Page 69 of Heated Takeover

Not Natalie. She looks nothing like the other women who will be attending. She is in a cherry-red satin dress with cap sleeves and a square neckline. The skirt falls effortlessly down her sleek legs, stopping at tea-length. It’s classic 1940s glamour mixed with a hint of 1950s. She looks like she stepped right out of a film with Humphrey Bogart. She is Lauren Bacall with the sweetness of Grace Kelly. I am utterly bewitched by her, unable to take my eyes off her.

When I collect myself and am able to speak, I simply say, “Wow.”

“Oh,” she giggles, obviously unaccustomed to compliments and unsure how to respond to them. She blushes a shade that matches the color of her dress, and it makes me smile. And then the door behind her flies open and Jamie bolts out.

“I’ll be back soon, baby,” she tells him, probably thinking the same thing I was: that he came to the door to say bye to his mom. But Jamie surprises us both by literally launching himself at me. I am not expecting it, and his tiny, less than forty-pound body nearly knocks me over as I catch him mid-air.

“Ash!” he says. “You’re here!”

“I…I am,” I respond, and another smile crosses my face naturally.

“Jamie,” Natalie says, her cheeks even redder now.

“Why can’t you guys stay home?” he asks. “We can make mac and cheese again, or maybe cookies since Miss Brittany is here.”

“Jamie, you know this is for work,” Natalie says, reaching for him. But Jamie has a death grip on me, and I don’t think I could pry him off if I tried.

Jamie pulls back enough to look at his mom. “Your date is for work?”

Natalie’s jaw drops and her eyes widen. “It’s not, we aren’t–” she stutters, but I just chuckle and set Jamie down while I still have the chance.

“Sometimes work people get to go on dates,” I say. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Sounds boring to me,” he says, and I laugh again.

The blonde appears in the doorway and says, “Hi! I’m Brittany. You two have a good time tonight.” Natalie plants a kiss on Jamie’s cheek, making him scrunch his face.

Natalie and I both say thank you at the same time.

“Have a good time on your date!” Jamie sings out before dashing toward the back of the house. Brittany smiles and closes the door, and then we are alone. Well, alone for about thirty seconds before we join Avery and Tuck in the car.

I am off my game right now. My custom-tailored black and white Armani tuxedo looks shockingly plain next to her red dress, even though it probably costs ten times more. It’s not because she can’t afford a personal stylist or designer brands; she can. She doesn’t need to wear a name or have a team of people fixing her up to feel good about herself. She’s happy just being her, and that is hot.

“Sorry about that,” she says on the tail end of a small giggle.

“About what?” I ask.

“Jamie bulldozing you just now,” she says, thumbing back at the door.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” I tell her as I lead her down the walk. “He’s a great kid.”

“He is,” she says with a small sigh. “He’s also a lot sometimes.”

“You do an amazing job raising him on your own,” I tell her. There’s something in her eyes, something that turns them momentarily from sea green to an almost emerald color, as her painted red lips falter slightly.

“Thanks,” she answers after recovering her smile again. “It’s a lot. Like, a lot, a lot. But I can’t say that I’d change it either. He’s everything to me.”

“I can tell,” I say, and she studies me, flushing, looks down. She doesn’t know what to do with that. How to respond. But I don’t need a response. I just needed to say it.

I help her into the SUV and round back to my side, sliding in next to her. Avery whizzes us off through the city to the resort. We have to wait a couple of minutes in a line of other blacked-out Escalades.

“Guess an event of this caliber, no one is VIP because everyone is VIP,” she says as she looks out the window. Her legs are crossed, her hands laid gently in her lap. She looks professional, confident, and utterly beautiful. She also looks anxious. Her lip-biting and finger-fidgeting give that away.

“There does promise to be quite the attendance tonight,” I tell her. “Are you excited?”

“I’m nervous,” she admits.

“Because of all the celebrities?” I ask. Natalie laughs lightly, a small dose of her usual snark and comfortability resurfacing despite the nerves.