Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109318 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 547(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
She caught the tail end of Beat looking at her breasts, before he cleared his throat hard and averted his gaze. Just not quick enough to quell the chain reaction that started at the top of her head, earlobes throbbing, mouth turning dry, before moving downward to her belly where a hot, liquid pool began churning in a circular current.
This was not the time or the place to be turned on.
Tell that to her Beat-specific hormones, though. They rose most dramatically to one occasion and he was standing in front of her in a tuxedo and now, a very rakish mask had been added to the mix. He’d checked out her boobs. Her libido was just expected to remain calm?
“H-how are we going to play this?”
Beat must have noticed the breathless quality of her voice, because he looked back at her sharply, that warmth fleeing from his eyes once again. Like it had in the SUV. Why?
“We’ll have to improvise to get Octavia alone and it won’t be easy. Everyone wants to speak to her at these things. It’ll have to be sometime after the wish ceremony.”
“What is a wish ceremony and how do I get one?”
A grin briefly parted his lips. “We hold this party every year and the wishes have become something of a ritual,” he explained. “There is a big table inside, beneath the fifteen-foot Christmas tree, and it’s loaded with wish cards. It’s tradition for everyone in attendance to write out a wish and hang it on the tree. I choose one halfway through the evening and Octavia makes it come true. Of course, I’m under strict instruction to pick one that begs my mother to entertain us with a song.” His lips twitched with fondness. “Then she says no and claims she’s had too much champagne, everyone begs harder and finally, finally, she gets up and sings the song she’s probably been practicing since August.”
“You don’t seem annoyed by this at all.”
“No.” He lifted a shoulder and seemed to search for the right words. “Everyone has a vice they need to satisfy, right? Hers is vanity. A need to be in the spotlight. And it’s harmless. It’s not hurting anybody. On the contrary. Everyone enjoys it.”
“God. I wish I understood my mother like you understand yours,” Melody said, resisting the constant need to step closer to Beat. Even the simple brush of her elbow against his tuxedo jacket would have sufficed. Was he avoiding eye contact with her? It seemed like it; something felt off, but what could it be? “What’s your vice, Beat?”
Well, that was one way to make eye contact.
His attention shot to hers like a bullet, tension bracketing his mouth.
The golden pallor of his skin lost its glow, leaving an ashen complexion behind.
“I . . . what?” He reached for another glass of champagne off a passing tray. “Clearly, it’s drinking.” But he made no move to sip the drink, merely staring into its fizzy depths. “My vice is not telling anyone about my vice. I guess that falls under the category of pride.”
Melody wasn’t expecting that answer. “Why don’t you tell anyone? How bad can it be?”
“It’s not bad. It’s just private.” His attention briefly fell to her lips. “What about you, Mel? What’s your vice?”
“Refusing to call my super to fix anything in my apartment because I want to be his favorite. I think that’s a cross between sloth and greed.”
He shook his head. “It’s neither. It’s . . . Melody.”
“I’m not a vice.”
“You could be.” Had his voice gotten deeper? “Easily.” Melody sincerely hoped he couldn’t see the pulse racing at the bottom of her neck, because she could definitely feel it thrumming dramatically. “They’re probably getting ready to open the doors to the ballroom,” Beat said, clearing his throat. “Should we—”
“Mel, can I grab you for a second?” Danielle said, coming up beside her.
By now, the lobby was full enough of guests waiting for the gala to begin that Danielle had no choice but to stand close. The producer sent a semianxious smile in Beat’s direction, leading Melody in an awkward sidestep through a few of the partygoers until they were standing approximately ten feet from Beat—who watched them curiously, still not drinking the champagne in his hand.
“What is it?” Melody asked Danielle.
“Turn your mic off.” With a swallow, Danielle looked down at her phone, thumb blurring as she scrolled. Melody stared for a moment, then reached back to do as instructed, compressing the tiny box between her thumb and index finger. “I just want to be honest with you, the broadcast is seeing a steep incline of viewers. It’s impossible to predict what will catch their interest, what they will latch onto . . .”
Melody’s stomach started to gurgle. “What have they latched onto?”
Danielle blew out a stiff breath. “We’re trending under the hashtag #MelodyIsABeatSimp.” She threw a concerned glance at Melody, went back to scrolling. “That’s only one of them, mind you! There are also, #DriveBySnowing and #EyepatchQueen.”