Point of No Return

by Olivia Luck

  The party is taking place in the two-story main hall. Dozens of circular tables line the perimeter of the room and surround the dance floor. Every piece of the décor was rented from an outside vendor. Lucite chairs circle around shimmery gold tablecloths. White orchids and candles warm the ambiance as the centerpieces. At the head of the room sits a stage for the band. Uplighting makes the room glow. On the second story of the museum, overlooking the party, is where Dex (the evening’s surprise entertainment) and Bob, the lighting guy from the Chicago Center, hide.

  Hours later, the sun’s starting to set. Almost show time. I’ve stolen half an hour to finish getting dressed in the ladies’ room. The dress I’m wearing tonight is daring. Critically, I assess myself in the floor-length mirror.

  My hair and make-up are nothing wild. Side swept curls cascade over one of my shoulders. I’ve pinned them to the side with the help of a glittery gold clip. The dress is low cut. Everywhere. The straps are two thick straps over my shoulders. The fabric stretches down my breasts revealing a naughty expanse of my chest. The straps make a V on my back, baring naked skin there, too. The midnight material skims down my body like a second skin. The slim stilettos I strapped around my ankles will definitely cause me grief later, but I can’t bother myself to worry about that now. Despite my misgivings, I know I look hot.

  An anticipatory shiver rolls through my shoulders. Felix is right. Thinking about Cameron makes me tingly. Being around him is electric. I’ve been battling against the sparks between us for too long. It’s exhausting. Tonight I’m not fighting the spark.

  Outside of the bathroom, the museum hums with activity. I take my things to a holding room in the back and check my charging phone. No messages and I’m disappointed I haven’t heard from Cameron. He didn’t RSVP for a date, but I can’t help but worry, I mean wonder, if he’s going to bring one last minute.

  Pushing thoughts of Cameron aside, I prowl through the venue on my final walkthrough. I’m straightening a sign with the event hashtag (#HopefulScrapers) to gain awareness through social media promotion when the clack of heels alerts me to someone.

  “What photographers are coming?” Paige’s voice hides none of the disdain she feels for me.

  The space between my shoulder blades tightens and releases with my annoyed breath. Hi, Paige. Things are going great. We’re on schedule and the band’s warming up inside. You have nothing to worry about, I rattle silently.

  Her voice reminds me of Dominic. I don’t know if they’re seeing each other exclusively. Stella was going to ask him after her New Year’s Eve party, but I’m not sure she ever got around to talking to him. All I know is that I hadn’t talked to Dom since my blow-up last week. The memory of my harsh words weighs heavy on me with regret, and I plan to apologize to him after the party.

  “Hey, Paige. Thank you for coming a little early.” I keep my tone light, knowing that Janet insisted Paige and Amber staff the event with me. As a public relations guru, Paige secured news placements for the gala in addition to the photographers I wrangled to attend. She responds with a grunt of greeting and I tell her which publications to expect. I find Felix chatting with Amber next to the setup for the silent auction. They will man the table during the cocktail hour to answer questions.

  “Damn,” Felix whistles when he gets sight of me. “Someone to impress tonight, Violet? You look hot.”

  “Quit it, Felix.” Despite trying to be stern, I fail miserably and can’t keep the grin off my face.

  “Let me finish. You’re gorgeous but not quite as lovely as our Amber here.” Felix threads his arm around the burgundy cap sleeves covering her Amber’s shoulders.

  “Amber, I’m so glad you’re here. Ignore my friend, please. Well, ignore everything else he says. Your dress is awesome.”

  “Thanks. And I don’t mind him. At least he’s easy on the eyes,” Amber jokes.

  “I need to run into the kitchen one more time. Everything okay out here?” They nod their affirmation and I’m striding to the back of the house. There are fifteen minutes until the guests start arriving, and I need to grab an appetizer or two because I know I won’t find much time to eat during the course of the night. A few canapés, a miniature poutine, and a quick conversation with Wren Alexander on the progression of the kitchen settle the fizzling nerves building in my belly. For the most part.

  I have this soundtrack running in the back of mind. It keeps reminding me that Cameron will be here soon. Maybe I’ll get the chance to dance with him. What would it be like to sink into his embrace during a slow tempo or proactively slide my hips against his in time to a more sultry number?

  You are working! No matter. I find it hard to believe he’d make a move on me in front of all of his teammates.

  Head held high, dressed smoothed along the length of my curves, I make my way back into the museum’s entry hall. A rush of energy bursts through me with vibrant force when I see people beginning to arrive. It’s the middle of my marathon and the runner’s high is kicking into gear.

  “V! This place is gorgeous.” Stella’s gushing, standing next to Blake and, gulp, his father. Stewart Campbell owns the Chicago Scrapers and the Chicago Wind, the city’s professional football team. He’s also a music mogul and general badass. The man has to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, with a date twenty years younger and clad in a dress way shorter, tighter, and more revealing than mine.

  “Stella,” I say in greeting, enveloping my friend in a hug. I instantly feel better, knowing that my best friend is here and praising my work. Blake hugs me, too, then shifts to the side.

  “Violet Harper, my father, Stewart, and his date, Miranda.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say shaking both their hands with what, I hope, isn’t too much eagerness. “I hope you’ll be pleased with the evening. We’ll be celebrating late into the evening.”

  “Nice to meet you, Violet. I hear Wren Alexander is cooking this evening. His restaurant in the West Loop is excellent,” Stewart says. He’s friendly, to my pleasant surprise.

  “Oh, yes, you heard right. Wren’s got some delicious surprises lined up. Don’t forget to use our hashtag when you post pictures,” I tell them. “We’ll get the word out about this event.”

  Stewart’s phone rings then, and he gives a half wave and a brief apology as he walks away to answer it. Miranda trails after him, thankfully leaving me to my friends.

  “Everything up to snuff?” I direct the question more to Blake. After all, he’s my boss.

  “I put my faith in people who deserve it.” Classic Blake. Not an ounce of humility in this guy. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

  “That’s a compliment, I think.”

  “What he means is that you are surpassing both of our expectations. And that dress surpasses the laws of gravity,” Stella, ever the diplomat, chimes in.

  “Is it too much?” I glance down at my plunging neckline. “I saw it at a store and couldn’t say no. But maybe I’m inappropriate . . .” Or maybe I’m worried what Cameron will think.

  “Since when do you get insecure about what you’re wearing?”

  I shrug halfheartedly, not wanting to reveal the truth: that I want Cameron to be attracted to me. That one I’ll save for myself. “You’re right. I don’t know what I’m saying. There are some pretty sweet prizes up for grabs, Blake. Go get your girl a vacation,” I cock my head toward the auction table. “We got money to raise.”

  Stella wraps her manicured nails around Blake’s tuxedo-clad bicep and bats her eyes balefully. All the cocky self-assuredness on Blake melts into a tender smile.

  With an affectionate shake of my head, I wander to the perimeter of the room, walking along the edges to monitor the progress of the party.

  Bars busy but not swamped? Check.

  Appetizers trickling around? Check.

  Hope Houses guests mingling with Scarpers? Check minus.

  I spot Rosie, a friend of Ben’s, standing uncomfortably near the edge of the room. She�
�s sipping on a drink and looking around nervously. Bingo. I make a beeline for her, smiling brightly when she looks at me.

  “Rosie, my girl!” Without waiting for permission, I pull her into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you came.”

  “Me, too. This is really fun,” she says.

  You’re not having fun yet, but you will.

  Linking our arms together, I gently pull her toward the center of the room. “Do you mind if I introduce you to some of my friends? I want you to meet them.” With her free hand, Rosie pushes up her wire-framed glasses and agrees slowly.

  That’s when I see Cameron.

  It’s the second time in my life when I think a curse word is appropriate.

  Damn.

  In a navy tuxedo that molds to the taut muscles of his shoulders, he is sexy as sin. Every detail of his appearance is, for lack of a better word, perfect. His wavy hair is pushed off his forehead, styled expertly. Facial hair trimmed to model caliber. Even the studs on his white shirt are navy.

  Stupidly stunned, I stare at him.

  “Violet?” Rosie’s voice breaks me out of my stupor. Thankfully, Cameron didn’t notice me gawking; he’s too busy talking with Ben and Tucker.

  A sigh of relief slips through my lips when I realize he’s dateless.

  “Sorry. Right this way.” I grin at her to mask the warmth tumbling down my chest.

  To keep my mind off the distractingly handsome man, I focus on balancing on my stilettos. This has never been a problem before, but suddenly I’m having trouble remembering how to walk on four-inch heels.

  “Hey, ladies.” Ben saves me from coming up with something to say. My mouth’s too dry to say anything coherent.

  From far away, Cameron was sexy. Up close is a whole different story. Lust unfurls in a slow, intoxicating path starting at my toes and coiling through my body.

  “Dapper as always,” I finally say when Ben turns to me. I accept his hug, using it as a moment to gather myself.

  “Violet.” Cameron’s warm hand cups my elbow as he steps to me. His lips brush against my cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Are you trying to kill me with that dress?” he murmurs in a voice low enough only for me to hear. A shiver skates down my spine.

  “Cameron,” I murmur huskily. Then step out of his hand to smile at Tucker.

  “Rosie, this is Tucker and Cameron. They play for the Scrapers and are my friends.” Somehow, I find my normal voice though it’s strained. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cameron’s lips lifts in a smirk. He knows what impact the earthy scent of his cologne has on me.

  “What happened to your date?” I ask Ben. His cheeks go red and his eyes dart to Rosie. My eyebrows rise and I bite back a smile. I had no idea he had a thing for Rosie.

  “Sorry to interrupt, Violet, but I need you for a minute.” I turn to the voice at my shoulder. The chef and MC for the night, Wren, stands behind us, arms hanging at his sides. His dark hair sits askew on his forehead, the sleeves of his white chef’s jacket pushed up to his elbows.

  “Save me at least one dance.” I stare at Ben when I say the words, but really, I’m secretly hopeful that Cameron will want one, too.

  I shift on my heels and turn to Wren. A gasp, almost soundless, comes from my left. Coincidentally, the intake of breath sounds the moment Cameron has a full view of the low back of my dress. Looking back at Cameron, I see his eyes narrowed on the low dip of the fabric. Feminine awareness makes me the one smirking this time.

  Then I sway off.

  Cameron

  I bid fifteen thousand dollars on something tonight. It’s the most money I’ve ever dropped on a charity event and it’s for the use of the Campbell’s company jet and a trip to Los Angeles. There’s no guarantee Violet will ever want to take a trip with me, but she’s never been out of the state and I want to make that dream a reality for her.

  God, I’m hopeless. The way Violet looks in her dress tonight; hell, I’d damn well do anything to get near her. She’s stunning. When I caught her across the room, I almost choked on my tongue. From the reaction she had when I touched her elbow, I’m certain she’s feeling the heat, too.

  Instincts are a big part of why I’m successful in my job. As a kid, my coaches would joke that I had a sixth sense for the puck. The thing is that I’ve always inherently trusted those instincts to lead me the right way. Tonight, my gut’s telling me that Violet’s ready. She’s mine for the taking and, believe me, I’m taking.

  Most of the night, I don’t get to be near her. I mollify my cravings to touch her, inhale her scent, and worship her by covertly watching Violet. She floats around the space, ensuring the evening carries on seamlessly. Despite the sophisticated atmosphere, my raucous teammates love it. Violet mixed the seating arrangements, forcing Scrapers and Hope House guests to mix. It’s working; I’ve met and befriended a guy named Wilson who loves The Godfather as much as I do.

  All the way, I track Violet. She doesn’t sit and doesn’t stop to eat dinner. When Wren Alexander talks about the Hope House, shows a video about the organization, and encourages us to contribute to the silent auction, Violet shares a seat with Ben, her arm around his shoulder.

  From this angle, I find a new commonality between Violet and me. I know she’s driven and career-minded, but tonight I’m able to watch her in her element. Violet strives to be the best at her job with no aspect of the evening too small for her attention. The ways she impresses me are endless.

  After dinner, the band picks up the tempo, and the dance floor fills with people. Violet finally takes a break from work for that dance with Ben. Unaware of my eyes on her, Violet lets loose. How a woman in a dress that seductive can shimmy around the floor playfully astounds me.

  Violet circles Ben, swaying her hips and mouthing the words to the music to All about that Bass. It’s completely innocent, but my thoughts are turning impure. My body hardens, straining against the material of my pants, and I’m stuck sitting at the table, watching this goddess joke with Ben and then Stella, who joins them.

  “She did a good job tonight. We’re pushing fifty thousand.” Blake pushes the chair next to mine back and gives me a pointed stare.

  “I’m not surprised,” I grit.

  “Do me a favor, Cam.”

  “Yeah,” I say hoarsely. Fighting the urge to be with Violet is nearly killing me.

  “Handle her with care.” I’d only been half-listening until then. Blake now has my full attention.

  “Why does that sound like the second guy giving me his approval to make her mine?”

  Blake nods more to himself than me. “Felix, I assume. You know as well as I do that the only players in her backcourt are her friends here. If I didn’t trust you with her, I would have already made it clear. Otherwise, Stella will have my head.” He smiles wryly. “Don’t fuck this up. Violet’s into you.”

  My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. “How do you know that?”

  “How do you think? Stella. Stop gossiping with me and go after her.” Blake shoves his seat back and stands, presumably to find Stella. When I look back to where she was before, Violet’s disappeared. I push back the cuff of my shirt to check the time, just about midnight. If I remember right, this party will end soon and I can get Violet alone.

  The bandleader pauses between songs to announce it’s their last of the evening. That’s my cue to find Violet. Halfway through my search of the main hall, the last song ends, and the crowd, not at all thinning, claps and cheers on the band.

  The room goes black. Before I can worry that the electricity went out and I need to find Violet, the rifts of a familiar song thunders through the museum. A remix of Jungle, the song that plays after the Scrapers score a goal at home, electrifies the room. At the crescendo of the opening chords, lights burst forth from the ceiling to the ground and a cheer goes up from the crowd.

  I search through the writhing bodies for Violet, but she’s missing. Then, for some reason, I look up. Apparently, Dex is a DJ because he’s bopping around above the crowd,
oversized earphones covering his ears, a computer set up on a stand above turntables. And Violet stands at the top of the staircase, several yards away from Dex, watching the party with pure relief evident. The resolve holding me together snaps. She’s mine, and I’m going to get her.

  I don’t think.

  I don’t consider the consequences.

  My legs can’t move fast enough. They work on autopilot, taking me across the room to the open staircase leading to the second floor. I take the stairs two at a time, not caring who can see what I’m doing.

  Like before, I grab Violet’s elbow when I’m within touching distance. The music’s too loud for us to speak. Words aren’t necessary, though. I need to feel her lips on mine. She whirls around to me at my touch, startled. Her eyes go wide then she smiles. It kicks me right in the gut. A real, Violet smile. She’s happy to see me.

  My hands move of their own volition, releasing her elbow and moving to cup her head. I’m not gentle when I yank her against my body. At first, her hands slam into my chest, then they wrap around my jacket, palms flat against my shoulder blades. By then, my lips devour hers. She tastes sweeter than I dreamed, full lips supple and intoxicating against mine. The kisses I’ve imagined are nothing compared to this. She’s real, in my arms, and responsive as hell. I trace the seam of her lips with my tongue, and they part for me. I plunder, I pillage, I’m a fucking animal for her. Unable to get enough, I pull her closer and closer until there’s no mistaking the hard ridge in my pants is for her, and her alone. I’m in the driver’s seat, directing this kiss, but really, this woman has brought me to my knees.

  We need to break for air. I need to get ahold of my wits. Even as I separate our lips, I keep my forehead touching hers, unable to lose the contact. Despite the pulsing music, I speak in a low voice.

  “Violet, you’re coming home with me tonight.”

  Her lids remain lowered, her breaths labored. But she nods. We’re inevitable and she knows it as well as I do. In an effort to soothe her, I stroke my hands down her neck, along the elegant length of her shoulders, down her biceps to and grasp her hands in mine. All the way, I savor the touch of her skin.