Page 98 of Burn With Me

“My uncle is already inside, so at least that’s one other person you’ll know.” He presses the intercom button and says, “We’re ready.”

“Don’t forget Viktoriya,” I say, like I just took a bite of something nasty.

“You’d put her to shame if you were wearing a paper bag, Red. Don’t worry about her.”

“Don’t lie to me,” I say anxiously as Robert opens my door slightly, letting me decide when I’m ready to get out of the car.

“Here, let me out first.” Jackson lifts me like I weigh nothing, pressing another kiss to my shoulder as he sits me on the other side of him. Before I can say a word, the door is open, and all the bright flashing lights point in our direction.

Jackson gives them his signatureI don’t give a fucklook as he buttons his jacket before turning to hold out a hand. Gracing me with a smile, he asks, “Ready?”

It’s overwhelming, the way people shout questions and the blinding camera lights as we walk up the stairs. Jackson ignores them, so I try to as well, but it’s hard when the questions are so invasive.

“Did you forgive him because he’s rich, honey?”

“How does it feel to be the flavor of the week?”

“Jackson, Viktoriya Lukin is already inside. Any chance of reconciliation?”

“Ignore them,” he whispers. His fingers stroke my side where his hand rests as we walk.

“It’s a little hard,” I grit out. Their questions are pissing me off, and instead of feeling anxious about going inside, I now feel like I have something to prove.

I’m worthy of being on Jackson’s arm, even though I’m a nobody. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise.

Turning my head, I smile at him and say, “Kiss me.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he responds before ducking to press his lips to mine. The paparazzi go crazy, and we smile at each other as we part.

Take that, assholes.

I’d never believe the party was a simple birthday if Jackson hadn’t already told me. There has to be close to two hundred people scattered throughout the large room. Tables are placed randomly on the outskirts of the crowd, with champagne tablecloths and tall glass vases of large, plumed branches in the middle of them. Hundreds of black and champagne-colored balloons float along the ceiling, their streamers stopping just above people’s heads.

There’s a dance floor and a DJ booth, and doors open along one wall leading to an ivy-covered terrace. The lighting is low and intimate, setting off a romantic glow in the room. In the far corner, there’s a giant backdrop of hanging lights behind a champagne glass tower.

“Wow,” I murmur, taking it all in.

“Right? Like, okay, Mom, the people get it. No champagne problems for you at fifty-five.” A voice comes from my right.

Jumping slightly, I look over to see a man smiling at me as he hands me a glass filled with bubbly pink liquid. He’s about an inch shorter than Jackson, with deep-brown hair that looks freshly cut on the sides but wavy on top, and hazel eyes that make me think of moss-covered bark.

“I don’t know, I think this is understated for Margo,” Jackson responds as the man hands him a glass filled with scotch by the smell of it. “Tripp, this is Ginny. Ginny, Tripp Kennedy, my best friend.”

Tripp sticks his hand out for a handshake. “I promise I’m alot nicer than Jackson. I’m not as rich, not as good-looking, and I absolutely hate being in the tabloids. But I make a mean cup of coffee in the morning, and I don’t snore.”

I like him immediately, giggling as he waggles his eyebrows at Jackson before letting go of my hand. “Seriously, though. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I respond, stealing a glance at Jackson.

“I gotta warn you, my mother is going to ask you to lunch. Make an excuse not to go–it’s an interrogation, and she can be terrifying, but that’s her M.O. She wants to see if you crack under pressure. It’s her thing,” Tripp tells me.

“Stop trying to scare her. She’s not going anywhere,” Jackson says as he reaches for my hand and intertwines our fingers. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

“Don’t feed her to the wolves!” Tripp calls out behind us, but his tone is light and playful, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

“He’s fun. Lenni would like him,” I muse as we make our way through the crowd.

“Dear god, if those two ever meet, they’ll be annoying as shit together,” he replies.

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