Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79328 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“What is this?” I asked, reaching for one of the delicate morsels.
“Wagyu beef carpaccio on an herb-infused crostini,” he replied.
I took a bite, and flavor exploded on my tongue—herbs and butter and meat that was simultaneously savory and subtly sweet. It was possibly the best thing I’d ever eaten, and I’d only just arrived.
Another waiter passed with champagne flutes, and I claimed one before stepping deeper into the ballroom, scanning faces for Simon. He’d offered to pick me up, but I’d declined and had driven myself. Having him show up at my door, then seeing me off at the end of the night…it would have felt too much like a date, and I needed to keep my head on straight tonight.
Better to meet here and say goodbye outside the ballroom when the evening ended. Clean. Professional. No awkward moment of uncertainty about how to part ways.
But I couldn’t stop wondering…would he walk me out at the end of the night and escort me to my car? Shake my hand? Hug me?
Kiss me?
No. Absolutely not. My thoughts had no business going there.
I made it about halfway through the room before I spotted him.
Simon was attractive in his everyday business suits, that was undeniable. But tonight, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, he was something else entirely. The black jacket hugged his broad shoulders, emphasizing the powerful build I’d tried so hard not to notice over the past three weeks. The sharp lines of the cut drew the eye down from his chest to his trim waist, and I found myself tracing that path with my gaze before I could stop myself.
My eyes traveled upward, past the crisp white shirt, over the strong column of his throat, and found him already watching me. The riveted look in his eyes made my breath catch.
I was still learning to read this man, but there was no mistaking what I saw now. His smoldering gaze moved over me in a slow, deliberate survey, traveling from my face down the length of the sapphire gown and back up again. Everywhere his attention landed, my skin tingled with awareness.
I’d stopped walking without realizing it, waiting for him to come to me. He crossed the distance between us with unhurried steps, and I took a long sip of champagne, hoping the cool liquid might do something about the heat spreading through my body.
It didn’t help.
“Raina.” His voice came out lower than usual, rougher. “You look… nice.”
Not exactly poetry. But his eyes—dark and burning with something he was clearly fighting to contain—told me he thought I looked far better than nice.
“You’re not looking too bad yourself,” I managed, matching his understatement. Safer that way. For both of us.
Simon lifted the glass in his hand—not champagne but some kind of amber liquid swirling around a large round ice cube—and took a drink. I watched his throat move as he swallowed and had to look away.
“I suppose we should be social,” he said, surveying the crowd with obvious reluctance.
I wasn’t surprised. When he’d first told me about this gala, I’d been confused. This seemed like Liam’s territory, not Simon’s. But securing Alexander Spencer’s business required a personal touch, and Liam was buried in the GalvaTech launch. So here we were.
As we moved through the ballroom together and he greeted associates he knew, I quickly realized I was more useful than just serving as his plus one. Simon was terrible at small talk.
It wasn’t that he didn’t try. He was endlessly polite, and he smiled more tonight than I’d seen in three weeks of working for him. But when conversations stretched past the initial pleasantries, he faltered, growing awkward, struggling to maintain interest in topics that didn’t involve profit margins or market analysis.
When that happened, I picked up the slack. Most of the people we encountered were business associates or colleagues, so it was easy to keep things from lapsing into painful silence by asking about their work. When Simon was holding his own, I turned my attention to the companions—wives, girlfriends, husbands—finding common ground by asking about their lives.
More than once, I was met with surprised gratitude. Apparently, the partners of wealthy executives were often left standing bored and overlooked at events like this. After a particularly smooth conversation with a tech executive and his girlfriend—a special effects artist whose work I found genuinely fascinating—Simon leaned in close as the couple walked away.
“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.
His breath was warm against my ear. His cologne filled my senses—something spicy and sophisticated that suited him perfectly—and I had to fight the urge to lean closer, to press myself against the solid warmth of him.
“I like talking to people,” I said, aiming for casual and probably failing. “And she was interesting. Did you hear that she worked on the effects for three Marvel movies?”