Corden

If my mother is known for anything in the Upper East Side, it's that she can throw a party. After parking in the wraparound driveway, I drop my keys off with the valet and stand beside the tall hedges lining the lit pathway to the house to prepare myself. Socializing can be taxing, but it's even more strenuous when you're trying to hide an entire operation your father entrusted you with before he was murdered. It's why I stopped attending events like these. And now, not only am I stressed about slipping up, but now I have the added pressure of trying to convince my mother Carmen has been a serious girlfriend of mine for months now. The task will be nearly impossible since I haven't told Carmen about this arrangement. Every time I tried, I chickened out. How could I ask something so big of her when I'm already putting her in danger by communicating with me?

Classical holiday music fills the cathedral ceilings of the family home I grew up in. Garland is wrapped impeccably around the railings of staircases, and mistletoes are hung strategically above various entryways. A golden chandelier glistens in the foyer—one my father purchased for her as a surprise after she saw it in an antique shop and fell in love with it.

The memory has me letting out a ragged breath while I pass my coat to the attendant. This entire event screams luxury, but most attendees tonight are anything but. I've learned during my time navigating both worlds that the most trustworthy people often don't come from money. The rich kids' parents who can afford to get them out of any scandal they find themselves in are the ones to watch out for.

"Jett, you made it." My mother grins from ear to ear as she grips me by the elbows and kisses me on both cheeks. She's the perfection of elegance with pearls draping from her neck and ears. "Carmen isn't with you?"

"She arrived with Sienna earlier," I lie smoothly, unsure if it's true. "They wanted to travel together."

Her scrutinizing gaze always had me confessing my lies as a child within seconds, but I've got a hard exterior now. The horrors I've seen and committed have forced me to grow a backbone and become stellar at lying. "I'll see if I can find her then," she hums.

Not if I get to her first.

Parting ways, I make my rounds with people I haven't seen in years. Lincoln is speaking to a few men I recognize from the financial district, and I only know this because they've been linked to plenty of dirty schemes that haven't yet reached the surface. I make a mental note to remind Lincoln to steer clear of them before continuing to scan the remainder of the crowd.

Maybe Carmen decided not to come. I can't blame her considering I threw myself at her via text message two nights ago. I begged her to please her when she was dating Archer, and the thought has irked me for forty-eight hours. I had no right to put her in that situation, but I'm a selfish bastard who can't get enough of her. She's the main person I should stay away from, yet I'm scanning the crowd, hoping to see her face so I can apologize to her in person.

But a flash of orange has the breath hitching in my throat. There, in the corner, Carmen looks just as tempting in Balmain in person as she did in those photos she sent. And I wish I could say it's purely attraction between us, but it's far more than that. After spending time with her at The Harbor and getting to know her and her heart, it's not the dress wearing the woman, it's the woman wearing the dress.

And I'm not worthy of her. Not in the slightest when I waltz up to her with a confidence I have to fake. I can't be Corden to her here. I have to be Jett, the sleazeball everyone has grown accustomed to so they don't grow suspicious.

"Carmen," I practically purr, "you look absolutely delectable."

I expect a dirty look, or at the very least a snarky comeback, but Carmen tenses beneath my gaze, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.

Sienna Stone, however, quickly steps in and gives me a gentle shove. "Go bother someone else. Plenty of other women would be more than willing to take you up on your offer, Jett. You're wasting your time here."

"Am I? As flattering as it is to know you think I could get any woman I want, I have no interest in them. I do, however, have one woman in mind. If only she felt the same." I can't help but glide my fingers against the silky brown skin of Carmen's shoulder. Then, I lean down to her ear and whisper, "Balmain?"

Her breathing quickens before her eyes briefly flutter shut, and I take advantage of her silence, sliding one strap off her shoulder to add, "As incredible as this looks on you, Carmen, I can think of only one other way you could look better..." It makes me an asshole, but I needed to take the opportunity to remind her of those pictures she sent. How she left me on read after she sent them. I haven't taken a bigger hit to my ego in my entire life.

But my reminder doesn't have the intended effect. Carmen stiffens and shifts away from me with a glare, and now that I can fully see her face, there's something...off about her tonight. Her eyes are swollen, and where they're normally a honey-brown color, they're darker tonight.

Haunted.

"Go," she seethes. "You're insufferable, Jett."

It takes everything in me not to haul her over my shoulder and take her someplace private so I can ask her what's wrong. It kills me that I have to be the asshole and walk away from her when she's clearly hurting or stressed over something. And it's also really fucking concerning that her emotions have become so important to me.

When did that happen?

With a dip of my chin, my eyes don't leave hers when I say, "As you wish. I hope you ladies enjoy the rest of your night."

***

I made it all of five minutes during dinner before I located Carmen seated at a table with Sienna and Lincoln, an empty spot beside her. Was she supposed to bring Archer? Did he bail on her? The thoughts practically consume me whole despite how much I try to fight them. I can't help the gnawing necessity that floods my veins to locate the source of her pain and fucking end them with my bare hands. It's the killer in me. The criminal in me. The newfound soft spot that is Carmen Abdullahi.

After scarcely finishing my plate of food, I weave my way through the tables in the winter wonderland tent my mother created. Fake snow drifts over the dancefloor clouded in mist. A white Christmas tree gleams in the corner with hundreds of aesthetically pleasing ornaments, but nothing compares to the woman in the orange dress when I slip into the empty seat beside her.

The glare she sends my way could freeze over hell. It's a look that says, what the hell are you doing? We're supposed to keep our lives separate when we're in social situations outside of The Harbor, but I can't help myself when she's been wearing a frown for the past hour.

"Hello again."

"Can you go away?" She asks between gritted teeth.

The DJ begins to play I'll Be Home for Christmas by Michael Buble, and as couples begin to make their way to the dance floor, my heart seizes when Carmen's bottom lip trembles. She's so strong, so fierce, that whatever is bothering her must be something major.

Sienna smacks her hand on the table to capture my attention. "Can't you see she's fucking heartbroken? The last thing she wants to do is hop to another unsatisfying cock. Leave her alone, you psychotic fucking prick."

Ouch. That was harsh, but Sienna is going to have to try better than that to offend me. I've heard far worse. And truthfully, her scorning hasn't even resonated with me when she just told me Carmen was heartbroken.

If she and Archer are finished, now isn't the time to make my move. She's upset about her relationship ending, which is understandable. So rather than ask her about Archer, which is what she's expecting me to do, I offer her my hand instead. "Come on. Let's dance."

Carmen narrows her eyes, trying to decipher where I'm going with this, and my eyes soften at the blatant distrust she has with me. I have a lot of mending to do between us after breaking her heart, but I don't intend on breaking it again. "I promise no games. Just a dance."

After a moment of hesitancy, she huffs and places her palm in mine. "Fine. One dance."

I lead her to the floor, placing my hand on the middle of her back, careful to keep the placement respectful. Just because she and Archer are over doesn't mean she wants me. I broke her heart, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if she wrote off a relationship between us for good.

Funny, considering I'm supposed to be proving to my mom that we're in one.

"I'm upset with you," she says, breaking the silence between us.

"Oh?"

"Yes. Oh. My mother called wanting an explanation of the numerous wire transfers sent to her. Ironically, they were after each of our..." She glances around nervously before dropping her voice into a whisper. "Sessions."

I twirl her and pull her back into my chest, loving the way her lips part in surprise. "Did we not agree to a certain amount?"

"At first, but..." She shakes her head. "I didn't expect you to keep paying. I'm not a charity case, Jett."

"I never said you were. Philanthropy is something I'm passionate about. The money is going to a good cause." And the thought of your parents suffering doesn't sit right with me is what I don't want to add.

"Hmm," she hums, gasping when I dip her. "Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"My mom had us take dance classes as kids. I didn't think they'd ever come in handy until now."

She arches a brow. "Because you're trying to woo me?"

I lean into her ear to whisper, "Is it working?"

Finally, a smile graces her face, and it loosens the knot that's been lodged in my chest since seeing her for the first time tonight. It takes everything I have to ask her what the hell happened with Archer. Instead, I ask, "Are you alright?"

She averts her gaze, staring off at the other couples swaying around us. "I'll be fine eventually."

What happened?

Did he hurt her?

"Well, I'm here if you need to talk about it."

She nods like it's something she's thought about doing already. "I will. Tell you about it, I mean. It's just...not the place to discuss it." Right, because we're surrounded by gossips who don't know about the love we share for the nightlife and all the secrets that lurk in the dark.

"What if I took you to a secret place to discuss it?"

Carmen eyes the table, seeming unsurprised to find it empty. Lincoln and Sienna tend to sneak off everywhere they can together, this information courtesy of a phone call update from my mother. "I guess that'd be alright."

I despise the fucking hope blossoming in my chest at the prospect of alone time with Carmen, no matter how intimate it gets. A night of simply speaking is a night I won't take for granted. It's been ingrained in my head at a young age to not fall for someone with the career path I chose, but I'm not going to fall for Carmen. I can't. I can let her in and show her the life I live, and maybe we can eventually take things to another level and enjoy each other intimately, but falling in love is completely off the table.

I know this, and yet I find myself repeating this reminder over and over again.

Don't fall for Carmen.