Lucas
I’m glad that so many have shown up for the gala, but I’m way too busy moving from one group to
another. I feel like a groom at a wedding, making sure I talk to all the guests.
I’m disappointed that Barnes is on vacation; if he could see the success of all the companies I have
worked with over the years, it would surely sweeten the deal even further.
I’m standing with a group of board members and donors as a particularly pompous man, whom I’ve
forgotten the name of, talks about his golf handi cap. It’s the fourth time I’ve heard this speech, and I’m
wondering why we invited him.
I’ve been wondering a lot of things tonight. Why can’t I focus? Why am I so on edge? Why, every
thirty seconds, do I glance around the room, looking for Amelia?
I haven’t seen her for over an hour, and now I feel guilty for leaving her as soon as we walked through
the door. She doesn’t know a soul here, and I walked away as if she didn’t matter at all.
But she does matter. More than I care to admit. Why does Barnes have to be on vacation? This could
have been the night we formalize the deal, but instead I’m listening to this idiot talk about his golf swing.
After another few minutes of small talk, I excuse myself to walk over to the next group, only to slow
my pace as a hand curls around my arm.
Grinning, I turn, anticipating meeting Amelia’s irritated expression as she asks why I left her alone for
so long. But my grin fades instantly when I come face-to-face with Megan.
“Darling,” she purrs. “So good to see you.” “Hello Meg,” I say with as much false warmth as I can
muster. There are too many eyes watching us to shake off her presumptuous hold on my arm. There have
already been enough rumors about us to sink a ship.
“You look very dapper,” she says, holding out her arms as if complimenting me, when in reality she’s
making sure I can see the full length of her dress.
She looks great, she always does, but just like the night at the restaurant, it leaves me cold. It’s as if
I’ve finally opened my eyes and I now see her for the woman she is: cold, manipulative, and jealous.
She’s only talking to me because she saw me walk in with Amelia, a woman ten times more beautiful than
she’ll ever be.
“You look very lovely,” I say evenly, waiting for that knowing smile to curve over her lips. But she
doesn’t smile; her eyes are focused on me with an intensity I don’t quite like.
“Who’s your date?” she asks. I hesitate. If I know Meg, she already knows. If I find out she’s hooked
her claws into Amelia, I will start breaking things.
“She’s my executive assistant,” I say finally, deciding honesty is the best policy. “Amber cut out on
me at the last minute, and Amelia was gracious enough to st ep in.”
Her whole face relaxes. “Well, she’s beautiful. Good eye candy. I was rather put out when Ambrose
st epped up in her defense. But knowing how much he likes to pick up your cast-offs, that makes a lot
more sense now.”
She takes a sip of her drink, and I fight the urge to snatch it from her grasp and instruct her to leave.
The wave of anger that rushes through me is so acute, so unexpected, that it takes me a moment to gather
myself.
“What are you talking about, Meg?” I ask, adding as much disdain as I can to my voice, even as my
heart beats a mile a minute.
Is Amelia with Ambrose? Is that why I can’t find her? Shit. “Oh, he was very gracious. I had no idea
you shared our arrangement with anyone else. I can see why you’d entertain yourself with her though; she
must have a killer body under that dress.”
I watch her, taking my time before I r eply, and see her twitch, her free hand plucking at the edge of
her dress.
“Careful, Megan, you look a little green.” “Hah! Of course, you’d think I was jealous. You realize that
girl is as common as they come? She doesn’t belong in this world. She knows it as much as you do.”
“Speaking of little girls, I haven’t spoken to Sinclair yet. Where is he?”
Megan’s lips thin, shaking her hair out over her shoulders and curling a loose lock of it behind her ear.
“He’s networking. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be doing?” “That’s what I was doing, Meg, but
you needed to speak to me, apparently. Or was it just to warn me off getting attached to Amelia?”
Her eyes narrow, and she takes a st ep toward me. “Attached? What is she, half your age?”
I chuckle, my mood lifting even further as I look at the dark heat in her eyes. There is no lust between
us now, just rage on her part and indifference on mine. It’s a wonderful development.
“She doesn’t seem to have a problem with my age. We never discuss it, if we talk at all, between
everything else we get up to. Have a good night, Megan.”
I walk away briskly. I feel like I’m floating, a weight lifting from my shoulders. But as I scan the
crowd looking for Amelia, my elation disappears.
That was a cheap shot. Admitting to Megan that there’s more to Amelia and my relationship than just
CEO and executive assistant feels degrading. My shoulders tense as I imagine what people would say if
they discovered what Amelia’s role in my company really is.
I stare around me, desperate to find her. I need to see her face and reassure myself she’s here because
she wants to be.
I begin to walk through the crowd, smiling vaguely at the people around me. I don’t want anyone else
to hold me back. I need to find Amelia and make sure she’s alright.
I try to shut out images of walking into a side room, finding Ambrose driving his cock into her against
a wall while she moans for him, but they flood my mind all the same.
As I entered the room tonight, it didn’t feel like I had a paid escort on my arm. It felt as if we were
here together.
The idea seems like pure madness, but as the champagne courses through my system and I feel the
buzz of the alcohol take hold, the need I feel to touch her skin, have her beside me again, is almost
overwhelming.
Since the day she cared for me while I was sick, things have been changing between us in incremental
ways I hadn’t even realized.
When Amber called to tell me she couldn’t make the gala, I wasn’t even angry even though I played it
off like I was; I felt relief. Relief that I could finally ask the person I really wanted to accompany me
instead.
Finally, the crowd parts to reveal that glorious, shimmering hair I love so much. Letting out a grateful
breath, I make my way toward her, only to stop in place, fury rising so fast I want to slam my fist through
the nearest wall.
She’s standing beside Ambrose, and his goddamn hand is resting against the small of her back.