Page 20 of Strings Attached

Mireille

I standin front of the full-length mirror, nervously smoothing down the front of my dress. The gown Evander had bought for me—a deep emerald green that compliments my eyes, with a plunging neckline and a slit up one leg that's just this side of scandalous. My hair is swept up in an elegant updo, and I've applied more makeup than usual, emphasizing my eyes and lips.

I glance around the hotel suite and not for the first time today, wonder what the hell Evander was playing at booking just one suite for the two of us, thankfully, there’s two beds, so I won’t have to share with him, but still, it’s hard enough being around him during work hours, no way I’ll be sleeping in the same room as him. Is he crazy? I don’t know what he was thinking when he booked this suite.

As I slip on my heels, I can't help but think about what Evander will think when he sees me. We've maintained a careful professional distance since our conversation in the office, but there's still an undeniable tension between us. And now here I am, about to spend an evening by his side in this knockout dress.

The door to the suite opens. I take a deep breath, give myself one last once-over in the mirror, before I turn and see Evanderstanding, watching me. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, looking even more handsome than usual. His eyes widen as he takes in my appearance, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that makes my skin tingle.

"Mireille," he says, his voice low and a bit husky. "You look... absolutely breathtaking."

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. "Thank you, Evander. You clean up pretty well yourself."

He offers me his arm with a small smile. "Shall we?"

As we make our way out of the hotel suite, I can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. I’ve never been to a gala event before. It’s bound to be fun.

A few minutes later we enter the grand ballroom, I'm momentarily overwhelmed by the sea of designer gowns and tuxedos. Evander guides me through the crowd with a gentle hand on my lower back, stopping occasionally to greet acquaintances and business associates.

"You're doing great," he murmurs in my ear as we pause between introductions. "Just relax and be yourself."

I give him a grateful smile, touched by his encouragement. As we make our way to our assigned table, I can feel eyes on us. I overhear snippets of whispered conversations:

"Who's that with Evander Prescott?"

"I've never seen him bring a date to one of these events before."

"She's gorgeous. I wonder if she's his girlfriend?"

I try to ignore the gossip, focusing instead on the warmth of Evander's hand on my back and the way he keeps glancing at me with a soft smile.

As the evening progresses, I find myself relaxing and even enjoying the event. The food is amazing and to die for, the champagne flows freely, and the conversation at our table is easyand engaging. Evander keeps me involved, often asking for my opinion or input on various topics.

After dinner, the music starts up and couples begin to filter onto the dance floor. I watch them all with a smile on my face. Everyone seems to be having an amazing time, and I love people watching.

"Would you like to dance?" Evander's voice startles me out of my reverie.

I look up at him in surprise. "I didn't think you danced."

He gives me a small, almost shy smile. "I don't, usually. But I'd like to dance with you, if you're willing."

My heart skips a beat as I take his offered hand. "I'd love to."

Evander leads me onto the dance floor, pulling me close as we begin to sway to the music. One of his hands rests on my waist, the other holding mine gently. I can feel the heat of his body, smell his cologne, and it's intoxicating.

"You really do look beautiful tonight, Mireille," he says softly, his blue eyes intense as they meet mine.

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. "Thank you. You look very handsome yourself."

We dance in silence for a few moments, lost in the music and the feeling of being in each other's arms. I can't help but think about how right this feels, how perfectly we fit together.

As the song comes to an end, Evander doesn't let go. Instead, he leans in close, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, "What do you say we get out of here?"

I pull back slightly, searching his face. "What about the gala? Don't you need to stay?"

He shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We've made our appearance. I think we can slip away now without anyone noticing."

My heart races at the implication of his words. "Okay," I hear myself say, barely above a whisper. "Let's go."

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