LILY
I’d never seen Declan act so … bizarre. There had been something else he had to say, or confess, or ask me—I could see it in his eyes—but Marlo had walked up and ruined everything between us. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he had done it on purpose.
Not that my boss had a thing for me. It really wasn’t like that. Marlo was simply the type of guy who enjoyed possessing things … and people. He made sure everyone knew what belonged to him, and he acted like I was part of his property, figuratively pissing all over me every chance he got.
Declan definitely didn’t like it.
And I loved knowing that it bothered him. Even if I had no idea what it all meant, it still felt good. If things were reversed and Declan’s assistant acted like she owned him, I’d come unglued too. It would drive me crazy—and not in a good way.
Shaking my head, I reminded myself about the relationship drama Ellen had filled me in on earlier. Basically, none of it mattered—not the way I felt about Declan, not the way Declan felt about me (if anything)—because there was no way in hell he’d ever act on it. I needed to get the thoughts of him out of my head.
It was a good thing that Christmas was right around the corner. The distance would be helpful.
At least, that was what I tried to convince myself of … right up until the day before break started and Declan stalked up to my desk, leaned toward me, and whispered, “See you at the party,” before walking away without waiting for a response.
I turned to look at Ellen, who was watching with rapt attention, her eyebrows raised.
“What was that all about?” she asked with disapproval in her voice.
I shrugged. “Nothing,” I answered because that was what it had been, right? Nothing.
Christmas came and went, and I’d spent every single morning of my break from the office sleeping in with the exception of Christmas morning when I had to be at my parents’ house in the Valley at the ass crack of dawn. There were few things more blissful than sleep, and I never got enough of it, even on weekends. The week off at Rockline Studios between the two holidays was the one time of year that I relished in snoozing past ten a.m. I refused to feel guilty about it, loving the way my covers felt while tucked up around my chin, my body surrounded by pillows, my lustful dreams keeping me warm.
I sat out on my balcony for hours, the warm sun tickling my toes as I read on my Kindle. This time off was filled with all the things I never seemed to have enough time to do. Reading, catching extra z’s, and watching all the shows I had piling up on my DVR with a pint—or three—of ice cream.
I loved my alone time—something most people, my little sister included, never seemed to understand. She insisted that I hit the bars and clubs in Hollywood with her every night, texting me like crazy, but the last thing I wanted to do was go out and meet shitty, egotistical, self-absorbed guys that meant nothing and went nowhere. Been there, done that. More than a few times over, if I was being honest. It was such a waste of time, and I had zero interest in any of it anymore.
That was when I had known I was getting old. Ha! Most of my friends were already married and had at least one kid, some with another on the way. I was technically behind, but I never felt it. If there was such a thing as a biological clock, mine had definitely stopped ticking. Or maybe it hadn’t started yet. All I knew was that I wasn’t the kind of person who rushed into things, especially marriage and babies. I’d just found my dream company to work for; I was content with focusing on that aspect of my life.
Speaking of, the most annoying thing was how much I still seemed to think about Declan. I was supposed to be giving myself a break from him, but it’d proven to be impossible. My mind was definitely not on board with Operation Get Over the D. And I absolutely meant both versions—Declan and his dick. Not that I had any idea what it looked like, but in my imagination, it was perfection, all thick and filling and basically made for me.
Even the fictional boyfriends in my books didn’t compare to him. I found myself making mental notes on what the guys in my stories said and did versus what Declan had said and done, and he won every single time. Mostly because Declan was real.
And I would get to see him tonight. In theory.
When it came to the Rockline New Year’s Eve party, you were lucky to run into any of your coworkers at all if you didn’t come to the bash with them. The event was massive, overwhelming, and exciting. But finding people you knew was nearly impossible. I always thought that it was an odd way to show appreciation for all of your staff’s hard work over the year, but then again, that was what the year-end bonuses were for. If I had to choose between the two, I’d rather have the extra money ten times out of ten. The money was helpful. The parties were just … the most talked about event of the year.
My phone pinged out with a text message, and to my surprise, it was from Ellen and not my little sister. We had never once talked or texted during the holiday break before, so this was a first.
“You’re still coming to the party tonight?” she asked, and I found the question a little odd as I stared at the words on my phone.
“Of course. Why?”
“My husband is sick. I was debating on whether or not to stay home or go without him.”
Ohh. I wasn’t sure how to respond.
As much as I liked Ellen, I really hadn’t planned on spending the night of LA’s biggest party by her side. Just the thought of it sort of depressed me. Not that Ellen wasn’t a wonderful coworker, but she didn’t really strike me as fun.
Before I could think of what to say or how to respond, another text came through.
“I’m going to stay home with him. If he feels better, we’ll both be there. Have fun.”
I felt a little bad for her but not enough to try to convince her to ditch her husband and hang out with me instead, so I sent her a text that said, “That sucks, but you’re a really good wife. Hope he feels better.”
I wasn’t sure what else I was supposed to say, so I hoped that was enough and that it hadn’t come across as rude. When she never responded, I checked the clock on the wall and noted that I still had a couple of hours before I needed to start getting ready.
Keeping my butt firmly planted on my chair outside, I turned my Kindle back on and continued reading.
My car was parked in the overflow lot as I walked by myself toward the stage where the party was being held. I thought I’d arrived fairly early, but it was already a madhouse with crowds that rivaled the entrance to Disneyland on a summer day. There were people in front of and behind me, all dressed to the nines, but I didn’t immediately recognize anyone. And to be honest, I was too embarrassed to outright stare or gawk just to see if I was surrounded by movie stars or not.
The evening air held a chill, and there was a line to get in. I should have grabbed some sort of jacket, but I’d talked myself out of it before I left, deciding that I’d only be outside briefly and it wasn’t worth waiting in line at the coat check. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I squeezed myself, hoping I didn’t look anywhere near as cold as I felt as anxiety ripped through me. I was feeling so anxious for no reason at all that I could place as I gave my name to the man guarding the entrance and showed him my studio identification card before shoving it back into my clutch.
“Enjoy your evening, Miss St. Claire,” he said as I stepped through the steel door and into an absolutely breath-stealing wonderland.
My jaw dropped open as I took in the scene in front of me, my body instantly stopping its forward motion, as if I’d stepped in quicksand, my legs refusing to move. The previously empty space had been transformed into not only the main character’s mansion from the Roaring Twenties movie hit, but the outdoor grounds as well. A winding grand staircase took center stage as far up as the eye could see. I was pretty sure it was the one used in the actual film. A film I’d seen no less than ten times already. I was sort of obsessed with it.
There was a large lawn with perfectly manicured hedges that directed the traffic without being obvious. And the flowers … holy shit, there were so many flowers—in large pots, in vases, on the ground. Multiple trees with mini lights hanging on them illuminated the space between the mansion and the cottage, interspersed with benches for sitting, and there were even old-fashioned cars that you could take pictures in. Everything was so opulent and stunning. It was no wonder that everyone wanted to come to this party; even regular people like myself felt like a star.
Once I convinced my legs to start moving again, I made my way to the spiral staircase and grabbed the railing with one hand. I stepped carefully, doing my best not to fall and embarrass the hell out of myself as I made my way up, up, up. When I reached the top, it opened up into what was supposed to be a hallway that led to the bedrooms, but they actually led nowhere. This could easily double as an additional dance floor later on … as long as no one plummeted to their death.
The candlelight glowed all around me as I let my head fall back, forgetting that I wasn’t really in someone’s house for a moment. The normal steel beams that ran across the ceiling had been transformed to look like the night sky. There was no end to the stage, only an everlasting galaxy with a full moon that gave off a real-life glow, accompanied by a plethora of stars that you could never, ever see in Los Angeles.
This company was truly something else. They’d pulled out all the stops, spared no expense, and turned an empty warehouse into a mystical wonderland.
No sooner had a small smile crept across my face than I spotted a shooting star streaking across the fake sky. I watched in silent awe, my mind knowing that it wasn’t truly real, but my imagination buying into everything this night was selling. Call me silly, but I wanted to make a wish.
It was New Year’s Eve, and that meant the start of a new beginning and a new year. Anything and everything felt possible. It was like hitting the reset button on your life or starting over, if that was what you needed to do. New Year’s Eve always felt magical to me, like nothing was out of reach if you only believed hard enough—and made a glitter-filled vision board. With that mind-set, I refused to let even a fake falling star go to waste.
So, I closed my eyes and made that wish.
I wished that Declan would let his guard down and have his way with me … even if it was just for one night. I tried to convince myself that a single evening was all I needed to get him out of my system. That maybe if I had a taste of Declan Maguire, that would be enough. One taste, and I’d be able to walk away, forget it ever happened, and put him in the back of my mind forever.
I laughed out loud at the thought. It was a downright lie, but I bought into it because it was the only way this whole thing seemed even remotely plausible.
Chills raced through my body as a horrible thought entered my mind. What if he’s not alone?
Declan had come to the parties the last two years without a date—I’d found out afterward—but what if he had a girlfriend I didn’t know about and he brought her this year?
No. I refused to think negatively.
In my fiction-filled head, Declan was single, ready to mingle, and wanted me just as badly as I wanted him. So, here I was, standing at the top of a winding staircase, watching fake stars glide across an even faker sky, wishing for a boy to love me like some teenager with a dream.