"YEAH YOU LIKE THAT? Does this turn you on?" I spit, nose pinched and eyes narrowed. "You're getting off on this weird power trip?"

Cleo has no response other than her usual silent contempt. I continue scraping off dried cat crap that's stuck to the bottom of her litter box. Her wide green eyes are tuned to my every movement as she hovers in the doorway.

How is this my Friday night?

Lately, I like to trick myself into believing that Cleo's softened on her strict five-metre-radius, but right now I chalk the proximity up to her sadistic inner workings, and needing a front-row seat to me cleaning up her shit like some lesser being.

I stick my tongue out at her for personal satisfaction alone. Like always, Cleo has no response.

"Well, I want you to know that I totally made out with your dad, so I'm basically your step-mom now. How does that feel? I can ground you."

I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but it makes me feel a little better, at least, even though I'm scrubbing away at cat crap. And can't help my mind from drifting to the man in question, Noel's dark eyes still burning in the back of my mind.

Ever since I'd miraculously gotten hired at Viva La Breakfast, it seemed like we were always two seconds too early or two seconds too late and constantly missing each other. Not that I could complain, because suddenly I had two non-counterfeit twenty-dollar bills to rub together, no longer felt like a total disappointment to those 2 parents that are hopefully not looking too closely at me, and the imminent threat of eventual homelessness was a little less dire. But I couldn't help the tinge of disappointment that pulled inside of me when I'd pad back home after a tiring shift, only to find it empty inside.

I try to remind myself that his presence in my life is temporary at best, tied explicitly to Nat and Mark's wedding and nothing further. We're so coincidental it hurts.

And in that train of thought, making out with him again is probably one of the worst ideas I've ever had, and I thought bangs were a good idea for an entire year of my life.

I perk up, though, when I hear the doorknob jiggle, and can't help the silent expectation of a man in a suit on the other side. Instinctively, I tuck my dark hair behind my ear and push the litter box away from me.

Instead of Noel, though, bursting through the door is Natalya, blonde hair falling in soft curls down her back and her small figure wrapped up in a long, navy blue gown.

She does not look happy.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I blink. "Cleaning cat shit?"

She's a flurry of movements, quickly crossing the room to pick me up off the floor and dragging me onto unsteady feet, muttering all the way about how she'd called like sixty times, goddamnit. Cleo's run off into the other room, abandoning me to be manhandled and verbally abused. I pull away with a frown.

"What are you freaking out about?" I ask, brows knit. "Also, not trying to butter you up here or anything, but you look really hot."

Nat rolls her eyes. "I look hot because Mark's cousin's birthday is today, and you promised me you would go like a month ago to convince all of Mark's family that you're totally amazing. Amazing enough that I didn't have to pick Mark's sister as my maid of honour. Which, as I've told you multiple times, Mark's mom has basically crucified me for with her shitty passive aggressive comments. Also, you're supposed to befriend the best man, like I've told you."

Her green eyes are narrowed, fixated and lethal, as she keeps a tight hold on my shoulders. All I can respond with is a sheepish grin.

I pointedly ignore the Noel portion, because who am I to say if I just hurdled right over the friend portion and went straight to the attempted fucking. "Oh yeah. That thing. But anyway, didn't I win them over at the brunch?" I ask, immediately wincing under Nat's dry look.

"You mean when you physically assaulted Noel?"

"But didn't I do that in like a charming way? You would say?"

Her face deadpans. "No. Now get your ass in there and change immediately because you have hearts to woo and I have jugs of expensive white wine to drink and forget this night ever happened."

I beam. "What are you, me?"

Nat snorts and shoves me towards the guest room, denying me the chance to protest before she's rifling through my closet and shooting dresses like projectiles towards my face. It's in record-breaking times that my hair's thrown over my shoulder in soft waves, eyelashes curled and coated, and I'm shoved into a soft black cocktail dress that's on the adventurous side of tasteful.

I shoot Nat a thumbs up while she gives me a once over, and when she meets my eye, she sighs. "Let's keep tonight light, okay?"

With a palm on my chest, I gasp. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you have a tendency to be Vika, and I'd like to keep the severe trauma tonight to a minimum, if possible."

There's an argument hovering on the tip of my tongue, but it dies when I see the tired sag of her shoulders. Instead, I shoot her an encouraging smile and link my arms with her, guiding us towards the door.

"Fine, fine," I sigh. "But I will stuff a disgusting amount of bacon wrapped anything in my mouth all night and no one can stop me."

Nat throws her head back, laughing, and pulls me closer to her. "I wouldn't dare get between you and your bacon."

Mark appears all knight in shining armor-like as he always does, and we both climb into a shiny black Camaro to be whisked away somewhere I didn't ask. He's too formal in a suit, dark hair pushed back and a gold Rolex clutched onto his wrist.

Despite the caviar and champagne dreams woven into his blood, Mark always seems to be more relaxed in a pair of scuffed up jeans, cheap beer in hand, and an arm wound snugly around Nat. Not that I can't objectively say he cleans up pretty well.

Nat's in the backseat with me, giving me another quick rundown of his entire extended family that I'm immediately forgetting as soon as it leaves her lips, like every other time she's gone through it. Still, the pressure's weighing on my shoulders, and an uncharacteristic anxiety brews along with my stomach acid.

I know I'm going to have to see Noel, but I'm not sure yet how.

We finally pull up to my disbelieving gasp of you guys got an entire hall for this birthday, are you serious, we literally got burritos and two bottles of tequila for mine.

Night's draped over the sky. I hold Nat a little too close to me, mouth permanently frozen and dropped in shock as we're swept inside. It's all twinkling chandeliers and pressed white table cloths, trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne circling the floor. The room's bursting with the overwhelming presence of people, all reeking with wealth.

"Mark, are you secretly royalty, is that it? Are you actually a prince of some faraway land?" I ask, eyes wide and drinking in the extravagance.

"Not as far as I know." Mark shrugs with a laugh.

I'm still pathetically clutching onto Nat's arm.

Nat looks only slightly unbalanced by the culture shock, but she's quickly covering it up with a composed, glossy grin. I'd heard of these luxuries before, heard tales of the excessive and prodigal events that the Vanderbilt's basically threw too much money at, but a part of me just figured that she'd been exaggerating.

Now that I'm standing here, she wasn't exaggerating at all.

"Oh fuck, I forgot it."

Nat's eyes snap to mine, wide and panicked. "What?" she whispers, "What did you forget?"

"The solid gold brick up my ass."

Nat immediately relaxes, shooting me a heartless glare, but her mouth is twitching in the way where I can tell she's trying not to smile. Mark doesn't care, he's laughing next to me, as if he isn't inherently and genetically tied to everyone around us. I can't help but grin.

We're whisked further inside, and I swipe a caprese salad skewer with one hand and a glass of champagne in the other. There're plumes of expensive perfume in the air that I almost choke on, and the light bouncing off an arsenal of glittering jewels threatens to blind me.

The longer the atmosphere settles under my skin, the more out of place I am, reminded of the distinct fact that I'd been scraping cat shit less than two hours ago.

Still, I plaster on an inviting grin, clinking glasses and wishing Mark's cousin, and my new boss, a happy birthday when we see him. Seeing his familiar laugh lines and sharp grey eyes only further reminds me that I should be the one serving, not being served.

"It's been a whole twenty minutes and you haven't almost killed anyone, good job," Nat murmurs next to me when we finally break away from Mark's brother, her smile a little less tense. "Keep it up and I'll see what Mark can do about commandeering that bacon wrapped scallops tray."

"Mhmm," I mumble noncommittally, my eyes scanning the room. "Sounds good."

Nat pauses, stopping me with a touch on the shoulder. "Are you okay?"

I blink. "Hmm? Yeah. Just looking, this place is crazy. I thought you were lying before, but they really do swallow coal and shit diamonds here."

Nat smiles, but she doesn't appear wholly convinced by the way her eyes sweep across my face, searching. "Are you looking for Noel so that you don't accidentally murder him when you're not paying attention?"

Hearing his name out loud for the first time in days, back of my neck prickles. It's a ridiculous reaction to a name, and I'm immediately betrayed by the way that I stumble over my answer, choking back a few aborted words before spitting out an unsteady, "Um, kind of?" And then, more sure, "I just want to make sure that I don't break his leg when I'm not looking."

It seems like the more likely story.

Nat laughs, completely oblivious, and points to the other side of the room. "He's over there, I think?"

My gaze follows the direction, and in between an older woman with pearls and a tall, beefy man with a whisky glass in hand, stands Noel.

His hair is a little more tame than usual, lacking the usual tousle from his constant habit of running his hands through it, and he's wearing a sharp, charcoal grey suit that's almost melted to his skin. Even across the room I can see the stubble dusting his chin and, involuntarily, I think of it scraping along my throat. His dark eyes are hidden behind his thick-framed glasses, looking as cool and possessed as he always does.

Interestingly enough, he's not alone.

I pause, head tilting in curiosity as I take in a golden-faced brunette clasped on his arm. She's all cascading dark hair and mile-long legs, wrapped up in a glittery grey dress. Her head is thrown back as she laughs about something or another with her arm hooked around Noel's, just oozing poised relaxation.

"Who's that?" I ask, disregarding the semi-bitter taste that's in my mouth.

Always temporary, always coincidental, I remind myself.

Nat hums, shrugging. "Honestly, I have no idea. Maybe his girlfriend? Mark didn't say anything specific about a girlfriend, but he is bringing a plus one." She taps a French-tipped finger to her chin. "It's weird, but I honestly know next to nothing about him, Vi."

I swallow a sip of my champagne. "Oh."

Plus one's a pretty ambiguous term. Plus one could be anyone- an old friend, a distant cousin, or, I admit, a girlfriend. The conclusions are hovering on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them down before they get too loud.

There's no need to assume, I remind myself. It doesn't even matter that they match or whatever. To a ridiculous degree. Like, red-carpet ready degree.

Whatever.

Mark waves Nat over, and she murmurs something my way that I don't catch before she disappears, leaving me to stand alone. I give her a noncommittal hum, my gaze still glued to the pair across the room, shattering any air of subtlety.

Then, under my piercing stare, Noel looks up.

Our gazes lock. His mouth twitches, eyes widening a fraction in a way that betrays he's caught off-guard, and I throw him a quick smile and a friendly wave. I'm ignoring the way that his dark eyes are raining tingles down my spine.

His gaze wavers on me for a moment, a quick up-and-down, and then he's back into the conversation in front of him.

For a second I'm frozen, brows furrowed, unsure if my mind is just playing tricks on me. A waitress with a tray of champagne brushes by, and I swiftly steal a flute. I frown.

Noel cannot be ignoring me.