Driving Me Wild by Mia Carter

Author:Mia Carter
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Women's Action & Adventure Fiction; City Life Fiction; Billionaire Romance; Coming of Age Fiction; Contemporary American Fiction; Holiday Romance; Contemporary Romance Fiction; Contemporary Women's Fiction; NA Romance; Entangled; Embrace; Mia Carter; Billionaire Hero; Opposites Attract; Portland; Helsinki; Travel Romance; Contemporary Romance; Playful Romance; Summer; Ride-share; Single Title Romance; Stand Alone Romance; Smart Heroine; Tech CEO; New Adult; RomCom; Humorous Romance; Laugh Out Loud; Chance Encounter; Original Meet Cute;
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC (Embrace)
Published: 2019-08-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Chloe

Mirrors. Why does it have to be mirrors? I hate looking at myself in the mirror almost as much as I hate seeing myself in photos, but they’re inescapable here in this venue. I’m waiting in the foyer, surrounded by mirrors and people. No Logan.

A few people nod and smile politely at me as they pass me by, clearly assuming I’m somebody, when I mean nothing to them and don’t have any clue who they are, or if any of them are the kind of people I should know. I’ve been to just one of these industry-specific events, once, with my sister. Never again, I’d vowed—although that had been more to do with feeling intimidated by Eleni in general, feeling so compared and found so wanting, than the event itself.

Eleni knows how to mingle.

This is nice, though. The ballroom, from what I can see of it, is old and draped with chandeliers, sculpted with crown moldings and crenellations, bas-relief cherubs. Apparently, this place had been built for the Russian officers who had been stationed in the city, back when Finland had been under occupation. I can almost imagine them now, like something out of a fever-dream or a Broadway show: military braids and epaulettes instead of name tags and smartphones, ladies fawning in their voile dresses instead of talking animatedly in sequins and lace. It’s all very Anastasia.

At least I’m not cold, although my trusty black wrap dress isn’t exactly thick. I smooth my hands down over my hips and try to calm the flutter of nerves in my belly. It had been so much darker that night at the restaurant. I had been able to convince myself that this dress was more covering, and less embarrassing, back then. But I can’t now.

And Logan’s still not here.

Nervously, I pull out my phone and go through the motions of checking it. Social media: Someone’s shared a meme about motherhood that’s placed next to an American flag and a cheery yellow Minion, for some reason. Someone else has posted about their new kitten. I scroll, not really reading any of it, and then close out of the app. Then, to my Instagram, where I see a bunch of comments and likes on my photos from this trip. At some point I will have to explain what I’m doing and how I got here.

Then, my email. Junk, spam, reminders—and an email from the contact page of my webcomic. I don’t have time to read it yet because there’s a familiar prickle along my spine, a feeling of quiet awareness, and I just know it’s him.

“Sorry,” his warm voice says, and I turn, smiling up at him as he moves closer to me to let another couple pass. “I was held up.”

“It’s fine,” I say, tucking my phone back in my impromptu clutch for this evening—my galaxy-print makeup pouch. “Everything okay?”

There’s worry in his eyes, and my gut instantly tells me he’s holding something back, but he nods and says, “Yeah, fine, nothing to worry about.

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