Page 3 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
As soon as I’m alone, I breathe a sigh of relief. Whoever had the idea to make this product launch a masquerade ball was brilliant because the anonymity allows me to melt into the sidelines as easily as breathing.
My forest green satin dress is the nicest thing I own, but it’s understated compared to many of the outfits I’ve seen so far. Hell, even the little finger foods on the catering table look obscenely expensive. No prepackaged fruit trays here. It’s allartfully crafted tea sandwiches and expensive cheeses nestled over delicate puff pastries.
I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.
It’s not until I hear a low, rumbling voice from beside me that I even notice someone has joined me in filling a plate.
“... Absolutely delicious.”
I jolt at the few words I do catch, missing the first half of his sentence in my shock. He’s tall and lean but obviously muscled. The trim cut of his button-down accentuates broad shoulders and a narrow waist with a suit jacket draped over one arm. I can’t see most of his face behind the delicately carved mask that rests on his cheekbones, but his steel-grey eyes flick up and down over my form and a lazy grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
I stammer out a few half-formed words, trying to process what’s happening.
He can’t be hitting on me, certainly not by calling medelicious. Men with perfectly bronzed skin built like Greek gods don’t hit on women like me.
“The food at these things is a step down from dog food,” he continues in a slow, amused drawl. “Whoever was hired for catering was a good pick this time around.”
Catering. The food. Delicious.
Right.
An awkward laugh bubbles up from my gut when I realize he was talking about the hors d’oeuvres. That makes a lot more sense than him flirting with me.
“Ah, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been to an event like this before,” I admit, swallowing down my anxiety and forcing words out.
“First time? It’ll lose its appeal soon,” he jokes as he spoons a few pieces of fresh fruit onto his plate. “Who do you work for?”
Do people usually make small talk with total nobodies at events like this? It has to be obvious that I’m not high up on the food chain. There are people here wearing diamonds worth more than my entire apartment complex, and I’m wearing heels from Charlotte Russe.
“D’Amico Global. I’m a junior financial analyst.” That’s easy enough to answer, at least. I find myself rambling when those steely eyes meet mine again, my heart pounding in my chest. “My best friend works for the social media company that’s marketing the launch, so she gave me her extra ticket. I wanted to network a bit, get out of my comfort zone.”
And I’m regretting that decision with every word that falls from my lips.
“Always good to try new things,” he says with a contemplative tilt of his head, smirking like he’s talking about something else entirely.
“Definitely,” I agree, forcing a smile and hoping I don’t look as nervous as I feel. “I’m having a great time.”
A dry laugh rolls out from the man’s lips. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I wince, looking at him bashfully from beneath my lashes as I rub the back of my neck.
“Okay, thismaynot be my scene. Am I that obvious?”
His grin only widens, and he leans down to whisper conspiratorially, “I’m more of a reader these days myself, but I promise it’s not that bad. It’s actually kind of nice to rub elbows on the rare occasion. Give it some time and you’ll be a pro.”
He’s more… blunt than reassuring, really, but it’s kind of cute. I certainly appreciate it more than Taylor’s endless energy for this sort of thing.
At leastoneother person isn’t thrilled to be here.
Speaking of Taylor, I catch sight of her over the masked man’s shoulder. Her honey-blonde hair bounces around her as she impatiently waves me over, mouthing something that I can’t quite make out with the mask obscuring half her face.
Turning my attention back to the man, I adjust the fit of my own mask, ensuring the lace sits properly and smile much more easily.
“I’m really sorry to cut this short,” I say apologetically. “I’d love to keep chatting, but my friend is calling me over. She probably has more introductions she wants to torture me with.”
He glances over his shoulder, the waves of his dark hair catching the light and making the sharp cut of his jaw all the more breathtaking. A soft hum rumbles from his lips as he turns back to face me, and his eyes flit over my form again.
“A shame,” he muses. “I was rather enjoying your company.”
