Surprise flashed through me, quick as lightning, followed by an irrepressible warmth as we entered the lounge and left her sputters behind.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “The door people can go on a power trip sometimes.”
“It’s okay.” I slid a sideways glance at him. “Your date, huh?”
“It sounded better than friend in the moment. Besides, it was worth it to see the look on her face.”
“Oh, I agree.” My grin matched his. “I thought she was going to go into cardiac arrest right then and there.”
“So are we?” Asher guided me through the crowded room. His palm burned through the fabric of my dress, leaving me slightly flushed.
“Are we what?”
“Friends.”
“I extracted an apology for you from a police officer and you put the hostess in her place for me, so I suppose we are.” We passed by a familiar-looking beauty with long legs and high cheekbones. I did a double take when I realized it was the supermodel Ayana. I loved her latest
Vogue cover; Carina was going to die. “Whose party did you say this was?”
“Poppy Hart.”
I came to an abrupt halt. “Wait. This is a
Poppy Hart party?”
Asher’s mouth tipped up. “You’ve heard of her?”
“I’m going to pretend that’s a rhetorical question,” I said, earning myself a deep laugh.
Everyone knew who Poppy Hart was. The model, socialite, and style icon sat in the front row of every major fashion show, headlined the VIP list of every major event, and chaired the board of every major charity. She was London’s latest It Girl and the ultimate arbiter of what was cool and what was not.
She was also famous for her ultra-exclusive parties, one of which I was attending right now.
Surreal.
“Fair enough.” Humor transformed Asher’s face into a softer version of itself. “I should tell you she has strict rules for her parties. No cameras, no harassment, and no fights-exactly like the Angry Boar, except fancier.”
That was an understatement. In the past five minutes, I’d spotted fire-eaters, dancers dressed as the seven deadly sins, and a world-famous DJ from Iceland in the sound booth.
Velvet banquettes lined the perimeter of the walls; crystals formed hanging sculptures in the shapes of stars and flowers and waterfalls. Haloes of LED light drenched the seating alcoves in futuristic purple while a bar stocked with only top-shelf spirits took up an entire wall.
I hadn’t seen Poppy yet, but the room was bursting with celebrities, socialites, and other varieties of young, rich, beautiful, and famous.
Asher and I stopped at the bar. He ordered us two house specials, whatever those were, and handed me one.
“So.” He examined me over his glass. “You changed your mind about coming.”
“Only because I didn’t have anything better to do.” I took a tentative sip. Whiskey mixed with something rich and sweet. It burned smoother than any drink I’d had before. “Don’t read too much into it. My appearance tonight is strictly platonic.”
“Good, because my invitation was strictly platonic.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Our seemingly banal exchange didn’t curb the wild current charging around us, drawing our eyes together like magnets and forming a bubble against the noise and movement from the rest of the club.
My earlier insecurities, exhaustion, frustration…they all fell away as my body came alive with anticipation.
This was why I’d changed my mind. This heady sense of possibility. The exhilaration of dipping my toe into something forbidden.
Whatever happened tonight, the rush of this moment was worth it.
The combination of alcohol and the heat in Asher’s gaze scorched through my veins. Either the drink was stronger than it seemed, or I was treading into dangerous territory.
Not treading into. You’re already there.
“Asher!”
The bubble popped. Noise swept in on a deluge, and I almost stumbled from the force of it.
Poppy Hart swanned up to us, a vision in green and gold. She greeted Asher with a cheek kiss before turning her attention to me. “Who’s this?” Unlike the hostess, her question contained only friendly curiosity,
“Scarlett. She’s a…friend.” The timbre of Asher’s voice dipped on the word friend, and my toes instinctively curled.
“Not that kind of friend,” I added quickly.
His amusement warmed my cheeks while Poppy laughed. With her cinnamon-colored hair and alabaster skin, she gave every woman here a run for her money.
“I like you already. It’s nice to meet you, Scarlett.” She didn’t introduce herself; she didn’t need to. If it were anyone else, it would come off arrogant, but since it was Poppy, it simply came off natural.
After a few minutes of friendly small talk, she made an apologetic face. “Do you mind if I steal Asher away for a minute? I have a friend visiting from New York and she’s a huge fan. She’ll absolutely murder me if I don’t introduce her.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “I told her Asher isn’t all he’s cracked up to be in real life, but she refused to listen.”
“I don’t mind. It’s something they have to learn for themselves,” I agreed with mock solemnity.
“Thank you both. I appreciate you talking shit about me while I’m standing right here,” Asher said dryly.
“Any time.” Poppy patted his arm. “Scarlett, don’t worry. I’ll have him back in a jiffy.” Her plummy voice somehow made jiffy sound cool.
“I won’t be long.” Asher’s arm brushed mine on his way past, leaving a trail of tingles in its wake. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”
“I’ll try my best, but no guarantees.”
The way his answering smile made my stomach flip should be illegal.
I stuck by the bar and finished my drink while I took in my surroundings. I felt self-conscious about being the only solo person here, but it soon became apparent that everyone was too wrapped up in their own world to notice me standing awkwardly by myself.
If it weren’t a private party, I’d ask Brooklyn to come up. She seemed like the type who would appreciate the fire-eaters’ performances.
Was that allowed in a nightclub? Didn’t it violate some sort of fire code?
If it did, no one seemed concerned.
“Bit intimidating, innit?” A boyishly good-looking blond came up beside me. He had shoulders the width of a football pitch and a tiny, endearing mole above his lip that shifted with his smile.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.