The Party
1273 Words
The ballroom at the Plaza glittered like it was trying to outshine the city outside.
Crystal chandeliers. Strings of white roses. A guest list that read like a Forbes cover story.
Britney stood in the hallway outside, smoothing the emerald gown for the tenth time. Her palms were sweating through the silk gloves.
“You look fine,” Damian said behind her.
She turned. He was in a black tux, bow tie undone just enough to look intentional. He’d shaved closer tonight, and the faint scar on his jaw was visible.
“Fine isn’t the goal,” she said. “Mine, remember?”
His eyes darkened. “Then act like it.”
He offered his arm.
Britney took it. The contact sent a jolt up her spine. She told herself it was nerves.
The doors opened.
“Mr. Damian Hale and Ms. Britney Cole!”
Heads turned. Cameras flashed.
Britney kept her chin up and her smile small. Not too eager. Not too cold. Just enough to make it believable.
They moved through the crowd like they’d done this a hundred times. Damian introduced her to board members, investors, women in diamonds who looked at her like she’d stolen something.
“Your fiancée is lovely, Damian,” one woman said, studying Britney’s face. “New, isn’t she?”
“Very,” Damian said. His hand settled on the small of Britney’s back. It was light, possessive. Public.
Britney didn’t flinch. Much.
“Damian’s been keeping me to himself,” she said smoothly. “Figured I’d make a grand entrance.”
The woman’s smile tightened. “Smart girl.”
Halfway through the room, Adrian appeared.
Damian’s brother was taller, looser, with the same dark hair but none of the tension. He was laughing with a woman on his arm — Marcus Vance’s daughter, Elise Vance. She was beautiful in a way that looked expensive and bored.
“Brother,” Adrian said, pulling Damian into a one-armed hug. “You actually brought a date. To my engagement party. Did hell freeze over?”
Damian didn’t return the hug. “Britney. Adrian.”
Adrian’s eyes assessed her in one glance. Curious, not hostile. “Nice to meet you, Britney. He treats you alright?”
Britney smiled. “He’s learning.”
Adrian laughed. Elise didn’t. Her gaze flicked between them like she was solving a puzzle.
“Where did you meet?” Elise asked.
“In the office,” Damian said before Britney could answer. “She works for me.”
Elise’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. A workplace romance. Risky.”
“Not when it works,” Damian said.
Britney felt his fingers tighten against her back. Warning.
They moved on.
For the next hour, it was a performance. Dancing when the orchestra started. Smiling for photos. Answering the same three questions: _How long have you known each other?_ _When’s the wedding?_ _Is it serious?_
Britney’s answers were vague. Damian’s were colder.
But it worked. People believed it. Or wanted to.
During a lull, Adrian pulled Damian aside. Britney stayed by the bar, nursing sparkling water.
Elise approached her.
“You don’t seem like his type,” Elise said. No smile.
Britney tilted her head. “And what’s his type?”
“Controllable,” Elise said. “You don’t look controllable.”
Britney set her glass down. “Maybe he likes a challenge.”
Elise studied her. “Be careful, Ms. Cole. Damian Hale doesn’t keep things he’s done playing with.”
Before Britney could respond, the lights dimmed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee said. “A toast to Adrian Hale and Elise Vance.”
Everyone turned. Adrian stepped forward, glass in hand.
“And to my brother,” Adrian added, glancing at Damian. “Who brought his own surprise tonight. Damian, want to say a few words?”
The room went quiet.
Damian moved to the small stage, pulling Britney with him. His hand found hers under the table, firm and warm.
“To Adrian,” Damian said. Voice even, carrying without effort. “May your marriage be stronger than our business deals.”
Polite laughter.
“And to Britney,” he continued. “For agreeing to be part of this chaos. For reminding me that some deals are worth keeping.”
The room murmured. Cameras flashed.
Britney’s stomach dropped. _Reminding me._ That wasn’t in the script.
He looked down at her, eyes locked. For a second, it didn’t feel like acting.
“To us,” Damian said.
The room clapped.
Britney smiled, let him lift her hand, and kissed her cheek. Light. Public. Safe.
But his thumb brushed her knuckles once, barely there.
And her pulse spiked anyway.
---
After the toast, things shifted.
People treated her differently. More respect. More distance. The Hale name did that.
Britney used the attention to slip away for five minutes. She needed air.
She found it on the balcony, overlooking 59th Street. Cold air hit her face, clearing the fog of perfume and champagne.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Damian said behind her.
She didn’t turn. “I’m not alone anymore.”
He stepped beside her. Close, but not touching.
“That wasn’t part of the speech,” she said quietly.
“No,” he said. “But it was true.”
Britney looked at him. “What part?”
“That you’re worth keeping.”
Her breath caught.
Damian noticed. He always noticed.
“Don’t read into it, Britney,” he said. “This is still a contract.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because for three minutes tonight, I wanted it to sound real.”
He said it like it cost him something.
Before she could answer, Elise’s voice cut through the night.
“There you are, Damian.”
Elise stepped onto the balcony, Adrian trailing behind, looking uncomfortable.
“Playing house?” Elise said, eyes on Britney.
“Taking air,” Damian said.
Elise smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Be careful. People are talking. They like the story. And stories change fast.”
“Let them talk,” Damian said.
Elise’s gaze flicked to Britney. “I would, if I were you.”
She left. Adrian gave Britney an apologetic nod and followed.
Silence fell again.
Britney exhaled.
“You okay?” Damian asked.
“Fine,” she said. “Your ex-fiancée is charming.”
“She’s not my ex. She’s my problem.”
“Same thing.”
Damian’s mouth curved, faint and real this time.
“Come on,” he said. “One more dance, and we can leave. The board will be satisfied.”
Britney took his hand.
The dance was slow. Too slow. His hand was warm on her back, his chest solid against hers.
“Stop thinking so hard,” he murmured.
“I’m trying not to fall,” she said.
“Don’t,” he said. “Remember the rules.”
“I remember,” Britney whispered.
But the way he was looking at her made the rules feel flimsy.
The music ended. The moment broke.
Back in the car, Damian was quiet. Britney stared out the window, heart still uneven.
At the hotel, he walked her to her door.
“Good work tonight,” he said. “Vance didn’t look away once.”
“Mission accomplished,” Britney said.
Damian hesitated.
“Britney,” he said.
She waited.
“Get some sleep. We leave for Chicago tomorrow.”
He turned and walked away before she could answer.
Britney closed the door and leaned against it, hand over her chest.
It was still pretend.
But the line was getting thinner.
---
- Writer
