luck for the night - rl.

22. have we met before?

The night went on, and despite what I had said earlier that night, I started to understand what my two friends, as well as my 'pretending to have never seen you before in my life-' friend hated about events like these.

The more people Mel, Zoya and I talked to, the more out of place I felt. Most of the people walking around here were either rich, famous, or both, and seemed completely out of tune with reality. The faces of the bankers, rich CEO's and literal celebrities when I told them I was a permanent make-up artist from Bristol hurt me more than wanted to admit. I tried to let their judgement slide off my skin, but it stuck to me, turning into shame.

"Dude, was that Adam Levine?"I nudged Mel, who I had found again after she and Zoya left me alone with Remington.

She shrugged. "Probably."

"He's seen at events like these a lot," Zoya explained, "he always drinks, but never donates."

I frowned, "oh, ew." My gaze went over the crowd from our newly claimed table, in the back of the room this time, next to big glass doors, leading into the night, and an outside space lit with string lights.

I recognised some faces. Singers, actors, politicians. I did not know who had invited all these people, but they sure had a bunch of connections.

I told myself I wasn't looking for him, just looking around, but when my eyes fell on Remington's stature, they stayed focused on him. He was talking to a woman who seemed vaguely familiar, although I had no idea where I knew her from. Next to him, however, was someone who I recognised because I had seen him, the night I'd met Remington. Round face, dark make-up around his eyes, and a very dramatic hat on top of his head: black, with red feathers sticking from it.

I knew it was one of Remington's brothers, the drummer who had been wearing sunglasses inside, the last time I'd seen him. But what was his name?

This time, Mel nudged me. "Stop staring! You're being suspicious!"

She was right, I knew I was, but when my gaze moved back to the tall individual next to the hat-wearing brother, It was a struggle to look at anyone, anything else. The way I felt, even when I just looked at him, was indescribable.

"Let's make another round, then," Zoya proposed, "Get another drink, talk to some more people."

"Yes, let's do it," I made a face, "So much fun!"

"Now you get it!" Mel exclaimed.

We walked around, once again talking to people I did not know. That was the reason for these parties: networking, networking, networking. But I did not really see the advantage of networking in a place like this: It's not like any of these people would catch a train to Bristol just to get some permanent make-up done. I couldn't blame them for that though: the more I left that city, the more I wanted to leave.

We made our way through the room, introducing ourselves to dozens of people, Mel and Zoya putting in a good word for the company they worked for. I tried to keep my mind on the conversations, but that proved difficult. Remington was on the other side of the room, right in my field of vision.

I forced myself to look away, but Remington kept coming closer and closer within the crowd. One second, he was talking to someone on the other side of the room, but before I knew it, he had small-talked his way to about ten people from me. It was dangerous, my eyes were glued to him: how could someone look that good in a simple fucking suit?

His dark eyes darted to me in the crowd, our gazes meeting for just a split second: one corner of his mouth lifted, before I looked away, turning back to my conversation partners again, a beautiful lady with long, brown hair, and a man in his forties.