However, the real reason she had stumbled was because her mother worked for Glitz magazine. It felt strangely coincidental, and she almost jotted out a text to ask if her mother had purposely put Preston in her path. She wouldn’t put it past her mother. Like Lydia, she believed Trihn was too serious for her age. You would think that she would want at least one daughter to behave.

But looking up at Preston’s concerned face changed Trihn’s mind. She was just being jumpy. The likelihood that her mother had put him up to this was abysmally low. Her mother probably didn’t even know anyone in the marketing department. She was certainly too high up on the food chain to notice a guy in an entry-level position.

Trihn probably should tell him that her mom worked there, but she kind of wanted to have him all to herself in that moment. She had just met him really. Revealing that her mom was a higher-up at the magazine he worked at would not be a good idea. Either he’d freak out or want to somehow use her to move up in the company.

God, she was having negative thoughts. She just wanted this one night to herself without anyone else’s expectations looming over her.

Trihn held her hand up to stop him from continuing. “You don’t have to explain. I get it. Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“Right,” he agreed. He seemed pleased that she hadn’t questioned him. “So, where did you start?”

She raised her eyebrow. “You’ll see.”

They had reached their floor, and she walked him over to the door that led to the party. She knocked twice, and then the door opened. A familiar face smiled back at her.

“Trihn!” Francesca cried. “I knew you couldn’t resist us!”

“Of course I couldn’t,” she said. Trihn enveloped the woman in a hug, knowing that she wasn’t the hugging type.

Francesca patted her on the back. When she saw Trihn had someone with her, her eyes widened. “Well, well, who do we have here?”

Preston turned into a perfect gentleman in the blink of an eye. He straightened, becoming markedly taller than Francesca’s six-foot-tall frame, and stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Preston Whitehall.”

She lightly took his hand in hers and winked. “Oh, the pleasure is all mine. And you can call me whatever you’d like. I don’t discriminate with someone who has a body like this.”

Trihn buried her head in her hands. “He’s here with me, Francesca.”

“Oh, dear!” she said, removing her hand. “I thought you’d brought me a present.”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” Trihn said.

“Well, come in, and enjoy the party. Tell me everything! We’ve missed you.”

Trihn and Preston crossed the threshold into a massive open studio with floor-to-ceiling glass windows across one entire wall. Large wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and huge white columns were interspersed across the antique hardwood floor. Everything was white and cheery and full of beautiful people.

“A studio party?” Preston asked curiously, taking in their surroundings. He gave her a serious side eye. “What kind of work were you in exactly?”

Francesca derisively arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow and flipped her stick-straight blonde hair over her shoulder. “Surely you know how talented our little Trihn is. She could have been a superstar if she had just forgotten this silly idea about going to university.” Her South African accent became more prominent the longer she spoke to Preston.

Trihn had to hide her embarrassment at Francesca’s words.

“Please, feel free to enlighten me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and Trihn couldn’t help but stare. Even though gorgeous people surrounded them, her eyes were only for him and the very sexy muscles in his arms.

Whoa! Arms. She should stop staring at those arms.

She looked back up into his eyes and could feel a blush touching her cheeks. For once, she was happy for her mixed Vietnamese and Brazilian ancestry that hid the red on her cheeks.

“He knows nothing?” Francesca asked Trihn.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“A surprise indeed,” she trilled. “We just wrapped up a modeling shoot this afternoon for Gucci. Perhaps you’ve heard of the designer. Now, we’re toasting our last night in New York before I begin on a new grand adventure that I’ll have to tell you all about later.”

“Gucci?” Preston’s eyes widened.

“Yep,” Trihn agreed. “I worked for them on their summer line. The shoot today was for their fall line.”

“That unfortunately you were not a part of,” Francesca chastised.

“You’re a model?” Preston asked Trihn, as if he didn’t have the proof right before his eyes.

“I was a model,” Trihn corrected him.

“I would never have pegged you for a model.”

“What does that mean?” she asked indignantly.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly. “You’re beautiful. Of course you could model.”

Trihn felt her body coiling into a knot of tension. Beautiful, of course—she hadn’t needed those words from him. She knew that it wasn’t an insult. It was anything but an insult. However, everyone said she was beautiful. The term was almost an afterthought. But she hated the idea of anyone saying she couldn’t do something she’d put her mind to.

“I guess I’ve only seen the ballerina,” he confessed.

“Well, look closer,” Francesca said. She pointed to Trihn’s feet. “Those are Christian Louboutin. No satin-toe shoes for her.”

“So they are.” He wasn’t looking at her shoes though. His eyes were transfixed on her face. “Seems I have a lot to learn about you.”

Trihn laughed, trying to brush aside the butterflies in her stomach at the mention of him wanting to get to know her—not to mention, that look…like he wanted to eat her right up. “Well, we have all night.”

“So we do.” With the way he’d said it, the words took on a whole new meaning.

“Come on, lovebirds, let’s get drinks,” Francesca said, guiding them across the room.

She busied herself with introducing them to everyone as they traversed the room. Preston smiled and nodded, as if he were going to remember any of the people they’d passed.

Trihn started whispering into his ear the name of the countries the people were from, “Australia. Brazil. California.”

“California isn’t a country.”

She laughed. “It might as well be if you’re from New York.”

He guffawed at her comment and covered it by putting his hand on the small of her back, directing her toward the drinks. “Excuse me, California,” he said with a completely straight face to the busty blonde model in front of them.

“Oh my gosh, you did not just call her California. Do you know who that is?”

He shook his head. “The only person in this room I care about is you,” he breathed into her ear.

Trihn shivered against his touch. Well, this is off to a good start.

She was an idiot for not calling him. He was hot and smart and caring. He worked in publishing—in her industry, no less. Plus, those arms and lips and smile and—

Preston passed her a glass of wine, and he took a beer from the bartender. Then, they milled around the room, talking to people she had worked for earlier this year. It was easy to move back into the swing of things with these people, even with Preston at her side. She had never thought it would be this seamless, but Preston fit right in.

By the end of the night, her girlfriends were enamored with him, the guys were asking him about his workout regimen and promising to get together for gym dates—which she assured him was not entirely what he was thinking—and Trihn found herself completely in thrall with him.

He took her by the hand and pulled her out onto the mostly empty balcony. He twirled her around in place. She laughed and rose onto her tiptoes, spinning in place like a perfect ballerina, before being drawn into his arms.

“This was fun. You seemed worried at first,” he told her.