“Wow.” Richard’s eyes widen. “You’re stunning.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say.

“No, it’s just… I didn’t expect your dress to be so…” Flattering? Revealing? Sexy? I’m right there with you, Richard, I would’ve never expected to wear a dress like this, not in a million years. “…colorful.”

“Colorful?” That’s not the adjective I was expecting.

“Yeah, somehow I had myself convinced you’d come out in a black dress.”

Which I totally would have if it weren’t for the stupid list and stupid friends. “Why black?”

“It’s safe.”

“Are you calling me boring?” I say, more flirtatious than reproachful.

My coquettishness earns me a smile, a real one, not Richard’s usual guarded smirk. And as the boss lets himself go, his entire face changes. Crinkly lines appear at the corners of his eyes, and for once, warmth radiates from his gaze instead of mistrust. His sexy dimples make an appearance too. If I thought he was handsome before, I knew nothing. When Richard smiles, really smiles, he is sensational. It sucks the air out of my lungs and sends my heart into a pounding frenzy.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he says.

“You clean up well yourself,” I manage to say.

“Shall we go?”

He offers me his arm and I take it. Outside, we hop in a cab and spend the obligatory half-hour journey mostly in silence. I am too self-conscious of my spiraling crush to make small talk. Like an inexperienced teenager, I jolt in my seat every time our legs bump due to a sharp turn.

After stepping out of the cab, we’re admitted to the red carpet by security. I’m blinded by the photographers’ flashes and their reflections on the metallic walls of the Disney Concert Hall. The paps, however, soon realize we’re nobodies, and the clicking craze stops.

At the end of the carpet, there’s a small press area with other correspondents from magazines and TV. We’re early. The big celebrities will start arriving a bit later. Presumably in a slow trickle that will carry on for at least an hour. Events managers time the arrivals so that all the guests will get their dedicated moment in front of the photographers and with the press.

“I should wait here,” I tell Richard. “See who gets in, do some interviews…”

“I’ll get started on the champagne.” He winks at me and disappears inside.

Alone and with work to do, I regain some presence of mind—meaning only half of my brain cells are being fried by the memory of Richard’s smile.

Plus, red carpets are fun! All the celebrities I meet are incredibly down-to-earth and exciting to talk to. They make jokes, tell me wardrobe malfunction anecdotes, and I record more than a few good quotes to publish in a bubbly article on the evening. Even if I’m from a relatively unknown magazine, no one snubs me. And the first part of the night flies by in a series of incredible conversations, swooshing gowns, and some fan-girl moments on my part. When no one new arrives for twenty minutes, I move inside to finally join the real party.