The CEO and the Country Wildflower chapter 63

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The CEO and the Country Wildflower
Chapter 63: The Gala Invitation


Lucas York sat at his desk, fingers pressed against his temples as another migraine threatened to split his skull in two. The meeting with Leo Brown had been a disaster—or at least, it should have been. But Emelly Clus, with her sharp tongue and even sharper mind, had turned the tables so effortlessly that even Lucas had been forced to grudgingly admire her. And that was the problem.


He didn’t want to admire her. He didn’t want to notice the way her eyes sparkled when she outmaneuvered an opponent, or how her lips curved into that infuriatingly smug smile whenever she knew she’d won. And he definitely didn’t want to remember the way his headache had vanished the moment she’d taken his hand at lunch, her touch like a cool balm against the fire in his skull. A knock at his office door pulled him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he growled. David, his ever-patient driver, stepped inside, holding an embossed envelope. “This just arrived for you, sir. Personal delivery from the Lasmington Charity Foundation.” Lucas took it, flipping it open with one hand. His eyes skimmed the elegant script—an invitation to the annual Black & White Gala, one of the most exclusive events in the city. Normally, he would have dismissed it without a second thought. But this year, something—or rather, someone—made him hesitate. A slow smirk curved his lips.


Emelly was elbow-deep in paperwork when Lucas’s shadow fell over her desk. She didn’t even look up. “If you’re here to assign me another impossible task, save your breath. I’m still recovering from the last one.” “I have a proposition for you,” Lucas said, his voice smooth. That got her attention. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Oh? Did you finally admit I’m the best employee you’ve ever had?” “Don’t push your luck.” He tossed the gala invitation onto her desk. “You’re coming with me.” Emelly blinked. Then she laughed. “Nice try. You think I’m going to play arm candy at some stuffy rich-people party?” “I think,” Lucas said, leaning down until they were eye to eye, “that you owe me for saving your job today.” She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died when she saw the challenge in his gaze. He knew she couldn’t resist a dare. “Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m not wearing heels.” “You’ll wear what I tell you to wear.” “And if I trip and spill wine on someone important?” “Then I’ll fire you.” She grinned. “Worth it.” Lucas straightened, fighting the urge to smile back. “Be ready by seven.” --- Meanwhile, Jane Claudias was on a mission.


Tony Bright had been avoiding her ever since their disastrous “almost-date” last week, and she was done playing nice. She cornered him in the break room, arms crossed. “You can’t hide forever, Tony.” He nearly choked on his coffee. “I’m not hiding! I’ve just been… busy.” “Busy dodging my texts?” “Busy working,” he insisted, though his ears turned pink. Jane narrowed her eyes. “You know what your problem is? You’re scared.” “Of you?” He scoffed. “Please.” “Not of me. Of this.” She gestured between them. “You like me, Tony. Admit it.” His mouth opened, then closed. Then, with a groan, he buried his face in his hands. “You’re impossible.” Jane grinned. “And you’re stuck with me.” --- That evening, Emelly stood in front of her closet, glaring at the few dresses she owned. None of them were “gala-worthy.” Jane flopped onto the bed, tossing a bag at her. “Here. Borrow this.” Emelly pulled out a sleek black gown. “Since when do you own something this fancy?” “Since I raided Tony’s sister’s closet.” Jane winked. “Consider it payback for him being a coward.” Emelly laughed, shaking her head. “You’re terrifying.” “And you’re going to knock Lucas York off his feet.” Emelly’s smile faded. “That’s not the plan.” “Oh, sweetie,” Jane sighed. “It’s always the plan.”


At seven sharp, Lucas’s car pulled up outside their apartment. Emelly stepped out, and for the first time in his life, Lucas York was speechless. The dress hugged her curves perfectly, the dark fabric making her skin glow. Her hair was swept to one side, loose curls framing her face. And her eyes—those sharp, clever eyes—were lined with just enough mischief to make his pulse jump. “Close your mouth, York,” she said, smirking. “You’ll catch flies.” He recovered quickly, opening the car door for her. “Try not to embarrass me tonight.” She slid inside, flashing him a grin. “No promises.” As the car pulled away, neither of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows—Linda Crow, her phone capturing every moment.