Lies Unspoken

“Let me show you where the ballroom is. Then I’ll grab us something from the bar.”

Showtime version 2.0, I think to myself as Pierce rests his hand on my lower back to once again guide me forward. Hopefully the cameras aren’t allowed inside, and all I’ll have to deal with are the other artsy folks who were invited tonight.

“You’re going to do great,” he whispers in my ear. “Stay by me. I’ll introduce you to some people, we’ll eat di

We cross the threshold into a room full of well-dressed people—men all in black suits, women in dresses that probably cost more than I make in two months. It’s overwhelming, especially when heads turn in our direction. We keep moving, but the rest of the room seems paralyzed.

My nerves are raw. My ears pound to the point that I swear all talking has ceased. Being the center of anything, especially attention, is absolutely terrifying to me. It’s worse here . . . where I feel so little and unimportant.

I’m torn from my thoughts by the stu

“Diane.” He reaches his free hand out, gripping her shoulder while quickly pecking her cheek. “Everything looks fabulous as usual.”

“I can’t take all the credit. The whole committee pitched in for this one.” She looks over his shoulder to me. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Friend. Nice. I hope Pierce isn’t the type who usually brings pretty, low IQ women to these things. I don’t want to be categorized with them.

“This is Lila Fields. She’s an up and coming designer who just relocated to the city.”

I hold my hand out, letting her swallow it up in her well-manicured one. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Diane Rector. I oversee the board that put this together.”

“From what I can see so far, you did a fabulous job.” Years of working in customer service gave me the gift of being able to make small talk with just about anyone.

“Wait until you sink your teeth into the dessert.” She winks, letting go of my hand. “I’ll catch up with you two later. I need to check how everything is coming along.”

“It was nice meeting you.”

“You too,” she says as she starts to walk away.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I mumble under my breath as she sashays to the next set of guests.

“You’re a natural,” Pierce says next to me. I hadn’t meant for him to hear my i

He steers us toward the bar, probably well aware that I’m not ready to be left alone in the sea of perceived sharks. I’m careful not to make eye contact along the way, needing at least one glass of that liquid courage before we get too far into this.

It’s not a surprise that the bar is packed with people. Pierce picks a spot toward the end where the bartender can easily see him waiting.

After the bartender takes our order, Pierce turns to the guy next to him. “Long time, no see.”

“Stanley, I was starting to think you’d moved out of town. What have you been up to?” Pierce has at least six inches on the older, balding gentleman standing next to him.

“Been out of town, working on a couple large hotel projects,” Pierce replies.

He turns his attention to me. “And who’s this lovely lady?”

“This is one of my apprentices, Lila Fields. Lila, this is Wade Adams.”

“Interesting,” he says. “If she has even half your eye for design, she’ll do just fine.” He winks, sipping a glass of wine. Where’s mine?

“She has a great start.” I don’t think Pierce has seen any of my work; at least, I haven’t shown him anything.

“Look, I was actually hoping I’d catch you here. I’m remodeling the 5th Avenue location in New York, and I’d like you to head the project.”

I glance up at Pierce who looks taken back by the statement. He quickly recovers, pulling his business card from the pocket of his tux. Watching him work makes me respect him even more; he’s hard to shake and blends in easily with the variety of personalities. “I’d be honored. I’m sure you have my contact information, but take my card just in case.”

Wade nods, taking the card from between Pierce’s fingers. “I need to get back to my date before she calls a search party, but I’ll call you sometime this week.”

“I’ll be in town all week. It would be a pleasure to work with you.”

“Likewise.” Wade gestures to me before slowly disappearing into the thickening crowd. I guess this is just as much about making deals as it is about charity and goodwill.

“You seemed surprised that he wanted to work with you,” I say.

Pierce’s eyes narrow in on me. “We have a bit of a history. Not necessarily a good one.”

“Ah, maybe he’s going to lure you into an empty building and have his way with you.”

He laughs. “Doubt it. He hates to get his hands dirty.”

I’m curious, but I don’t push for more. I’m not going to share my deepest and darkest secrets so I can’t expect him to.

Before anyone else can introduce themselves, a glass stem is placed between my fingers.

“Let’s toast,” Pierce suggests, holding up a glass of whiskey.

“To?”

“To new friendships.”

“To new friendships,” I repeat, clinking my glass against his. I swish the red liquid once, then lift it to my nose, inhaling. When I finally bring the glass to my lips, I tip it back just enough to get a tiny sip. It tastes of vibrant black cherries and plums, sliding easily down my throat.

I take a second sip, then a third. Pierce just watches as I finish off the last of it and signal for a second.

“Slow down, at least until we’ve eaten,” he breathes against my ear, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It’s the wine. It’s the warmth. It’s the smell of a man wrapped in an expensive black tux.

“We’re going to have to do something to keep me busy then.” I lick my lower lip, bringing the full glass to my mouth. This stuff is dangerous—it’s what one-night stands and surprise babies are made of.

“Dance with me,” he says, squeezing my hip.

“Where?”

He nods toward the side of the ballroom opposite of where we came in. A band with classic instruments in hand plays the soft music I hear overhead.

I drain the rest of my wine and set the glass on the bar. If I think too much, I’ll never get the courage to forge ahead with this. Pierce understands my wordless answer, wrapping his fingers around mine to lead me out to the wooden floor. This time, if people are staring, I don’t notice. That’s the difference between being sober and slightly buzzed.

He faces me, wrapping one arm around my lower back and keeping his other hand entwined with mine at our side. Our bodies melt together until we’re chest to cheek. So close . . . so intimate.

“I’m so glad you came tonight,” he says, his lips brushing my hair.

“Me too.” I mean it. This pushed things with Blake to a boiling point, but it was going to go there at some point anyway. Maybe it’s better to have gotten it over with than attach myself to him even more—before I fell in love.

Besides, I’m enjoying my time with Pierce. Tonight hasn’t exactly been perfect, but he has been.

“After di

I don’t reply. I don’t think he needs one. We sway back and forth, turning ever so slightly along the way. He leads us with expert rhythm.

“What’s your favorite type of music?” he asks out of the blue.

“Angsty rock. I reflect on life when I get lost in the music.”

He leans back, looking down into my eyes. “Good or bad?”