Page 29 of Spin Control

It’s news that surprises me. Though his garage has remained devoid of personal guests, I figured that would change with this race. He’ll probably show up with some supermodel or A-list actor on his arm. And if he doesn’t….well. It’s not like that has anything to do with me.

So what if he winks and smolders and flirts. Who cares if he barges in while I’m working and somehow cajoles me into opening up to him. What does it matter that he told me all the rumors about him and Stas are true. Who needs to know that I think about how his eyes widened and his shoulders relaxed the moment I called him a good boy every single night as I’m going to sleep.

“Okay, and?” I ask.

“Oh my God, I’ll do it myself,” Chalondra says. “Bye, Elizabeth. You’re welcome.”

She hangs up right as I’m grasping what exactly she plans to do.

Genuinely, how did I manipulate a world leader into attending a charity event a few weeks ago, but not pick up on the fact that Chalondra wants me to be Wes’s date tonight?

As I’m clicking on Chalondra’s name to call her back, another call comes in.

From Wes.

I have half a mind to ignore it. But knowing my luck, he’d show up here and drag me to meet the Monégasque royals wearing pajamas “Hi, Wes.”

“Well hello, Jacobs,” he says, sounding far too pleased. “I hear you are in the market for an invitation to a black-tie gala?”

“You heard wrong.”

Wes chuckles. “I don’t think so.” His voice is rougher than usual and there’s a hint of his Boston accent. I’m fairly certain he weaponizes it.

“Chalondra misunderstood me,” I say, aware that I’m suddenly very warm. “I didn’t know about the gala, and then she ran with this idea that I want to go, and—”

“She messaged me,” Wes says, victory in his voice. After a beat he adds, “Look, I’m not going to force you to go with me. But I do have a plus one that’s going to be wasted. If you want it, it’s yours.”

For one insane moment, I picture what it would be like to walk into a gala hosted by royalty. But then I remember two important things: there’s no time for me to get ready and, oh, I can’t go because it’s wildly unethical to show up on a red carpet as a client’s date.

“I appreciate that,” I say. “But I have to decline.”

“Why?” His question is a quick bullet.

“You’re a client.”

Wes laughs. “This wouldn’t be an actual date. You know that, right?”

“Of course I fucking know that,” I snap.

“There are no photographers inside,” he says, unfazed. “And there’s no need for you to walk the red carpet since there’s a separate entrance for guests who are skipping it. Problem solved.”

“Not really,” I counter. “I—”

“You what?” Wes asks, interrupting. “Do you need a dress?”

I grit my teeth. “I have a dress.”

“Is it red?” he asks. “You’d look good in red.”

I press my lips together. “It’s black.”

“Of course it is,” Wes says, amusement coloring his voice. “So what’s the issue?”

“It needs to be steamed and I would need to get ready, and—”

“The event isn’t for a couple of hours still,” Wes says. “I can swing by the hotel to pick you up. Let’s say 6pm?”

I take a deep breath. “And if I don’t want to?”