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to the restroom,” Holly whispered, pretending to be desperate. She hopped from foot to foot, and the camerawoman rolled her eyes.

“It’s down the hall to the left,” she whispered, stepping aside. Holly could have punched the air and given the woman a hug. Her faith in humanity was restored.

“Thank you,” she mouthed and hurried out of the room.

Holly’s brisk walk slowed as she returned to the entrance hall, and she took a deep breath to steady her nerve.

“Holly. What are you doing? Get in there.”

Thatcher rushed to her side and grabbed her arm.

“Oh! I didn’t see you,” Holly said, eyeing the massive camera in Thatcher’s hands. “I was feeling sick, so I came out for some fresh air.” It wasn’t a total lie. Seeing William again did make her feel nauseated. And she couldn’t figure out why. Thatcher’s frown faded and he glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve got to go and take some pictures, see you in there?” He clapped Holly’s shoulder and she gave him a nod.

Leaving the hall was not the best idea. Now Holly was stuck in the empty entrance hall with no idea what to do next. She could dash for the door and make a break for freedom, never looking back. Or she could pull up her big girl pants and go back inside.

So what if William was there? Even if he did recognize her, he was on the show looking for a match, and Emily had made it very clear that the models were off-limits.

All she had to do was fade into the background, get the job done and pick up her check at the end.

It wouldn’t look good for her if she bailed in the middle of a job. With Thatcher moving to Paris, she needed to build bridges. Not burn them.

With a deep sigh, Holly resolved that she needed to go back inside. Time to grow up and step outside of her comfort zone.

On Holly’s return, she noticed the three bachelors seated in different areas of the reception hall. Each one was surrounded by gorgeous young women. All cameras were focused on them, so Holly was able to slip into the room unnoticed.

Meanwhile, Thatcher hovered in the background, taking pictures from every angle.

As with most modelling jobs, there was a lot of standing around bored. The other models participated in chit-chat, but Holly hated small talk more than awkward silence. It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to fit in and make small talk. It was just that she was terrible at it.

During her very first shoot, she had tried to engage but it all went horribly wrong. The other girls were talking about a celebrity who had been photographed with a twig in her hair. Which reminded Holly of a funny story, about the time she went to a Halloween party with a big spider in her hair, and no one told her because they thought it was just part of her outfit. When it crawled down to her shoulder, she panicked and emptied the bowl of punch over herself. She finished the story with a hearty laugh at herself. But the other models looked at her blankly, without even a hint of a smile. Then they had turned back to each other and continued their conversation.

It was one of the reasons Holly had never made friends in the modelling world. No one talked about anything Holly was interested in.

She didn’t fit in. But her naturally skinny frame and angular face photographed well. And Holly figured Thatcher had always been able to pull some strings to get her on the same jobs he did.

The chatter in the room became more animated and Holly realized she had been staring out like a zombie for several minutes, buried in her thoughts.

Josie’s right. I’m bad at being present in a situation.

“Hey there.”

Holly stiffened and blinked at the gentleman with the man bun who was standing less than a foot away from her. His musky cologne was stifling, and it took all of Holly’s resolve not to pinch her nose.

“Uh. Hi,” she said, glancing around the room. Why was one of the bachelors talking to her?

Then Holly noticed the camera crew were taking a break.

Holly fiddled with her gold bangle and tried to ignore the angry stares from the jealous models standing nearby.

“You must be tired,” the man said, batting his thick lashes at her with a smolder.

Holly froze. Was this man at the mixer last night too? She forced a smile. Not sure what to say. The man leaned in to whisper in her ear. Humid heat radiated from his cheek and Holly inwardly recoiled.

“Because you’ve been running around in my mind ever since I got here.”

He leaned back to flash her a grin. His words sat in the pit of Holly’s stomach and began to effervesce. Her hands balled into fists, and her false nails dug into her palms.

“Is that supposed to be a chat up line?” she blurted. The man roared like a predator and dragged a heavy hand across his jaw.

“You’ve got attitude too. I like it.” He grazed his knuckles along Holly’s arm, they left a burning trail behind.

“What do you say we get out of here later, and go somewhere… private?” He added a not-so-subtle wink and licked his bottom lip.

“I’ll be busy… washing my hair,” Holly said dully. The bachelor chuckled and grabbed her hand.

“I’d love to help. A princess like you deserves to be pampered.” He leaned forward, lips pouted and primed to make contact, but instead collided with Holly’s clutch.

“I’m not feeling well; I think I need to leave.” She sidled away and made for the exit. The women began twittering to each other, but Holly paid no attention.

Being hit on was a common occurrence for Holly. But it never stopped making her feel like she needed to take a hot shower afterwards. She had just made it to the door when a hand grabbed her arm. She turned and with a thwack, her clutch purse hit her