Page 51 of Billionaire Romance

I laugh, and close my eyes as she starts to work on my face. Slowly and meticulously. We have plenty of time. Plus, this is what she does. Iris is a stylist. Not generally for me, but for people who can pay her the money she deserves to save them from their own taste. I guess I should admit that letting her do her thing is only going to help me. I've seen the before and after pictures that she's shown me.

She moves from my face to my eyes and finally my lips. She paints them with something smooth and sticky and instructs me not to rub my lips together, no matter how hard I have the urge to do so. And when she's done, and I can feel that I look different, she still doesn't show me. Instead she moves on straight to my hair. "It's good we can have some time so your hair can settle. I think curls are always best when they're a little relaxed. It looks less like you just did your hair and walked out of the house. Plus, we're gonna have to get you something to eat."

"That's a good idea," I say. I didn't even realize that I haven't eaten since the morning. Everything has felt like such a whirlwind with the adrenaline of the accident and then going to meet Eric. Food was the last thing on my mind. But now that she said something I'm suddenly starving. "Hand me my phone," I say. "I'll order us something while you finish."

Pasta. I want pasta. And Iris wants French fries. I put in the order while the curling iron practically whizzes through my hair. She's so used to this that she could probably curl all of my hair in the time it would take me to do a quarter. Finally, after what seems like forever, she says, "Okay."

She spins me, and my jaw drops. Iris is very, very good at her job. I look amazing, and I don't say that very often. The way she's painted my eyes they're both smoky and pale at once, making the blue color in my eyes seem deeper than normal. Combine that with a rich lipstick that's not too dark, but deep enough to make a statement, and I'm all in. My eyes are big and my hair falls in amazing curls and I think that this is probably the best I've ever looked in my life. "Wow, Iris."

"I know," she says, grinning. "I'm awesome, right?"

The doorbell rings, and she hurries out of the room. I can't stop staring at myself, because it doesn't seem real. It feels like that moment in a movie when the girl we all already knew was beautiful gets her make-over and everyone else realizes it. But that can't be me. Can it?

I hear the rustle of paper as Iris comes back into the living room. "Come on, gorgeous. Let's eat so I have enough time to re-apply your lipstick before you leave."

"Okay," I say, shaking my head and finally breaking eye contact with the mirror. This is crazy. I break into my pasta and the hunger takes over. Oh my God it's so good. And now I can have a couple of drinks without them going straight to my head. This is perfect. "Thanks, Iris."

"No problem. I'm going to have you begging me to do your make-up again soon."

"You're just going to have to teach me your secrets."

She smiles. "What are friends for? In return, you better tell me all the details tomorrow."

"I don't think that there will be any details worth telling," I say, laughing, "but sure."

We finish eating and Iris touches me up and makes sure I'm perfect in the dress before sending me out the door with a final plea for details. I promise them. But frankly, I'm just hoping that I make it through the night. Nerves have taken up residence in my stomach and my chest is tight as I try to breathe. I can do this. I want to do this.

* * *

The club where Eric wants to meet is downtown in the most popular area, and there's already a line outside. I don't wait in it. His assistant clarified that I would already be on the list and could walk right in. But it makes me anxious as I walk up to a guy with a clipboard and an earpiece. What if there was a mistake and my name isn't on the list and suddenly I'm shot down in front of this crowd of people?

I shouldn't have worried. Almost the second I say my name the man nods and stands aside, holding aside one of the barriers for me to pass through. I check my coat and head inside. It's loud with vibrant music and lights, the dance floor already thick with people. As I walk down the stairs and into the main space, I realize one thing that neither Eric nor his assistant clarified: Where to meet him inside the club. I don't know where he is, or if he's even here yet.

One thing is for sure, all of Iris's work is having an effect. I don't think I've ever been stared at like this before. People look as I walk by, and I think this is what it must be like for Eric or Iris, people who move in glamorous circles with beautiful people. Having eyes on you must feel normal. It doesn't feel normal now.

Well, I decide, Eric is tall. If he's here, I'll probably be able to find him. I should just make a circuit around the room and see if I can spot him. He said something about reserving a table, so it's possible he's in one of the alcoves I can see on the other side of the room. But the club is crowded and this is slow going. I'm bumping up against people and more than one person has bumped into me. A couple of time it felt like it was intentional.

I don't see him anywhere. There's a nervous buzz in my chest. What if he forgot? What if he got held up longer than he expected and he just didn't come? A hand falls on my shoulder and spins me around, and a man is there, smiling at me in a way I'm not comfortable with. "Hey," he says, and I can smell the drinks he's had. "Wanna dance?"

"No," I say, pushing away and moving further on my path around the room. He follows me. "Don't be like that," he says, "all I want is a dance."

"And I said no," I yell over my shoulder in order to be heard. "I'm meeting someone. I don't want to dance."

He doesn't give up though, and I see him reaching for me. Even though I don't want to dance, the dance floor is right here and it's an easy escape. I push myself into the dancers, and am immediately overwhelmed by bodies. This was a terrible idea. There's a hand on my waist, and I know it's dancing guy. I feel sick to my stomach, but I can't let this happen. I turn to push him away again when a large hand slips into mine.

I look up to find Eric standing next to me, completely still in the middle of the sea of dancers, and relief pours over me like a wave. But he's frowning. Then I realize that he's not frowning at me. He's frowning at the man who's still trying to dance with me. Eric pulls me behind him, still holding my hand. The man stumbles because he was leaning into me, and he immediately realizes that Eric Marshall is not a person it's good to stumble into.

"The next time someone tells you they don't want to dance, leave them the fuck alone." Eric's voice isn't loud, but it cuts through the noise, and the man turns and slips away before Eric has the chance to say—or do—anything else. He turns to me. "Are you all right?"

I nod. I don't think I could yell over the noise of the music. He leads me across the dance floor, and it feels easier with him. The crowd parts for us, and it's not overwhelming anymore. Soon we're back by the entrance and he's guiding me up another staircase that I didn't see before. One that's labelled 'VIP.'

As soon as we pass the attendant, the noise fades a bit, and I can think again. Eric still has my hand in his and that hits me with sudden clarity as he leads me to an alcove with a low table and a cushioned, circular seat. "I'm sorry," I say to him. "I didn't realize until I was inside that we hadn't specified where to meet."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says. God, I forgot how sexy his voice is. "I've met people—clients—here in the past, and I always make a note to tell them to come to the VIP section. Alyssa should know better, and I'll be speaking with her."

"Oh," I say, blushing. "Maybe I just missed it. I don't want to get anyone in trouble."

"You're not," he says, pinning me with his gaze as he sits close to me. "I'll still be speaking to her though. You're sure you're all right?"

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