Greer snorted. “I can’t see five feet in front of me, but sure, I’ll ‘help.’” She made air quotes and then wobbled in after Chelsea. “I’m not going in to sit next to Asher with a bald eyeball, that’s for damn sure.”
The lights in the newly deserted library were for ambiance only, a few pretty Tiffany lamps casting a glow. Other than that, the room was crowded with furniture and shelves, and darker than she’d like. It made Chelsea’s nerves ratchet up a notch, and she went through the room, flicking on light switches.
“I’m pretty sure I was over here by the fireplace the entire time,” Greer said.
“I’m still turning on all the lights,” Chelsea told her. She hated the dark. Couldn’t function with it. Light was warmth and safety. Once they were all on, she relaxed a bit.
Greer flopped into a nearby chair, fanning her face. “Is it hot in here to you?”
“No?” She moved toward the fireplace. “Over here, huh?” The carpet was a busy Persian rug and it was going to be hell finding a set of fake lashes on the pattern, but that was all right. It’d waste time, and right now she was keen on finding time-wasters.
“I think so,” Greer said in a breathy voice. Then she made a little “hurp” noise. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Um.” She looked down at the expensive rug she knelt on. “Is there a trash can around here?”
“Really, really sick.” Greer pressed her fingers to her mouth.
Not good. “Why don’t you head back to the bathroom and I’ll look?” Chelsea’s fear of being alone flicked again, but she could hear the partygoers down the hall, and she didn’t want Greer puking everywhere. She could be by herself for a minute. Just one. “I’ll join you once I find it.”
Greer nodded and stumbled away. Alone now, Chelsea got down on her hands and knees and began to sweep her palms over the carpet. Moving slowly, she inched forward, crossing the room.
It took a few minutes before her efforts bore fruit. She spotted something that looked like a dark, spiky caterpillar under the desk. How the heck had Greer managed that? She scurried forward on her knees, tucking her dress hem between her legs. Reaching for the eyelash didn’t quite do the trick, so she had to crawl under the furniture.
Her body was partially tucked under the large wood desk when someone entered the room. She froze for a moment, and then scuttled farther under the desk so no one could see her.
The plan backfired. A moment later, a big man slid into the chair behind the desk and she was facing two long legs and a pair of enormous feet encased in expensive Italian loafers.
Well . . . this was awkward.
Chelsea clutched the eyelashes, unsure what to do. For some reason, her anxiety wasn’t ratcheting. Maybe it was the fact that she had another woman’s lashes stuck to her finger and she was crotch-height with a man’s dick under a desk and it was just too absurd to be freaky?
Or maybe it was the low hum of laughter and talking voices from the party a few rooms away?
She didn’t know, but as she heard fingers drumming over a phone in texting, she wondered at what point she should say something.
A moment passed. Two.
Surely he was going to notice her under here, wasn’t he?
The stranger sighed and then began to text rapidly again. He swiveled in the chair, his knee nearly boning her in the breast.
Okay, maybe he wasn’t going to notice her.
Time to take action. When the man didn’t move, she put her hands on his thighs, pushed his chair backward, and slid out from under the desk.
A quick look told her this had to be Sebastian, the man she was going to be partnered up with at all of Gretchen’s bridal events. She had to admit that Gretchen had great taste. If it weren’t for the fact that Chelsea was turned off of men for maybe forever, he’d have been right up her alley. Dark, thick hair with the barest hint of wave was swept back from a strong-featured face. His brows were heavy and framed an almost too-large nose. His mouth was sensual and full, but the most stunning thing about him were the green eyes set against dark olive skin. He was tall, too, and his dark blue suit was impeccably tailored, showing off big, rangy shoulders.
And he was shocked at the sight of her emerging from under the desk onto his lap. No, actually, shocked didn’t begin to describe the expression on his face. Appalled, maybe. Horrified.
That made her feel better. In charge. He didn’t look like he wanted to take control of the situation—and her. He looked like he wanted to run away.
It gave her confidence. So she gave him her perkiest smile. “Hi, there.”
Chapter Four
When Sebastian sat down in the study to answer his endlessly buzzing text messages, he’d thought he’d get a few moments of privacy. He’d already excused himself to the hostess, Hunter’s quirky but vivacious fiancée, and planned on rejoining the party in a moment.
Mother: Answer me, Sebastian. Why are you trying to cock-block me on your contracts???????
She’d sent the same text seventeen times in three minutes. Knowing his mother, she’d probably handed the phone to an assistant to keep hitting the Send button until he responded. It was annoying as fuck, but his mother knew how to get under his skin like no one else. So he texted her back.
SC: Ma. If you don’t stop texting me I’m going to shut my phone down. I’m more than happy to talk about contracts with my lawyer present. But not without him.
Mother: You don’t trust me? Your own mother?!?! And don’t call me MA! I’m fifty two, not eighty. Call me Mama Precious.