Rise - Part One (Rise #1)
Deborah Bladon
Chapter 1
"I know you, don't I?"
He doesn't. He's been watching me from across the room since he walked in right after the first model hit the catwalk. I expected all kinds of men to file through the door tonight. Even though I arranged for the premiere fashion show of the Liore lingerie brand to be held in an abandoned warehouse on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, I knew it would draw a specific, upscale crowd.
One glance around the room and it's easy to spot the familiar celebrity faces, but hidden within the throngs of people who have gathered in this space are friends of the company's owner and the competition, clearly visible beneath the mask of a grin and a small lie about being an acquaintance of one of the models.
I'd tossed the guest list aside when I saw the first media crew approaching the sliding metal door that leads into the space. I wanted the attention, and if it meant people who weren't invited drifted in to watch the parade of scantily clad women march up and down the makeshift stage that was constructed hours ago, I'm on board. Gabriel Foster, the owner of the Liore boutiques, paid me well to get as many eyes as I can manage on his product, and I've done that, in spades.
"Excuse me." The stranger taps me on the forearm. "I think we've met."
I look up and into his face. It's handsome. It's so handsome that I'd remember meeting him, or even seeing him in passing on the street.
"I'm sorry," I say patiently. "I'm very busy right now. I assure you that we've never met."
"You're 2B," he murmurs in a deep growl. "I remember you from the lavatory."
I moved to New York City six months ago after graduating from college. I've had my fair share of men hit on me, which says little about the way I look and more about the fact that single women in this city seem to be a rarity. I may have stood out in a crowd back in the small town I lived in on the outskirts of Boston, but here, in one of the most populous cities in the world, my long dark hair and green eyes don't set me apart. I'm just another woman who doesn't sport a diamond ring on her left hand which means I'm ripe for the attention of any man who is looking for someone to warm the other half of his bed.
I've grown accustomed to the expected requests to buy me a drink and within that there have been a few who have actually approached me with an intelligent conversation in their back pocket, but this one, this may be the one that I'll remember long after tonight.
"The lavatory?" I adjust my left heel, hoping that the movement will relieve the pressure I feel on the ball of my foot. I've been wearing these shoes all day and I'm ready to head home to kick them off so I can crawl into a warm tub.
"You were on a flight from Milan to JFK the week before last." His blue eyes rake over my black dress. "You were wearing a red skirt, white blouse and your hair was pulled back, tight, into a ponytail."
What the f*ck?
I part my lips to say something, anything, but the dark haired, bearded stranger isn't done yet.
"You sat in business class, first class, actually on that flight. You were assigned seat 2B."
I was. I remember it clearly because I'd asked for that specific seat. It's the one I always request. I wouldn't say I'm a nervous flyer but if I can quiet my anxiety over being thousands of miles in the air in a confined space with dozens of strangers, I'll do it. That particular seat has always kept me safe so why mess with a good thing?
"You walked out of the lavatory. I was standing there, next to you and I remember the scent of your perfume." His hand reaches down. I don't protest as he gently grabs my wrist and brings it to his face. He inhales, slowly.
I look around the room, wanting to find a familiar face that will ground me in this moment. There's no way this is happening. I'd remember if this man sat next to me on a flight. I'd recall the curve of his strong jaw and the sound of his voice.
"I'm sorry. I don't remember," I admit.
"Allow me to introduce myself then." He slides his fingers up my wrist until his hand is cradling mine. "I'm Landon Beckett. Captain Landon Beckett."
"Captain?" I ask tentatively, realization washing over me.
His full lips curve into a wry smile. "Yes. I was piloting the airplane."
My stomach knots. It's him. I thought I'd never see him again. There's no way he knows about the conversation I had with the woman sitting next to me. He can't know that, can he? "It's nice to meet you."
"It's my pleasure, Ms. Marlow, or can I call you Tess?"
I take a step back as I feel a flush race over my body. "How do you know my name?"
"That's an interesting story." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Where do I begin?"
`My gaze falls past his shoulder to where Gabriel is motioning towards me. He's the man who wrote me a sizable check tonight. I'm technically still on the clock and if I drop the ball at any point before the end of this evening, the chances of me landing another job planning an event for Foster Enterprises is going to evaporate as quickly as all that expensive champagne I had the servers bring out before the fashion show began. My plan has always been to secure at least one event under the hand of either Gabriel or his brother, Caleb Foster. I know that if I impress tonight, I'm on my way to an exclusive contract with their global organization which will finally put my burgeoning event planning company on the Manhattan social scene map.