Million-Dollar Mistake
The glass of champagne in my hand was the only expensive thing I’d touched in three years.
Around me, the grand ballroom of the Grandview Hotel glittered like a jewel box dropped into a pool of black velvet. Men in Tom Ford tuxedos and women draped in real diamonds laughed over flute glasses, their voices a low, humming symphony of privilege. They belonged to a world that didn't know what it felt like to watch the bank count down the days until your family home was seized.
I clenched my fist, my nails digging into my skin.
If he'd listened, he’d still be alive and the estate would still be our. We could have been the happy family we always were so why?
I, on the other hand, was wearing a rented midnight-blue gown that cost more than my monthly rent, courtesy of a modeling favor from an old college friend who felt sorry for me.
Phy.I chuckle.He might be a little sideways in the head but he's always had my back when it came to it. He’s probably the only one I have in my corner, cheering me on in his own way.
God, I hate that bandana he wraps around his arm when his biceps are only as big as my pinky.
Insufferable drama-king.
My real job was sitting at a moldy desk in a windowless cubicle doing tax audits for people who bought yachts on a whim. Tonight, I was an "exotic art curator" named Elena Miller.
The later was the only honest thing about me .
"You're gripping that glass so hard the stem is going to snap, Elena."
I blinked, pulling my gaze away from a tray of passing mini-quiches. Julian Sterling was standing right beside me.
He hadn't made a sound as he approached. Julian Sterling—thirty-two, the youngest CEO in the history of Sterling Enterprises, and the man whose cold, grey eyes regularly graced the front page of the financial gazettes. Up close, he was taller than his photographs suggested, his broad shoulders filling out a midnight tuxedo that probably cost more than my father’s medical bills.
He looked a white sculpture of model you could only dream of. Julian Sterling rarely smiled in public, and tonight he looked like a man standing on a landmine.
Whatever had his pants in a twist was making me anxious as well.
"I'm just admiring the... decor–ahem architecture ," I said smoothly, forcing my fingers to relax around the champagne flute. I had spent three weeks memorizing high-society talking points for this exact moment.
Julian’s gaze swept over me, sharp and analytical, like an appraiser checking for cracks in porcelain.
"Architecture. In a ballroom built in 1924 by a man who specialized in Gothic revivals? Or are you admiring the way my mother’s friends are currently whispering about your dress?"
My breath hitched for a fraction of a second. "I wasn't aware I was being discussed."
"You're sitting at my table, wearing a dress from last season's Paris runway, drinking vintage Dom Pérignon, and you haven't checked your phone once since you walked in," Julian said, his voice a low, gravelly hum that vibrated right through my chest. "In this room, that makes you an anomaly,"
"Or a threat."He added, his eyes dropping to my cleavage but coming up so fast you'd think he didn't find it interesting enough.
I bet it's in his face all the time. Every woman I know and their step-aunties want Julian Sterling.
"Which one do you think I am?" I asked, turning my head to look directly into his eyes.Sighing,I ignore the uncomfortable feeling in my chest.
A shadow of genuine amusement crossed his face, gone as quickly as it came.
God damn that dimple in his right cheek.
He reached out, his warm fingers brushing lightly against my bare wrist as he took the champagne glass out of my hand and replaced it with a fresh one from a passing waiter's tray. The casual intimacy of the gesture sent a hot, dangerous jolt straight up my arm.
"Right now," Julian murmured, leaning just a fraction closer, "you're a very expensive distraction. And I happen to need one."
Before I could ask what he meant, a flashbulb popped to our left.
Across the room, a woman with immaculate silver hair and eyes as sharp as cut glass was watching us. Evelyn Sterling. Julian’s mother. The woman who controlled half the board and possessed a well-documented habit of destroying anyone who didn't fit into her master plan for the family empire.
Julian’s jaw tightened. Without another word, his arm banded around my waist, pulling me flush against his side. The sudden contact knocked the air right out of my lungs.
He smelt so good. Coconut and pineapple juice. It reminded me of the beach but there was the undercurrent of cinnamon that made me feel small under a strong wave of the ocean that could drown me.
He's acting Elena, don't embarrass yourself.I could feel his strong heartbeat against the palm of the hand I'd placed against his chest.
"Smile," Julian whispered against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "My mother is walking this way. And if you want me to save your father's estate from foreclosure tomorrow morning, you're going to play the part of my fiancée very, very convincingly."
