runaway

NINETEEN | ON THE HOUSE

NINETEEN | ON THE HOUSE

With Dr. Martens tucked away hidden in her closet, Jett shifts from one heel to the other while stood before the grandest hotel in Atlanta. Her feet lightly ache, though it is an ache she easily ignores. She runs her palms along the silk of her dress, admiring the material with her fingertips. So much time has passed since she last wore something so elegant that she had all but forgotten how exquisite being who she once was feels. A laugh nearly left her red-stained lips when she climbed from the Uber to stand at the entrance of the Ritz, immediately drenched in its beauty. The sight of such pristine splendor coats her in nostalgia for her old life, for the glitz and the glamor, the galas and the gowns, the guarantee of memories worth remembering. She misses her life in New Orleans more than she realized, and yet, she fails to imagine abandoning her life in Athens. For now, at least.

Men and women dripping in prestige pass her on all sides, progressing into the building. She smirks in amusement to herself. Jett knows in the morning when she wakes, it will all be over, and she will once more be someone to be overlooked, not that anyone could ever overlook her. For right now, though, she blends in with them, with those who often deem themselves greater than her. For the night, she returns to an old lie from a former life, and she smirks to herself.

When a hand suddenly comes to rest on the small of her back, Jett does not startle. She knows who it is without turning to face him, and her smirk only grows tenfold as a result. Shifting from one heel to the other, she glances over her shoulder to catch sight of the young man for whom she is waiting.

"Mr. Jones," Jett greets him with a genuine, widened smile. Her voice is light, carefree, just as he remembers.

"Miss langley, you look lovely as always," Palmer gushes, stepping back with eyes dancing over her as to adore her properly. The smile he offers her reaches his eyes, his dimples burrowing deep. The sight of her brings back memory after memory of previous rendezvous and the promise of tonight following in their footsteps.

"I didn't think you had recognized me at the restaurant," she admits, bringing up their last encounter.

Palmer shakes his head, remembering the shock he had felt upon seeing the young woman with his coworker. He was unsure as to how Charles and she knew one another, so he did not risk exposing the potential of her secrets, well the few he knows at least. He acted ignorant in the moment when in reality, the young woman often haunted his mind.

"How could I ever forget such a beautiful young woman as yourself?" Palmer says.

"Still quite the charmer, I see." Jett brushes a fallen strand behind her ear, her cherry cheeks at his coercion on display. The young man shrugs, not bothering to deny what so many often claim, the smirk on his lips ever present.

"Mr. Johnston told me you had left the business when I called," Palmer says. "I appreciate you coming out of retirement for the night."

"Well, when Derek told me it was you who requested me, I simply couldn't refuse," she says. "You always were one of my favorites."

"I highly doubt that, but my narcissism graciously appreciates it." He chuckles lightly before gesturing towards the hotel's front doors. "Shall we go in?"

Wrapping her arm around his, Palmer guides her into the lobby. The ballroom for his business event resides to an immediate right beyond the hotel's entrance, multiple workers pointing them in the correct direction. Through the double doors propped open reveals an ambiance of absolute beauty and aesthetic luxury worthy of admiration from even the highest of the world's wealthiest.

Upon crossing the threshold, men and their affiliated dates approach the newly arrived couple. Palmer introduces his date, "The gorgeous Miss Jett Langley," with ease to his coworkers before launching into conversation with whomever possessing a name Jett does not bother to remember.