Page 67 of Take It Offline

“Says the man in Armani,” I say.

He doesn’t answer.

I take a deep breath. We’re surrounded by opulence, beauty, and a choreographed dance of happiness.

“I can’t change how I grew up, Charlie. Honestly, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. But I don’t want to be a part of all this anymore. I like my shitty apartment,” I say, even if I do actually hate that the heating doesn’t work and I’m not sure the smoke alarms do either. “I like my job,” I add, ignoring how I want to quit every time it’s being mansplained back to me. “I won’t deny I’ve been extremely lucky, but all this? The parties full of people who are only here to brag to each other? It isn’t for me.”

A breeze passes over the terrace, making me break out in goose bumps.

“This doesn’t define me. I wish you could see that.” I don’t want to care what he thinks of me, but I do. A week ago, I waslaid out in my lingerie before him, but right now, I feel more vulnerable than ever.

He shifts closer, concealing me from the wind.

“It goes both ways, you know,” he says. “There’s more to me than the suits and the charm. No matter how good I make it look.” He settles his hand on my lower back, the heat of his skin burning into mine, and I shiver for a completely new reason. “I know what it’s like to be misjudged, and I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were like them. So maybe we can both do better.”

The moonlight’s turned his eyes so pale they’re practically transparent.

“Deal,” I whisper.

He drags his gaze down to my mouth, making my pulse jump.

“Good,” he says, taking a step closer. We’re so close now that the word dances along my cheek. And in the next instant, his lips press to the spot.

I’m not cold anymore.

I clear my throat and step back, sipping my wine to cover my blush.

“So,” Charlie asks with the same cadence as a doting grandmother. “Which of these smirking pricks is yours?”

As subtly as I can, I point to where Logan is standing. “Over there. Tall, blond, and avoiding me.”

Like every man in attendance, Logan is dressed well. Notch lapel, French cuff, black and classic. The sight of him doesn’t give me the same heart flutter Charlie has all night, but he still looks good.

I swear Charlie inches closer. “You can do better.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, but I’m getting to know you. Enough said.”

As soon as he spots me, Dad is by my side, looking dapper. His comically large mustache is trimmed and proper, coordinating perfectly with the slightly unorthodox turtleneck he’s wearing under his double-breasted jacket.

“Guess” is all he says as he places a wineglass in my hand. It’s our favorite game.

Intense blackcurrant hits me immediately, typical of a Cabernet Sauvignon. He isn’t even trying to make this difficult. I hold back a smile. “Bordeaux,” I say, because that’s the easy part.

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

I narrow my eyes at him. He knows why.

Then a subtle shift of his eyes from Charlie to me gives away the game.

Oh. He’s helping.

It’s so touching, my heart clenches. He’s setting me up to impress Charlie, who has somehow already charmed both of my parents.

Because of course he has. The man could charm the secrets out of water.

And here is my father, trying to make me look good in front of my date. It’s completely unnecessary and exceedingly sweet.

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