Love For Sale

Chapter 1: The Crash

Naomi Ellis stood outside the entrance of the Blackwell Hotel, nervously clutching a gold-embossed invitation. It wasn’t real—not that anyone inside would know. Her breath misted in the chilly air as she stared up at the sparkling chandelier visible through the glass doors.

“Just walk in,” she whispered to herself, trying to steady her shaking voice. She tugged at her emerald-green dress, the hem fraying a bit, hoping no one would notice.

Her heart was racing. What if someone found out? What if security tossed her out before she even stepped inside? But the thought of going back to her tiny apartment with nothing to show for her efforts made her stomach turn.

Naomi shook her head. “You’ve got this.”

The doorman barely looked up as she walked through the revolving doors, the warmth of the hotel’s interior wrapping around her. She blinked, taken aback by the extravagance of the gala. Gold and crystal sparkled everywhere, from the glittering chandeliers to the champagne flutes resting on silver trays.

Her grip tightened on her clutch bag, the one holding her stack of business cards. This was it—her chance. If she could just get one person to take an interest in her work, it might change everything.

Naomi moved through the crowd, holding her head high despite the sweat on her palms. Her artist’s eye noticed everything: the modern paintings on the walls, the way the lighting made the rich fabric of designer gowns glow.

She spotted a group of well-dressed guests gathered around a large abstract painting and slipped closer. Her hand went into her clutch, pulling out a business card, which she casually set on a nearby table.

Her fingers brushed the glossy surface, and a small rush of satisfaction gave her a little boost. “One down, twenty-nine to go,” she muttered to herself.

Just as she turned to move on, someone’s shoulder hit hers—hard.

Naomi stumbled back, her heel catching on the edge of the plush carpet. “Oh!” she gasped, managing to steady herself just in time to watch a crimson arc of wine spill from a crystal glass.

It landed right on the pristine white shirt of the man in front of her.

Ethan Blackwell’s jaw tightened as he looked down at the dark red stain spreading across his chest. His fingers clenched around the now-empty glass, the tension in his knuckles obvious.

“Are you serious?” he said, his voice dangerously calm.

Naomi’s face burned with embarrassment. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you—”

“You didn’t see me?” Ethan interrupted, his eyes narrowing. “I’m six feet tall. Hard to miss.”

Naomi bristled at the condescension in his tone. Her embarrassment quickly shifted into irritation. “Well, maybe if you weren’t standing in the middle of the room like some giant roadblock, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“And anyway,” she shot back, gesturing at the wine stain, “who wears white to an event like this? Isn’t that a rookie mistake?”

Ethan stared at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips curled into a small smirk. “And who crashes an event like this without knowing how to keep a low profile? That’s not a rookie mistake—that’s just plain stupid.”

Naomi’s stomach twisted, but she refused to back down. She squared her shoulders and met his piercing gaze. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I don’t need to,” Ethan said coolly, his smirk fading. “You’re out of place, and now you’ve made that painfully obvious to everyone.”

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to stand her ground. “You’re right. I don’t belong here. But maybe that’s because people like you make sure no one else gets a chance.”

For a moment, something flickered in Ethan’s eyes—something sharp and calculating. He tilted his head, studying her like she was some kind of puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

Before he could respond, Naomi turned on her heel and walked away, her fists clenched at her sides.

Ethan watched her leave, his jaw tightening again as irritation flared in his chest. Who the hell did she think she was, talking to him like that? No one spoke to him that way—not his employees, not his clients, and definitely not some random woman who’d spilled wine all over him.

But, as she disappeared into the crowd, he found himself strangely... curious.

“Sir, do you need assistance?” A waiter approached him hesitantly.

“No,” Ethan said sharply, waving the man off. “I’ll handle it.”

Naomi ducked into a quieter corner of the room, her chest tight. Her hands shook as she pulled out another card from her clutch.

“That could’ve gone better,” she muttered under her breath, a bitter laugh escaping her.

Before she could decide what to do next, a hand landed on her shoulder.

She spun around, heart leaping into her throat, and found herself face-to-face with a tall, burly security guard.

“Miss,” he said, his expression grim. “You’re coming with me.”

“What? No, I—I haven’t done anything wrong!” Naomi protested, panic rising in her chest.

The guard’s grip tightened slightly, though not enough to hurt. “We’ll see about that.”

Naomi’s eyes darted around the room, but no one seemed to notice—or care—that she was being escorted away. Her stomach churned as she realized the gravity of her mistake.

As the guard led her toward a side exit, she caught one last glimpse of Ethan Blackwell, standing in the center of the room with his wine-stained shirt and unreadable expression.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something in his gaze—curiosity? Amusement?

But then, the moment was gone, and the doors closed behind her with a sharp click.