Dancing with Time

Keith Carlton

"The look of experience suited him, especially because somewhere deep in those eyes, there still lurked a dangerous invitation to play. He had a quality of masculine confidence that was a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness. Perfect goodlooks could leave you cold, but this kind of sexy charisma went straight to your knees. -Haven Travis" ― Lisa Kleypas, Blue-Eyed Devil

New York, Two Years Before The Wedding

The grand ballroom of the Maison de Lumière was a study in opulence, its high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers that scattered light like a thousand tiny stars. Lush red velvet drapes framed the windows, while tables draped in pristine white linen displayed the finest hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The murmurs of the elite mingled with the gentle strains of a string quartet, creating an atmosphere that was as intoxicating as it was glamorous.

Keith Carlton, known as the "heartless businessman" in certain circles, strode into the room with an air of unapproachable elegance. His black hair was slicked back, accentuating the chiseled angles of his face. His steel gray eyes scanned the room with a predatory sharpness, as if assessing the value of every piece of haute couture on display. At six feet tall and built like a swimmer, Keith cut an impressive figure that commanded attention.

Noah Myers followed closely behind, his presence a stark contrast to Keith's. His sun-kissed gold and midnight black hair fell in artfully tousled waves around his face, while his amber eyes, flecked with gold and green, danced with a mischievous glint. His casual charm and easy smile could disarm even the most hardened of critics. He greeted the attendees with a wink and a wave, clearly relishing the opportunity to bask in the limelight.

Neal Heartman, the "sweet boy next door," brought up the rear. His blond hair was neatly styled, and his sky-blue eyes were soft yet discerning. Though he stood at six feet tall, he carried himself with a quiet grace that contrasted sharply with his more flamboyant friends. Neal's serious demeanor and introverted nature often belied the warmth that lay beneath his exterior, making him the unassuming anchor of the trio.

As they made their way through the crowd, Keith's gaze settled on Maximus De Luca, the famed French designer, who was holding court near a strikingly avant-garde display of his latest collection. Maximus was a man of undeniable charisma, with an eccentric flair that was as much a part of his persona as his impeccable taste in fashion. His dark hair was styled into a wild, unrestrained mane, and his sharply cut suit only added to his aura of flamboyance.

"Ah, mes amis!" Maximus exclaimed, his French accent thick but his enthusiasm unmistakable. He embraced each of the men in turn, his theatrics causing a ripple of interest among the onlookers. "I'm so delighted you could make it. I trust you are enjoying the soirée?"

Keith's gaze remained cool and detached, though a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "The event is impressive, Maximus. You've outdone yourself, as always."

Noah, ever the flirt, flashed a roguish grin. "And I must say, Maximus, your collection is as dazzling as ever. I've already caught several admiring glances from the ladies."

Maximus's eyes sparkled with appreciation. "Ah, Noah, always the charmer. You should see the way the pieces move when worn—so much more mesmerizing than on a mannequin."

Neal, though usually reserved, couldn't help but be drawn into the designer's infectious enthusiasm. "I've heard so much about your work, Maximus. It's incredible to see it in person."

"Merci, Neal," Maximus said, clasping his hands together. "But enough about me. I want to hear about you three. How are things in the world of America's most eligible bachelors?"