Page 12 of Hooked on Dallas
When the song ends, I expect him to release me. Instead, he draws me closer. “The auction begins soon. Why don’t you go freshen up while I see to the final arrangements?”
I nod, disappointment warring with relief as he steps away. My skin still tingles where he’d held me and I press my hands there, trying to contain the sensation.
What am I doing? This is my boss, a man known for his aloofness and indifference. I am reading too much into simple politeness, letting my imagination run away with me.
With a sigh, I make my way to the restroom to collect myself. By the time I emerge, the auction is in full swing and Mr. De La Cruz is engrossed in conversation across the room. As if sensingmy gaze, he glances up, offering a brief smile and nod before returning his attention to his guest.
The earlier warmth fades, replaced by stinging embarrassment. I have been a fool to think, even for a moment, that I am special enough to pierce his detached facade. My place is by his side as his assistant, nothing more. Resolved, I straighten my shoulders and move to join him, shielding my hurt behind a professional mask. The rest of the evening passes in a blur, and before I know it, we are saying our goodbyes in the parking lot.
The ballroom is awash with color and sound. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the crowd, the light glinting off jewelry and champagne flutes. Classical music plays in the background, the melody light and airy. Laughter and conversation flows together, a sea of mingled voices.
Mr. De La Cruz guides me through the throng, his hand a warm presence at my back. I swallow, hyperaware of his touch and the scent of his cologne. Get a grip, Laura. He is just being polite.
A few attendees greet us, complimenting the event. Mr. De La Cruz accepts their praise with a gracious nod, though his eyes remain cool and detached. I plaster on a smile, making small talk and steering the conversations back to the charity and its mission.
One couple scrutinizes me with unveiled curiosity, their gazes flickering between me and Mr. De La Cruz. The woman’s lips curl in a knowing smirk that makes me blush. I clear my throat, eager to escape their avid stares.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Mr. De La Cruz says. He guides me away, irritation etched in the tight line of his mouth.
“Nosy socialites,” he mutters. “Pay them no mind.”
“Of course.” I resist the urge to look back at the couple. “The important thing is we raised a good amount for the charity tonight.”
“We did.” His expression softens. “You did well, Ms. Stevens. I don’t say it enough, but your work is invaluable to me.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at his praise. I duck my head, hoping the dim light hides my pleased smile. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
His hand squeezes my back for a moment. “I know. And it’s appreciated.”
Our gazes catch and hold, a wealth of unspoken words hovering between us.
He glances away, the shutters closing over his eyes once more. The memory of his touch fades, and I am left with only the lingering ache in my heart.
I shake off the strange melancholy and force a smile. “Shall we mingle some more, or would you like to head out?”
“I think we’ve done our duty for the evening.” He checks his watch. “Unless there’s someone else you need to speak with?”
“No, I’m ready to call it a night.” I stifle a yawn behind my hand. It has been a long day preparing for the gala, and the heels I chose are pinching my feet into something awful. All I want is to kick them off, change into pajamas and veg out in front of the TV.
Mr. De La Cruz nods and steers us toward the exit. I bid goodnight to a few more guests on our way out, but my heart isn’t in it.
Outside, the driver hops out of the town car to open the door for us. The cool night air is a relief after the stuffy ballroom, scented with the promise of rain.
Mr. De La Cruz hesitates, glancing between me and the car.
“Goodnight, Ms. Stevens. Thank you again for all your hard work.”
“Goodnight, sir.” I duck into the car, hiding my disappointment. It seems I will enjoy a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream instead of a fancy cocktail tonight.
As the car pulls away from the curb, Mr. De La Cruz is still standing there in the glow of the streetlights, gazing after us with an unreadable expression.
What is that about? I lean my head back with a sigh, realizing I am no closer to figuring out my enigmatic boss than when I first started working for him. The man is an absolute mystery.
One I find myself determined to solve.
The next day at work, I am distracted by thoughts of the previous evening. Mr. De La Cruz has been in a good mood, complimenting my work and crack a few jokes.
My boss is mercurial on the best of days. There is no point trying to analyze his behavior or search for hidden meaning.
