Damage Control

PROLOGUE

I meet Brooklyn Cotterill at the annual summer gala hosted by the Hargreaves. Or maybe it's the other way around, Brooklyn meeting me. Or something.

Nolan Hargreaves ran in the same circle as my father, Oliver Murray, the two being Seattle's city council members under the administration of Mayor Sean Cotterill who also happened to be Brooklyn's father. The said gala only invites affluent political families so it wouldn't be a coincidence for me and Brooklyn to run into each other. After all, we belong to the same circle.

"Nolan," my father greets, "always a pleasure to be invited to your extravagant summer galas."

"As if you would be anywhere else," Nolan replies. For a man of his age, Nolan surprisingly doesn't look a day over forty. Must be the three-quarters of Asian blood running through his genes. No wonder Isla still looks like a high schooler at twenty.

"Has Mayor Cotterill arrived yet?" my father looks over the room as he speaks. "I have something to discuss with him."

"Can you leave the political talk behind and just enjoy yourself at this party?" Nolan turns to me. "Tell your papa to have a day off, Aria."

"I've tried, Mr. Hargreaves," I say with an exasperated sigh. "At least I know where my stubbornness comes from now."

Nolan chuckles and weaves an arm through my father's, redirecting him to the other side of the room where a lot of their associates are talking. "Go have fun, Aria. I'll take care of this old man."

With that, they turn and disappear through the crowd. The Hargreaves went with a bohemian theme for this summer's gala, decorating their ancestral home with plants, macrame, throw pillows, string lights, rugs, not to mention the required flower headdresses. I think it must be Isla's idea but I remember she's more into the posh kind of vibe so probably Mrs. Hargreaves.

Curious to see the delicacies served on the buffet table, I take a step forward when an arm loops around my waist, tugging me to a very sturdy chest that oddly smelled like peppermint.

"I have been looking everywhere for you," a rough voice purrs in my ear.

Huh? Without looking up, I push away the hand that wraps around my midriff but try is the imperative word since this guy —who the hell is this guy anyway—only tightens his hold on me.

"For both of our sakes, stay still and act like you're in love with me."

Now I have to know who this guy is since he's spouting nonsense. I angle my head to the right to glance at his side profile and holy shit is that Brooklyn Cotterill?!

I've only seen his face in tabloid columns or in newspapers (of course he's famous, he's the mayor's only son!), so pardon me if it takes several minutes for my brain to catch up with the train wreck that's currently happening. Like what are the odds, Aria.

"I know this is fucking crazy but I'll explain once the storm passes," he smiles at me and I think I hear the angels calling my name, "I promise."

I clear my throat to speak but a flash of bright red appears in front of us catching me off-guard.

"Brooklyn," the voice seethes, "what the fuck is the meaning of this?"

Brooklyn moves us so that I come in between him and the storm —I mean girl— and pulls me closer to his chest in a lover's embrace.

"Oh hey, Brianna," Brooklyn greets casually, "long time no see."

If looks could kill, I would have sworn I'd be nothing but air with the way Brianna Lange —the gorgeous, redhead supermodel daughter of fashion tycoon Brian Lange— is glaring at me right now. Still very beautiful but very lethal, too.

"Long time no see? Are you fucking kidding me right now, Brooklyn?"

Brooklyn shrugs innocently. "Yeah, what's the problem?"

If possible, Brianna's hair turned a lot redder. Or was it her face?

By this point, I attempt to break away from Brooklyn's grasp only for him to kiss my hair in a soft gesture, as if consoling an uncomfortable girlfriend who has the misfortune to come across one of her boyfriend's past lovers. I forget how to breathe.

"We were a thing just two days ago!" Brianna shrieks, drawing in a small group of onlookers from the nearby tables. "We were flirting!"

"What?" Brooklyn laughs. "No, we weren't. I don't even have your number."

"You liked all my pictures on Instagram!"

What?

"Oh, that? That was Laurel's doing. He took control of my Instagram and thought it funny to pull a prank."

"What?!"

"Brianna, that was nothing," Brooklyn sighs with frustration. "We are nothing."

Brianna crosses her arms over her ample chest, her boobs almost spilling out of her emerald dress and into the floor. She looks at me from head to toe, squinting, as if not quite believing that Brooklyn Cotterill chose a blonde girl so beneath her. She then says, "I don't believe you."

People are starting to come over and see what the commotion is about. Faces I know from school have their phones out, probably recording the whole thing and alerting the whole student body about what's going down. After all, only the elite ones are privy to the happenings in these types of parties.

Embarrassed and clueless about what to do, I burrow myself deeper into Brooklyn's body by instinct which I later will realize was the super wrong of all wrong moves in history. Brooklyn stands taller by command, his arms still holding onto my waist, and clicks his tongue in an exasperated tone.

"You're making a scene, Bri. Not to mention you're making my girlfriend uncomfortable."

There's a big gasp from the crowd, more camera flashes hit our way, and the murmurs seem to grow louder. I think I just died and this is my version of hell because not in this lifetime would you hear Brooklyn Cotterill claim anyone as his girlfriend. Not to mention Aria Murray, a girl he met two seconds ago.

But he did. Publicly, I might add.

Is this how all relationships start?