Page 44 of Silk and Steel

I go to her fridge and get one of those fancy magnetized waters. It doesn’t taste different, but it kind of hits my stomach differently. Maybe I should start buying it myself.

I walk past her bedroom on my way upstairs. I resist the urge to peer in the door, even though it’s open. When I get to Emory's bedroom, I go through my clothes and find something presentable, an ash gray blazer I pair with a pressed white shirt and charcoal trousers.

“At least it’s not burgundy,” I mutter to myself.

I head back downstairs and wait. And wait. And wait. I check the time and find that we’ll need to leave soon even if we want to be fashionably late.

Then I hear her coming down the steps. I look up at the sound of her heels and my jaw drops open. Emory fills out her little black dress perfectly. The mesh sleeves go up past her shoulders and form a choker of sorts, but there’s still a plunging neckline to show off her assets. I tell myself not to stare at her chest. But I know she catches my eyes drifting down there.

“Do I look alright?” she asks, playing with her hair. She’s got it in an up-do, held in place with a black lacquered comb.

“You look perfect.”

It just came out of my mouth. I wasn’t trying to fawn over her. Emory blushes, and her gaze drops, showing me the smoky eyeshadow on her lids.

“Thanks. You look pretty amazing yourself.”

I check and double check the perimeter before I let her leave the house. Until we make it out of her neighborhood, I don’t relax. Only when I’m positive that we aren’t being followed do I actually breathe a sigh of relief and start for the premiere.

The premiere isn’t where the action is at, though. It’s the premiere party where we would find Diego. The pimple-faced valet takes my keys as we park in front of the skyscraper hosting the event.

Paparazzi, news crews, and tons of onlookers cluster around the entrance. A bunch of people pop flashes off at us, even though we are hardly celebrities. I worry about losing Emory in the chaos, so I take her hand.

Emory glances sharply at me when I do so, but she squeezes my hand warmly. It feels good. Right, somehow, that I am holding her hand.

We make it inside the party, and leave most of the cameras behind. A marble floor polished to a mirror-like shine reflects an enormous glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Rows of catering tables, literal rows of them, take up the west side of the gala.

Lots of well-dressed, well-heeled people mill about while a ten-piece orchestra plays medleys of popular hits. Some people sway on the dance floor, but most people are here to schmooze and press the flesh. Emory’s azure eyes stare at the swirling bodies on the dance floor. I detect the tinge of longing in her gaze.

“Is this your first big Hollywood party?” Emory asks.

“Not really. I think Easton took the whole Platinum crew to a premiere a while back, but I was pretty wasted.”

She chuckles, but I don’t tell her the dark reason I was so wasted. Easton’s premiere had coincided with the anniversary of Jake’s death.

No need to bring her down with my drama.

“I think I need a drink,” she says.

Emory’s lovely features are marred by a hint of anxiety. I think I know why.

“This place has more security than Fort Knox. Even if Lovejoy knows you’re here, which is highly unlikely, he wouldn’t take the risk. Way too many cameras.”

Emory’s shoulders relax a little. “Ok. But it’s still a party, right?”

She tugs me toward the bar. I check and double check for both Diego and Lovejoy or his men. No sign of any of them. Yet. Diego, at least, will show himself sooner or later.

We belly up to the bar and she orders a glass of champagne. I wave off the bartender.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Emory gives me a look.

“What, don’t tell me you don’t drink.”

“I drink. Just not on the job.”

“No one’s asking you to get shit-faced or plastered,” Emory says, rolling her eyes. “Just have one glass of champagne with me, please. Otherwise, I’m going to feel like such a lush.”

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