Page 48 of Titus

I filed it away.

“You’ve seen pictures of his yacht, correct?” Sebastian chuckled into his scotch.

“That’s why I can’t wait to hear all about this outlandish idea for Titus to secure Cat’s services for planning events.”

“What colors is she fond of?” I asked, ignoring speculation.

“Navy,” she answered without hesitation. “Clean tones. Neutrals. She gravitates toward things that feel chic and classic rather than loud.”

“Style?”

“Everything about Cat is structured, tailored, and effortless.”

“Jewelry?”

Her eyes widened. “First of all, Cat is a lot like the rest of us women. Jewelry isn’t something we accept solely as an apology. If I were you, I’d leave that out of this little journey you’re about to take with her.”

“And if I don’t leave it out?”

She shook her head with a smile. “Keep it minimal. If it’s expensive, it’d better not look like it.”

A faint smirk pulled at the corner of my mouth.

“Her drink of choice?”

“Red wine,” she said. “Whenever we’re out with the ladies, she’s always the one ordering whatever is bold on the menu.”

Every answer confirmed what I’d already started to suspect, that everything about my world and what I lived in did not impress her.

“She doesn’t want to be impressed,” Natalia added, confirming my thoughts.

“What does she want?” I asked.

“What any woman wants,” she answered.

“And that is?”

“To be understood.”

“Understood,” I said.

Natalia tilted her head slightly. “That’s the problem,” she murmured.

I didn’t ask her to explain that final dig because I already knew what she meant. Understanding a woman like Catalina Veléz wasn’t the challenge. Earning the right to show her that you did was.

I reached for my glass and took a slow sip as the conversation around the table picked up again, making the moment feel lighter. I realized I needed to approach this as I had been thinking earlier—with respect for strong women, like the sea. You don’t go in believing it owes you anything.

It was unpredictable, and even with the limited information Natalia offered tonight, I knew these details would mean nothing if I used them to bait the woman. Instead, I would do what I did best. I would arrange all of this to show my appreciation for her.

That’s where I would start.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I stared at the contract that had just come through for my upcoming client, Evelyn Laurent. The gala she was hosting for the Laurent Foundation for Pediatric Trauma and Recovery would be hosted next weekend at the Getty Center, located in the Brentwood hills on the west side of Los Angeles.

It wasn’t the first event I’d orchestrated there, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t absolutely love the location and architecture for these types of events. The place sat high above the city, known for its panoramic views of Los Angeles. I especially loved the white travertine stone and the architecture’s modern, clean, powerful feel. It wasn’t gaudy luxury but more of an elevated sense of wealth. Her event was scheduled for six in the evening, perfectly timed for golden hour, which at the Getty Center was positively unreal.

This also wasn’t the first event I’d hosted for Ms. Laurent, and I was grateful she trusted me with evenings like this. She wasn’t a flashy woman—just intentional with the way she lived. Everything in her world carried meaning, restraint, and a sense of legacy.