An hour later,I’m in front of the Thompson Hotel. The ride only took twenty minutes, but the moment we pulled up, it felt like stepping into another world.
People are everywhere. Cameras are flashing; traffic jammed at the curb as sleek cars drop off Seattle’s elite; paparazzi swarm the front entrance, their shouts cutting through the night. The instructions in the employee packet had been clear:use the side door if you want to avoid the chaos.
Clutching my small black purse tighter, I maneuver around the crowd, hugging the edge of the hotel until I spot the discreet staff entrance.
A black town car glides up then, and Worth steps out, broad shoulders filling his perfectly tailored tuxedo. My stomach does a traitorous flip.
A woman emerges after him. Tall. Leggy. A beautiful redhead in a black sparkly gown that probably cost more than my annual rent. Diamonds glitter around her throat, wrists, and ears, catching every camera flash. Her manicured hand slides into the crook of Worth’s arm like it was designed to rest there.
She’s elegance personified. Gorgeous. Exactly the kind of woman who belongs on his arm.
I scoff under my breath. Another night, another beauty. Another headline waiting to happen for the blue collar playboy.
Worth Miller rotates women like he rotates luxury watches.
He and his redheaded goddess pause at the curb, immediately swallowed by the frenzy of flashing bulbs. The cameras eat them alive. She tilts her chin, dazzling smile locked in place, while Worth stands steady beside her, jaw set, every inch the composed CEO. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, but almost detached, like this is just another transaction.
Still, the sight of them posing together twists something in my stomach. They look perfect, fitting effortlessly into each other’s worlds. I feel like a fraud in comparison, sneaking towards the staff door in my borrowed dress.
Just as I start to move again towards the side entrance, his head turns, as if pulled by some invisible thread and his gaze lands directly on me.
My breath catches, heat racing down my spine. For one impossible second, it’s just Worth and me, locked across the crowd. His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to read me from a distance, pin me in place.
Heart hammering, I duck my head and hurry inside, pushing into the quieter hallways of the hotel. The muffled beat of music and the hum of voices guide me toward the ballroom.
Only then do I let out a breath.
I shake off the memory of Worth’s gaze on me and step deeper into the room, scanning the crowd for familiar faces from the office.
I’m about to head towards the bar when someone falls into step behind me.
“Jones.”
I turn and blink. For a second, I don’t even recognize him.
Griffin. In a tux.
The rugged, slightly scruffy architect I’m used to seeing in jeans and work boots is gone. In his place is a man in a perfectly fitted tuxedo, white shirt crisp, bowtie knotted just right. His copper hair is smoothed back, his jaw clean-shaven, and damn, he looks good, polished.
My lips tug into a smile. “Wow. You clean up nice, Hayes. I almost didn’t recognize you without sawdust on your boots.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t get used to it. Tuxedos aren’t really my thing.”
“Well, it suits you.” I nudge him lightly with my elbow.
He grins but it fades almost instantly when he glances at his phone. His brows knit, thumb swiping the screen, before locking it again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly, but the tightness in his jaw betrays him.
I raise a brow, waiting.
Finally, he exhales. “Just a little nervous. My son is with a new babysitter tonight. His usual nanny—my neighbor—is getting older and can’t keep up with him anymore. So her granddaughter is filling in.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say, trying to reassure him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.