Rage

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

T he next few days are a whirlwind of covert meetings—mostly online—and late-night research. During one of the dark web chatroom meetings, I managed to secure an invitation to a charity gala hosted by Zenith Corp—a perfect opportunity to gather more intel. They have a hacker for just about anything now. Kids as early as ten are learning to write professional code, and it’s a dangerous world when you can just ask an AI to write code for you, too. The computer is supposed to have guidelines and standards, but they are bypassed just as easily with—you guessed it—another piece of code. At least I am comfortable in my abilities as an investigative journalist that no piece of technology would ever be able to take my place or do my job as well, at least not with the current tech. We aren’t at that level of consciousness just yet with computers; no Matrix or Skynet is coming to kill off all of humanity just yet.

I woke up late after pulling another all-nighter. The charity gala is in about an hour, so I should have just enough time to get dressed and gussied up enough to fit in and schmooze with the crowd of hoity-toity creme-de-la-creme of high society. I am sure that should all be red carpet worthy themselves. The donors for the charity gala always make a show of themselves, probably to make sure the world still knows they’re rich assholes who have exorbitant amounts of expendable cash.

My rideshare driver has a black Lincoln with blacked-out everything, and it’s actually perfect to show up at the doors of the event. I couldn’t have asked for anything better unless I sprung for a limo driver to take me there.

Dressed in an elegant navy gown that hugs my curves, I step into the grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the opulent décor, the scent of expensive perfume and hors d’oeuvres fill the air. Laughter and clinking glasses create a symphony of affluence. I had never imagined that this story would bring me here, but I am damn sure going to enjoy it.

I weave through the crowd, subtly eavesdropping on conversations. Snippets of information float by—mentions of offshore accounts and hush-hush projects. I regret not wearing my wire, just so I can take notes on everything without having to actually take notes. I have a great memory, but this is just information overload.

“Wynter Morgan, isn’t it?” Romello’s voice sends a shiver down my spine.

I turn to find him beside me, impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo. His eyes trail over me appreciatively.

“You clean up nicely,” he remarks.

I offer a polite smile. “You too.”

He extends a hand. “Care to dance?”

I glance around, weighing my options. “Why not?”

He leads me to the dance floor, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back. As we move to the soft sounds of the orchestra, I can’t help but notice the warmth of his touch, the way his gaze seems to see straight through me.

“Enjoying the evening?” he asks.

“It’s enlightening,” I reply.

He chuckles. “Have you learned something I should know about?”

His question takes me by surprise.

“You’re in R and D, right?”

I giggle nervously. “Yes, yes, I am. But I regret to inform you that I haven’t found anything I would need to run that far up the flagpole just yet.”

“Always such a good employee, aren’t you?” He squints down at me.

“And you, always the enigmatic executive.”

He leans in slightly, his breath warm against my ear. “Perhaps we both wear masks.”

“Perhaps,” I concede. I do my best to ignore the sensation that his whisper sent down my spine. I can’t help the reaction to his proximity. My body wants him.

The song ends, but neither of us steps away immediately. The air between us is thick with unspoken words.

“Would you like to get some fresh air?” he suggests.

I nod, allowing him to guide me toward the terrace. The cool night air is a welcome contrast to the heat of the ballroom. The heat is building within me for this man. The city lights shimmer below, a sea of stars mirroring the sky above.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he muses.

“Yes,” I agree, though my attention is more on him than the view.

He turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “I have a feeling you’re not here just to enjoy the party.”

I meet his gaze steadily. “And what makes you say that?”

“Call it intuition.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “Be careful where you tread, Wynter.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Consider it friendly advice.”

I step closer, the distance between us shrinking. “Why do you care?”

His jaw tightens ever so slightly. “Maybe I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Or maybe you’re trying to protect your own interests.”

He smiles faintly. “Believe what you will.”

Without thinking, I reach out and place a hand on his arm. The contact sends a jolt through me. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a moment, vulnerability flashes across his features. “Some truths are more dangerous than lies.”

Before I can respond, he leans in, his lips brushing softly against mine. The world seems to halt, and the only sensation is the warmth and softness of his kiss. It’s brief but filled with an intensity that leaves me breathless.

My hand is mid-air and reared back, ready to strike, when he grips my arm around the wrist. He pulls me closer to him while turning my arm so it’s behind me along with his. My fist bunches and pounds into his chest. His very hard, muscular chest.

He leans down to my height and takes my lips again, this time much more forcibly. His tongue prods at my lips for entrance, and I grant him that. I taste expensive champagne on his tongue as he twirls his around mine with expert precision. He grips my ass in one of his large hands after releasing his hold on my wrist. While pulling me closer, he lifts me off the ground enough that even in the heels I’m wearing, I can barely touch it with my toes.

He pulls back, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and longing. “Goodnight, Wynter.”

Before I can process what’s happened, he’s gone, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the crowd.

My fingertips touch my lips, still tingling from the unexpected kiss. Confusion and desire swirl within me, complicating everything.

What does he know?