Pretending To Be His

Three : Bruised Sensibilities

Dropping her keys on the kitchen counter, Aria let the door swing shut behind her with a hearty slam. The tiny apartment felt more like a sanctuary than ever after the exhausting week she’d just had and the thought of having the next two days off to recover was the only thing that had been keeping her sane. Kicking off her shoes, she padded across the bare floorboards, the silence of the space wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

Her apartment was minimalist in every sense of the word—just one bedroom, a small kitchen combined with a cramped living room—but it was hers and Aria liked it that way. There was something comforting about the simplicity of her surroundings, about keeping things neat and uncluttered when everything else in her life felt so messy and out of control. Eying the stack of unopened letters on the side table, her heart plummeted a bit. She had to deal with them at some point, she knew, but tonight she didn’t want to think about it. She wandered into the kitchen, opened the fridge and found her eyes flicking between the bottle of water and the half-empty bottle of wine she’d bought impulsively last week.

Did she want to get drunk tonight? Kind of. Would she agree with that decision tomorrow? Probably not.

Reluctantly, she grabbed the water and shut the fridge door with a decisive thud. As she leaned against the counter and took a sip her phone buzzed from her pocket, pulling her from her thoughts. She fished it out and glanced at the screen. Sara.

“Aria!” Sara’s voice was bright and full of energy as Aria answered. “Okay, before you say no, hear me out!”

“I know I’m not going to like this...”

“Just listen! There’s a gala tomorrow night. Super fancy, lots of important people in real estate, construction—the whole shebang. You have to come with me as my plus one.”

Aria groaned, rubbing her forehead. “I don’t know… After the week I’ve had the last thing I want to do is get dressed up and make small talk with a bunch of rich strangers.”

“But think about it, it’s a chance to meet potential clients and network! Plus, you’re my best friend, you can’t let me go to these things alone, I’ll literally die of boredom.”

“I really don’t feel like dealing with people right now.”

“You can’t let one terrible client keep you down. This could be your chance to make new connections. Just think about it; one evening, free drinks, a room full of potential clients. What do you have to lose?”

Aria paused, glancing around her quiet apartment. The thought of networking after such a brutal rejection made her stomach churn, but Sara had a point. She couldn’t afford to pass up opportunities, not when she needed to get back on her feet.

“Fine.” She said grudgingly. “I’ll go. But only because you’re practically forcing me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sara’s excitement practically buzzed through the phone. “You won’t regret it, I swear. I’ll pick you up at seven—wear something killer.”

Aria laughed despite herself. “I’ll try. But don’t expect killer. You know my wardrobe.”

“Whatever you wear, you’ll look amazing.” Sara assured. “See you tomorrow!”

After hanging up, Aria set the phone down and stared at the pile of unopened letters. The last thing she wanted was to attend a gala, but if it meant a chance to recover from the disaster that was Grayson Stone, she was willing to give it a shot.

Even if it meant playing nice with the elites for one night.

*****

Aria tugged at the hem of her dress for what felt like the hundredth time that evening as she and Sara made their way through the grand entrance of the gala. While Sara glided effortlessly in her shimmering gold, backless gown, turning heads with every step, Aria couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that she didn’t belong. She felt out of place, awkward, like she stuck out in the middle of such elegance in her simple dress, as if everyone could see right through her attempts to blend in.

“Are you sure I look okay?” She asked, fussing with the hem.

It had been three years since she’d last worn this dress, back when it was new for a friend’s wedding. Now, standing among the sea of designer gowns and tailored tuxedos, it felt distinctly out of place and the fabric that had once made her feel elegant felt faded in comparison to the luxurious silks and satins swirling around her.

“You look amazing. No one here cares about labels anyway, trust me. They’re too busy showing off their own.”

Aria sighed, still feeling self-conscious as she smoothed the fabric once more. The deep blue chiffon flowed nicely, but she couldn't help but see every little imperfection. Did everyone else notice that the lace was slightly torn at her wrist? Or that she’d had to pin one of the straps after it had snapped?

“Seriously, stop worrying.” Sara urged, looping her arm through Aria’s. “It’s all about confidence, not what you’re wearing.”

Fake it until you make it. Aria sighed and stopped touching the gown. She could do that.

The chandeliers glittered above, casting a soft, golden light over the crowd as laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the air. The gowns, the jewels, the effortless wealth—it was the kind of event that oozed luxury and a little too much of it. But she knew Sara was right. This gala was her chance to network, to meet potential clients and bounce back from the humiliation of last week’s disaster pitch and show the guys in her office she was someone to be reckoned with.

“Let’s get some champagne, mingle, find you a client and me a man.”

“Get you a wha—”

“Kidding!” Sara laughed, nudging her playfully. “Well, mostly anyway.”

“Fine.” Aria said, her shoulders relaxing just a bit. “But I’m holding you to the ‘find me a client’ part.”

Sara winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll be drowning in them by the end of the night. Now, let’s get you some of that bubbly and work the room like the bosses we are.”

A few hours later as Sara excitedly gossiped with a fashion editor she’d met near the bar, Aria decided to escape for a moment. She needed a break from all the small talk and plus, she was starving. The sight of the lavish buffet spread across the ballroom had caught her eye and she figured some food might help settle the nerves still buzzing under her skin. She made her way across the room, trying to stay out of the way of glittering gowns and expensive suits, but just as she approached the buffet table her eyes landed on a familiar figure, standing tall and imposing near the edge of the room.

Grayson Stone.

Her stomach twisted. He was deep in conversation with someone, his usual cold, unreadable expression firmly in place. Aria's feet faltered, but before she could turn and walk in the other direction the man Grayson was speaking with spotted her.

“Aria! Aria Hart!” The voice belonged to Mr. Langston, one of her former clients.

His warm greeting drew the attention of Grayson, whose gaze flickered toward her with mild interest.

Great.

Aria forced a smile and approached, wishing she could disappear into the floor. “Mr. Langston, it’s good to see you again.” She said, shaking his hand.

“Good to see you too!” Langston grinned. “This is one of my business partners, Grayson Stone.”

“We’ve met.” She said, keeping her voice even.

Grayson’s brow lifted slightly, his eyes running over her as if she were some curiosity he was trying to place. “We have?”

Aria’s blood boiled, her frustration bubbling to the surface. Of course he didn’t remember her. Why would he? To him, she was just another woman he’d belittled, another face in a sea of people who didn’t meet his impossibly high standards. Another name lost in the shuffle of his self-centered world.

“We met earlier this week.” She reminded him, voice tight. “I pitched my designs to you.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to recall something, but there was no recognition in his expression. “Is that so…”

The word grated on Aria's nerves, only confirming what she already knew—that he hadn’t given her a second thought. As if their meeting, the hours she’d spent preparing and the work she’d poured herself into hadn’t mattered at all. As if she didn’t matter. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping back at him and straightened her posture, pulling herself up with as much dignity as she could muster.

“I understand if you don’t remember, Mr Stone. I’m sure it was just one of many meetings for you.”

Her words hung pointedly in the air between them, but Grayson’s expression barely flickered. He gave her a slow nod, one that felt more like an obligatory response than any real acknowledgment.

Langston laughed. “Please excuse Mr Stone, he has a memory of a sieve.”

“Only for what’s not important enough to remember.” Grayson corrected, his words cold and cutting.

His eyes shifted back to Aria, his eyes locking on her wrist. Her stomach churned as she recalled her torn lace and resisted the urge to cover the tear, knowing that any attempt to hide it would only call more attention to the flaw. But her cheeks betrayed her, heating with a mix of embarrassment and frustration despite her efforts to remain indifferent. Why was it, out of a room full of strangers it had to be him that noticed the imperfection on her dress? It was absurd—he was absurd—and yet, here she was, allowing his condescending gaze to unravel her composure. The pressure of his dismissal, the small tear in her dress and the way the room seemed to shrink under his scrutiny—all of it pushed at the edges of her self-control.

“I’m sorry, have I done something to offend you Mr Stone?” She asked sweetly, blinking quickly in faux innocence. “I don’t believe I deserve this hostility.”

Langston, ever the White Knight, stepped in right on cue. “The lady’s right, Stone. You’re being awfully rude.”

Grayson’s eyes flicked back toward Langston, then returned to Aria, his expression cool and unreadable. For a brief moment, she thought he was going to call her out on her little act, but then his lips curved into the faintest smirk, one that barely reached his eyes.

“Hostility?” Grayson repeated, as though the idea of it was completely foreign to him. “I wasn’t aware I was being hostile, Ms. Hart, but if I’ve offended your sensibilities, consider my apology extended.”

Sarcasm dripped from his every word and Aria felt her pulse quicken with barely-contained anger.

“I appreciate that, though I think we both know it’s not my sensibilities that are the problem here, Mr Stone.”

“I’m beginning to get the sense that perhaps I have done something to offend you, Ms Hart.”

Her smile widened, but there was no warmth behind it. “I’m not sure you could even if you tried, Mr. Stone.”

His brow arched slightly, his lips curving into the faintest of smirks. “Is that so?”

Langston gave a nervous chuckle. “Well, I’m sure we can all agree there’s no need for any animosity. We’re all professionals here.”

Only then did Aria realize just how close she was standing to Grayson. At some point during their back-and-forth, they had moved closer to one another, now standing inappropriately near, enough that she could feel the soft whisper of his breath against her temple. The realization sent a jolt through her and she quickly cleared her throat, taking a step back. Grayson’s smirk deepened ever so slightly, as though he found her retreat amusing. His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, sharp and assessing.

“Of course.” He said smoothly, his eyes still on her. “No animosity at all. Just... A misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?”

“Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I’m sure we did.” Aria replied, her voice tight with forced politeness. “I wouldn’t want you to waste any more of your valuable time, Mr. Stone.”

Grayson’s eyes narrowed, his lips twitching with the hint of another smirk. “No, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

She knew she should walk away, but something about their banter, their thinly veiled barbs, had ignited a spark of fury... And something else she didn’t want to admit.

“Right, well, no harm done, I’m sure.” Langston cut in.

Aria gave a final, curt nod, then turned on her heel, leaving the two men behind her before she did or said something she’d regret. The fury bubbled, but as she walked away, she knew one thing for certain—Grayson Stone wouldn’t forget her now.