whispered.
He choked on a laugh. “This whole night, totally worth it now.”
“What’s so funny?” My face went blank as Ellis appeared from behind me. He was dressed in a tux similar to Soren’s, though his was clearly custom tailored and had probably cost as much as the hybrid Soren was planning on one day cruising in. Ellis waited, a measured smile on his face, his eyes aimed on me.
“Me. I’m so funny,” Soren answered.
Ellis’s attention drifted to Soren, appraising him like he was an inconvenience. “What’s so funny about you?”
Soren circled his face with his champagne glass. “The way I look.”
A laugh choked out of me, making an unattractive sound.
Soren nudged me. “Nice of you to agree. Friend.”
Ellis didn’t seem to find anything amusing about our interaction. “Ellis Lawson.” He held out his left hand for Soren, which meant Soren had to unwind his right arm from me.
“Soren Decker.”
“The roommate.”
“The agent.”
The way their hands seemed locked in some kind of death grip had me shifting. Testosterone was literally seeping from their pores from the tension I could feel building in the air.
What was going on?
“What is it you do for a living?” Ellis slid his hand into his pocket, making a point to stretch every inch of his six-foot-four frame. “Hayden never talks about you much.”
Soren gave me a good-natured raised-brow look. “I go to school. Work part-time at a pub.”
Ellis’s head tipped. “NYU?”
Soren huffed. “Just one of those regular ol’ community colleges.”
“Soren plays baseball,” I interjected. “He’s really good.” When I glanced at him, I found him staring at me, a hint of a smile in place.
“I’m sure he is.” Ellis took a sip from his drink, eyeing the arm Soren was linking through mine again. “Hayden, I’d like to introduce you to some friends. Believe me, you’re going to want to meet them.” When we started to follow him, he paused. “Soren, would you mind if I stole your roommate away for a while?”
Soren wound my arm from his, giving me the go-ahead when I was about to object. “As long as you bring her back.”
“I’ll bring her back.” Ellis was already guiding me away, his hand on the small of my back. “Eventually,” he added, smiling at me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I found Soren in the same place we’d left him, watching. In a roomful of people, he stood out. In this city, he stood out. As different as we might have been and as much as we got on each other’s nerves, I was drawn to him. From the look on his face as I walked away, I was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t just me who felt that way.
Ellis introduced me to so many people, my head was spinning with names and titles. Everyone seemed eager enough to meet me, a few of them referring to me as Ellis Lawson’s latest “it” girl. A few of them said that like it hinted at more than our professional arrangement, which made me all too eager to make my way back to Soren.
I felt like a jerk for inviting him to a party and ditching him. He didn’t know anyone here, and the only thing he had in common with them was the state they resided in. He seemed to be mixing it up okay though. Every time I managed to catch of glimpse of him, he was chatting with someone or charming the sequins off some girl.
When I noticed another woman casually make her way up to him, I felt my hands curl into fists. He was like a model magnet, and please, her? He could do so much better than that.
And cue the jealousy theme song.
I hated this trivial, bitchy side of me that had emerged out of nowhere. I’d made it through high school without being reduced to this kind of behavior—so why was it cropping up now?