Page 25 of The Perfect Mistake

He looks distinguished. Handsome… and just a little bit dangerous, like this is the nighttime version of his businessman self. It’s not a side of him I’ve seen before.

He glances up, and his steps falter. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I say.

His eyes darken as they scan me, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything.

I shift from one foot to another. “You’re heading out?”

“Yes,” he says, jaw tensing. “Mac’s got the car downstairs. Are you ready to go?”

“Is it okay if I ride with you? I wasn’t sure—”

“Of course,” he says. “I was going to knock on your door.”

“Oh.”

He clears his throat. “Come on. Let’s get going.”

We ride the elevator in silence. I can smell his cologne, musk and smoke and it’s painfully delicious. I remember finding little samples of men’s cologne tucked among the pages of magazines as a kid. I used to put them under my pillow when I went to sleep because the scents were so good.

Silly memory. Silly thought.

He runs a hand over his jaw just as we reach the parking level. “Had a good day?”

“Yes. Willa had her piano lesson, and Sam and I worked on his project.”

“For the show and tell?”

“Yes.”

He holds the elevator door open for me as we walk out and head to the car. Mac greets us both, and then we’re off, the quietness returning and filling the space between us inside the vehicle. It doesn’t surprise me. He’s always been the stoic kind.

The other night was the exception that proved the rule.

And God, did I blab about the Gilmore Girls as if he gave a damn about a TV show?

I fidget with my purse, my nerves rising. I’ve been to some of Connie’s parties, but they’ve always been small get-togethers. A brunch with a few of her college friends, that sort of thing. A wedding party will be grand and will have people from a radically different world than the one I live in.

To me, Connie is just Connie… most of the time. My friend, who is just as ambitious when it comes to her career as I was about dancing, but just as down to hang out on Saturday afternoons.

Tonight, though, she’s Constance Connovan. Alec’s younger sister, heiress to one of the country’s largest media and tech conglomerates, celebrating her marriage to the heir of another. I’m not used to seeing her in that role.

My heart races, like I’m minutes away from stepping out on the stage. Only, when I danced, the world turned silent. It was just me and the movements… My dance routines never required small talk. This party will.

“You okay?” Alec asks.

I smile at him. “Yes. Absolutely. How about you?”

He looks at me. “Fine. It’ll be an… interesting evening.”

“There will be plenty of Thompsons there, right?”

“Plenty indeed,” he agrees. But his voice is merely dry, not pained. From what Connie told me, her new husband slowly won over her brothers in the weeks since their surprise wedding. “It’ll be fine.”

I nod. “Yeah. Totally.”

It’s not fine.

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