The Man Across the Room
1489 Words
Julian stepped out first, smoothing the front of his suit before hurrying around the car. The soft glow from the event hall lights spilled across the driveway, brushing the polished vehicle in gold. He opened the door with a small bow of his head.
“Thank you so much, Julian,” Miranda said as she stepped out, her heels touching the ground with quiet elegance.
Brenda followed, carefully gathering the edge of her dress so it would not drag. She glanced down at herself again, as though she still could not believe what she was wearing. The fabric shimmered whenever she moved.
“What amazes me,” Brenda said softly, eyes shining as she looked at Miranda, “is how much kindness you carry in your heart. Today I get to attend an event like this looking like a princess. All because of you, miss.”
Miranda’s lips curved, half amused, half fond. “You never get tired of thanking me, do you? You should rest from gratitude once in a while, my dear.”
“I don’t think I can,” Brenda replied honestly. “In the short time I’ve worked with you, you’ve done so much for me. I truly am grateful.”
Miranda shook her head lightly, though her eyes softened. “It’s fine. Shall we go in now?”
“Yes, miss.”
They walked toward the entrance together, their steps measured and graceful. The tall glass doors opened before they reached them, and warm music drifted out to meet them. Inside, laughter floated above the low hum of conversation, and crystal lights sparkled from the ceiling like a sky full of stars.
Miranda’s gaze moved across the hall the moment they stepped in. She scanned the crowd slowly, searching. Her eyes stopped when she spotted her father standing among a small circle of men. The moment she recognized him, she almost turned her face away—but he turned at that exact second. His eyes found hers immediately.
He lifted his hand and beckoned.
There was no escape.
Miranda released a soft breath, then stopped a passing server and lifted two glasses of wine from the tray. She handed one to Brenda.
“Come,” she murmured. “Let’s meet my father. And remember—don’t walk behind me. Stay beside me.”
“Yes, miss,” Brenda answered, straightening slightly.
They crossed the hall together. Heads turned as they passed. Miranda moved with calm poise, each step steady, her chin lifted just enough to show confidence without pride. Brenda tried to match her pace, her shoulders drawn back the way she had practiced.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Anderson said as they approached, pride already warming his voice, “this is my beloved daughter, Miranda Anderson.”
The men nodded, their attention settling on her.
“You have a very beautiful daughter,” one of them said, his tone rich with approval.
“Thank you, Mr. Mackeron,” Mr. Anderson replied, pleased. “Miranda, this is Mr. Mackeron, the CEO of MacTac Groups—the largest dealers in precious stones.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” Miranda said, dipping her head slightly.
“Your father never told me you were this lovely,” Mr. Mackeron said, studying her face with open admiration.
“I’m very flattered, sir.” Her smile was warm, controlled, and effortless.
He tilted his head. “Would you honor me with a dance?”
Miranda glanced briefly at her father. He met her eyes and gave a small nod, the familiar signal that all was well. She turned back.
“It would be my pleasure.”
Mr. Mackeron extended his hand. She placed hers in it, and he led her toward the dance floor.
The music swelled gently as they joined the other couples. His hand rested lightly at her back, guiding but not pressing. Miranda moved easily, her steps flowing with the rhythm as though she and the melody had known each other for years.
“You dance beautifully,” he said.
“Well enough to save my life,” she replied playfully.
He chuckled. “Has anyone told you that you have a beautiful smile?”
Before she answered, he lifted the wineglass from her hand and set it neatly on a passing tray. When she looked back at him, her smile returned—softer this time, almost shy.
“Don’t tell me,” he said, eyes narrowing with teasing curiosity, “that there’s no man in your life. What have you been doing all this while?”
The question lingered between them. Miranda’s lashes lowered briefly.
“I once loved someone,” she said quietly. “My childhood friend. The night he asked me to be his girlfriend, he had an accident. He… didn’t survive.”
The music continued, but something in her voice made it seem distant.
Mr. Mackeron’s expression changed at once.
“I’m deeply sorry. Truly. But that shouldn’t stop you from loving again, my dear. Life must move forward.” He paused, then added with a thoughtful hum, “I would have introduced you to my son… but that boy is trouble wrapped in a suit. His mother only wants him married because he’s our only child.” He smiled faintly. “You should visit us someday. My wife would adore you.”
Miranda’s brow lifted with gentle amusement.
“Should I consider that an invitation… or a strategy to win me over?”
He laughed softly. “Let’s just say I’d be delighted if you met him before he leaves town.”
“I’ll think about it, sir.”
The song slowed toward its end. He guided her through one last turn, then released her hand.
“Thank you for the dance. I shouldn’t tire you with too much of my company.”
“The pleasure was mine,” she replied. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to rejoin my friend.”
“Not at all. I’ll return to the directors.”
They parted with polite smiles.
Miranda stepped away from the dance floor, her eyes already searching through the crowd for Brenda. She moved past clusters of guests, scanning faces, dresses, suits—
Then she stopped.
Her breath caught.
Across the hall stood a man she had never seen before.
He wasn’t doing anything remarkable. He simply stood there, one hand in his pocket, listening to someone speak. Yet something about him drew her gaze and held it there. The light touched the side of his face, sharpening the line of his jaw. His posture was relaxed, but there was quiet authority in the way he carried himself, as though the room had arranged itself around him without realizing it.
Miranda blinked once. Twice.
“Such aura…” she whispered without meaning to.
“What did you say, miss?”
She hadn’t noticed Brenda return. Miranda grabbed her hand suddenly.
“Have you ever seen a man this handsome?”
“Miss—miss!” Brenda whispered urgently. “Your grip is tight. Please loosen it.”
Miranda blinked again, then released her at once. “Oh! I’m sorry, Brenda. I think I almost forgot myself.”
Brenda followed her gaze. “That’s Mr. Lot.”
“You know him?” Miranda asked quickly, her eyes bright with interest.
“I heard he arrived last week,” Brenda said. “But miss, I’ve never seen you react to any man like this. What is it about him?”
Miranda didn’t answer immediately. She studied him again—the calm face, the quiet confidence, the effortless presence.
“Can’t you see?” she murmured. “Lot seems like… a whole lot. I like him already, I must admit. Tell me everything you know.”
“I don’t know much,” Brenda admitted. “Only that he’s the only surviving nephew of Lady Jane Ontario.”
Miranda’s head turned sharply. “The same Lady Jane who sits on the board of directors?”
“Yes, miss.”
“That is interesting.”
Brenda leaned closer. “Do you want to go over and speak to him?”
Miranda let out a soft laugh and shook her head.
“That would be unladylike. I may like him, but not enough to walk up to him. What would I even say? Hello, handsome stranger, you’ve had me staring since I saw you?”
Brenda giggled.
“I was shocked when you started gushing,” she said. “I thought you were immune to charm.”
Miranda’s eyes drifted back to the man across the room. He shifted slightly, and for a moment she thought he might look her way.
“The heart,” she said softly, “has seen what it wants.”
She paused, her fingers folding lightly together.
“I just hope,” she added, barely above a whisper, “that Mr. Lot sees me too.”
- Writer
