Page 71 of Company Ink

I knew it! I fucking knew it! It is only 6:49 pm and Blake is already here, waiting for me downstairs. Mendo notunderstand women. When we say be here at 7 pm, we mean be here at7 pm, not 6:30 pm, not 6:45 pm, not 7:15 pm. 7 pm!

I stare at my reflection in the full-length mirror by the front door and apply one more layer of dark red lipstick. Not having Monique around means I don't have anyone to hype me up. Such a sad life. I was not built to live alone; I need the company...the compliments. I guess I'll have to get used to being my own cheerleader.You look hot, Cassie!Thank you, Cassie.

I know. I'm pathetic.

Grabbing a shawl off the coat hanger, I make my way downstairs. Mr. Hyatt, our doorman, gives me a curious look when I pass the concierge desk.

"Costume party!" I inform him as I breeze by.

Mr. Hyatt laughs. "For a moment I thought I went back in time."

I wave goodbye to him and disappear through the glass doors. My jaw hits the pavement when I get outside. Blake is leaning against the coolest old-fashioned car I've ever seen in my whole life, wearing a cream-colored ensemble, and holding a walking cane in his hand.

"Wow..." Blake blinks as he gives me a once-over. "You look—" He lets out a breath. "Wow."

I blush, sauntering towards him. My inner attention whore is grinning. "Wow yourself. You look good in white."

"It feels wrong," Blake whispers, a slight smirk lifting his upper lip.

"But it lookssoright." I scan his outfit one more time. "Where did you get this suit? It actually looks vintage."

"It is. It was my great grandfather's," he replies casually. "As is the car. Since you weresoadamant about the cane, I thought I'd go all out."

My mouth widens. "Is this car actually from the 20s? And it works?"

Blake raises an eyebrow. "No, I pushed it all the way here just to show it off," he quips. "Of course, it runs."

I roll my eyes, gliding my hand along the hood. "What kind of car is this?"

Blake opens the passenger side door for me. "It's a Ford Model T from 1925."

"This is wild," I comment as he hops into the driver's side. "Is it even legal to drive this around?" I reach over my shoulder to grab the seatbelt. "Oh my God! There's no seatbelt!"

"The hotel is only seven blocks away, Cassie. I think we'll be fine." Blake shoots me an amused smile. "But let's just pray there are no police along the way." He starts the engine and the car spurts to life, making noises that make me suddenly question his spontaneity.

"Drive slowly," I say, gripping the leather seat. "If you get us arrested, I'll never forgive you."

"Don't worry," Blake grins. "You're forgetting I'm a lawyer. I'll bail you out."

"How comforting."

The drive to The Emerald Hotel takes under six minutes. By the time we pull up to the valet, my heart is beating a million miles a minute. Every block we drove, a flash from someone's camera blinded me, drawing much-unwanted attention to our transportation of choice. We aresogoing to be on the morning news.

The valet looks comically confused when Blake hands him the keys. "Don't scratch her," he says then holds out his arm. "Shall we?"

Even though I saw all the design and decoration plans for the venue, I still feel rather anxious as we make our way to the Grand Ballroom. But as soon as the two attendants dressed in snazzy black tuxedos open the mahogany doors for us, all my nervousness fades away.

Ho-ly shit. I am so glad I had a big budget.

Hanging from the coffered ceiling is an array of matte-silver orbs, intertwined with cascading arrangements of alabaster florals, and metallic tinsel. Glimmering crystal strands hang above a rectangular, white-tiled dance floor; blown up black and white photos of 1920s Hollywood stars wrap the entire Ballroom.

Blake chuckles under his breath while leading us to our table. "Cassandra, this looks amazing but why do I have a feeling you went over budget?"

"There are contingencies for a reason," I mutter, avoiding his gaze. "Plus, look how happy everyone looks!" There are probably over one hundred clients here with their guests, a flute of champagne in almost everyone's hands. "It's just once a year, right?"

Blake shakes his head, letting out a sigh. "There goes everyone's Christmas bonus."

"What?!" My eyes expand with dread.

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