"King, you alright?"
I scowl at him. "Of course, I am."
"So shall I reach out to a wider net of sponsors who’ll be able to leverage your image as a fiancé and husband to-be?"
I shove aside the twisting in my guts and jerk my chin in his direction. "Do it.”
"Excellent." He holds out his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."
I glower at his hand and then at his face. "Leave," I snap.
He blinks, then recovering quickly, he jumps to his feet. "Of course. Anything you say, King." He wheels around and out of the room. I glance around the tastefully appointed space.
James Hamilton, the leading chef on the continent, owns the restaurant. Not only is he a friend, he’s also a fellow member at the 7A Club. Which means, he was more than happy to host the event. Not that he needs it, considering the waiting list for his restaurant is months long. But it’s an opportunity that will both benefit him and give me a venue I need at short notice.
I could have had Abby organize the event, but given how pissed she was with me yesterday, I decided to hold off on that request. Instead, I put in a call to Isla Kincaid, who’s diversifying from weddings to planning events; she dropped everything and prioritized this event. She also told me that she was used to putting events together on tight deadlines—the Seven gave her more than enough practice, with each of them getting married with very short notice.
Even for her, organizing an occasion of this caliber within twenty-four hours was pushing it, but she couldn’t resist the challenge. Which worked to my benefit. In short, everything is in place—except my to-be-bride, who is not yet here. The operative who’s bringing her here messaged me to let me know she’s on her way, and when I see her, I’m going to give her a dressing down. I’m going to turn her over my lap and spank that incredible arse of hers and—
"How did you track me down?" She blows into the room, and all thoughts empty from my mind. Jesus, I missed her. How could I miss her when I just saw her less than twenty-four hours ago?
She stomps over to me, her hair flying about her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes sparkling with an inner light that signals she’s ready for a fight. My cock instantly thickens. I take in the dress she’s wearing, a simple pink one that flows down to below her knees. It also clings to her curves and is sleeveless, so it shows off her shapely shoulders. Also, it’s cut low enough to hint at her cleavage. Fucking hell. I shrug out of my jacket, then close the distance between us and drop it over her shoulders. I button the jacket all the way down, then step back and survey my handiwork.
"Much better."
"Wh-what are you doing?" She splutters.
"Making sure you look decent for the cameras."
"I was decent already—"
"Not."
"I was—"
"Not."
"Cade!"
"Abby." I lower my voice to a hush, and she shivers.
"You are going to wear my jacket when we go out there."
"I can’t."
"Why not."
"Because you’ve buttoned it over my arms, you asshole."
"I’ll be your arms."
She blinks. "That was either the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me, or the most romantic thing someone has ever done for me."
"Was it?"
She blows out a breath. "Seriously, you don’t have to get all upset because your words sounded romantic. I know you didn’t mean it."
"I didn’t?"
"Nope. I know how scared you are when it comes to any kind of serious relationship."
Except when it’s with you. Nope, n-a-h, I didn’t just think that. Besides, when she finds out just how I’ve manipulated things so she has no choice but to agree to this fake engagement, she’ll likely hate me forever. I wince, then straighten my shoulders. "What were you so upset about when you flounced in?"
"I know you’re having me followed."
"It’s the only way to keep you safe." Especially since I haven’t yet managed to track down the bastard who broke into your apartment. I have both Axel Sovrano and Karina Beauchamp—who runs the only security agency to rival Axel’s—working on it. I’ve also told them, explicitly, to leave the motherfucker for me when they find him. I’m going to have the pleasure of taking him apart, piece by piece for what he did.
"I really should be pissed at you for that, too."
"But you’re not."
She scowls. "Now that you profess to read my thoughts, I am."
"It’s for your own safety."
"I know, but you could have told me. I’d have understood, you know? I’m not stupid. Especially given the kind of business my father was involved with. I know what it means to be afraid for your life."
"And that’s something I will not tolerate. As long as you’re with me, you’re safe. As long as I’m alive, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. I’ll burn down this world before I let anyone touch a hair on your head. I’ll give up my very life to ensure you’re shielded in every way. I—" I stop, for she’s pulled her hand out from under the lapel of the jacket and reached up to place her fingers on my mouth.
"Let’s not talk about your dying, okay?"
I peer between her eyes. "Okay." Then I lick her finger. She shivers, begins to lower her arm, but I catch her around her waist and pull her close. "I’m sorry I pissed you off yesterday. I’m trying, I swear, but this whole baring-my-emotions-to-another-person thing is a little out of my league."
"I’m not just any person."
"You’re not, you’re my...my fiancée." Good god, another slip? I’m clearly losing my touch. If this is what happens when you catch feelings for another person, then I’m not sure I like it very much. "Also," —I wrap my fingers about her wrist and raise her arm— "you lied about your arms being trapped."
"So?” She rises her chin.
So, I’ve lied to you about so much, you’re going to hate me when I finally come clean. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is a right ol’ mess, and I’m not sure where to start to clean it up.
"So, nothing."
She blinks. "Did you just back down in an argument?"
"Don’t get used to it."
"Hmm." She tugs on her arm, and when I release it, she cups my cheek. "Wonder what other surprises you have up your sleeve, huh?"
I wince, then square my shoulders. "The only surprise is that we’re late for our engagement announcement which, given my reputation, is probably not a surprise."
"Probably not." She laughs. The jacket begins to slip off her shoulders and she shoves her arms through the sleeves to hold it up.
I draw her up to her tiptoes, then lower my head. I brush my lips across hers gently, tenderly, softly. I draw of her sweet breath, and my head spins. My heart begins to race, and my pulse rate shoots up like I’m about to face down a ball coming at one-hundred miles per hour. Spots of black flicker across my vision. I sway, and she wraps her arm about my waist.