Chapter 31
TORI
The golden Chicago sunrise beams into the room and I blink against the bright rays of sunlight. Handprints mark the glass and I flash back to last night.
Bennett. Me. Naked and pressed against the window, the city lights twinkling below.
Cool glass on my front, Bennett’s heat on my back.
Intense.
Raw, real.
Bare.
I’ve never done that before.
Never let anyone come inside me like that.
Reckless.
But it felt so right.
And so very, very Bennett.
Standing at the door before he snuck out, our eyes locked. He turned to leave and I grabbed his wrist, pulled him back for one last kiss, already missing him.
He cupped my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. Skin rough, his touch tender. His deep blue eyes gleamed in the dim light.
“Tori.”
One word.
That’s all he said. Low and husky. Filled with so many emotions we don’t dare name.
He has me undone, breaking every careful, practical rule I established.
I never thought I’d feel like this. I didn’t with Preston, that’s for damn sure.
I’m wild. Feral for the man, my body a magnet drawn to him. I’m sore from last night, yet I’m lying here alone in this massive bed with a pulsing, aching core. Feeling empty and wanting him.
All of him.
Always.
Oh god.
This is exactly what I promised myself I’d never do. Let a man make me messy, trust pretty promises.
But with Bennett, I want to believe.
So fucking bad it hurts.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I pounce on it, hoping it’s him.
Daddy: Here are the tickets for tonight’s event
Daddy: 7 PM at the Manhattan Carrington Club
Daddy: I’m not attending
Daddy: You and Steele go. Show donors our house is in order
Fuck.
The last thing I want to do is trot Bennett out in Manhattan society. My circle.
We can barely hold it together with our own team. Now we’ll be in enemy territory, with everything to lose.
I bite my lip and stare up at the ceiling. Maybe I can still get us out of it.
Tori: I need to show my face at the office. Send Keller instead?
The blue dots swirl and I swear they’re moving faster than normal, tiny angry bees waiting to sting.
Daddy: No way. Keller needs to focus on winning our first game back in NY
Daddy: Clear your schedule for tonight. Mission critical for the organization
But not important enough for my father to walk into the lion’s den himself.
Tossing my phone on the bed, I huff out a sigh. There’s no way I’m getting out of this. He doesn’t trust anyone else to represent the team, not at an event this important. Especially after the humiliation of last season, with my lovely stepmom cheating on him with the former coach.
No.
Max Prince is out for blood — and I’m his dutiful soldier.
This should be fun.
I reach for the phone to text Bennett. There’s so much I want to say.
But I can’t say those things — important things — over text.
Tori: Manhattan Carrington Club, 7 PM. Donor event. We’ll leave 6:30
I roll out of bed to pack. We fly to New York this afternoon. Then in less than twelve hours, Bennett and I will be in the center of Manhattan society. All the glamour and judgement on full display.
I should have pushed harder for Keller.
The Manhattan Carrington Club is old New York money at its peak.
Dim lighting, dark wood, deep jewel-toned brocade fabric. A men’s-only lounge.
It practically screams boys’ club.
Everyone who’s anyone in New York belongs to the Carrington. I’ve been here a few times — investor meetings mostly — but also with my father for a few hockey events.
Each time’s been more uncomfortable than the last.
The drinks are stiff, the conversation is worse.
And Preston’s family loves the place.
Of course they do.
His dad plays squash here every Tuesday and Eleanor’s a founding member of the Mahjong Club.
We were meant to have our engagement party in the Carrington Club ballroom.
Definitely not my pick. I’ve never liked the place, and the thought of being thrown back into the den of society vipers has me on edge.
“Tons of important people here tonight.” I smooth an imaginary wrinkle from the black silk skirt of my dress, glancing over at Bennett.
He’s gorgeous personified in his dark suit and tie, all muscle and swagger. I’d love to drive around Manhattan and fuck the night away in the back seat. But I’m fairly certain my father would be less than pleased with that course of action.
“We get in, shake hands, smile, and get out.”
Before anyone can bite us.
“Got it, Boss.” Bennett flashes me a broad smile and my thighs clench, remembering last night.
He reaches over, squeezing my hand. “Hey. I watched you shut down Weston in one sentence the other night. Run your fund while babysitting me. Trust me — whatever’s waiting in there is the easier job.”
Like he’s reading my mind.
I love this man.
The thought’s so wild, so out of the blue, I suck in a choking breath.
“You okay?” Bennett tips his head, a curl falling over his forehead.
I nod. “Perfect.”
Fingers still laced in mine, he strokes my hand with his thumb the rest of the ride. The glittering lights of Manhattan blur my vision and I try to focus on my breath, not the tightness in my chest.
We finally pull up to the club and I almost tell the driver to keep going. But my father would kill me.
Instead, he pulls into the circular drive and we exit the car. The night’s chilly, the noise of the city swelling from the street. We fall in step with the other arriving couples, all fake smiles and black ties. With a pit in my stomach, I climb the stairs, Bennett’s hand at my back.
I try to act normal, like this is just another Tuesday.
Like everything’s not on the line tonight.
The sponsors, the team. And I’m sure I’ll run into more than one potential fund investor.
My stomach tightens the second the brass doors glint before me. I flash my tickets at the doorman and he scans the QR code.
“Welcome to the Carrington Club, Ms. Prince.” He tips his chin, granting us access.
Together, we waltz into the lacquered quiet of the Carrington Club. The smell of wood and old money hits my nose as we step into the darkened space. Sconce lights glow against the golden wallpaper, the floors a deep mahogany.
“Fancy.” Bennett leans over and whispers in my ear. His warm breath on my skin sends a shiver through me and I fervently wish we were back in Chicago, my breasts pressed against the window, his cock driving into me.
“It’s…something. Come on.” I link my hand in his and guide him through the winding corridors toward the lounge.
A few mutuals nod their hellos as we pass, but it’s mostly people I don’t recognize.
Wonderful.
The fewer people I know here, the better.
“Victoria! Wonderful to see you.”
The familiar voice stops me in my tracks as soon as we enter the lounge. I spin around to face Eleanor, all glistening pearls and vinegar.
“Hello.” I choke out the greeting, wishing I could fade into the toile wallpaper right now.
“And how wonderful to see you with your hockey star again. Ben?” She attempts to furrow her always-smooth brow but fails.
“It’s Bennett. Great to see you.” He takes her outstretched hand and gives her a tight smile, faking warmth.
“Of course. All I can remember is the bad boy of hockey.” She waves her hand at his pecs and half-smiles at the moniker. Bennett stiffens beside me and I scan the room for an exit.
I’ve got nothing.
“Reformed,” Bennett says, shoving his hand into his pocket.
“Right. Victoria, I must introduce you to Miles. He’s an investor and Preston’s been waxing poetic about him for eons. Come.” She latches onto my shoulder, pulling me toward a group of men in dark suits, drinking equally dark liquor.
Momentarily flustered, I grab a glass of wine from a circulating server on the way over and Bennett tags along behind us.
Cold dread slithers through me, but there’s no way to disengage from Eleanor at this point.
A potential investor’s on the line, and I know firsthand just how skilled Eleanor’s spin game is.
I can’t give her anything to talk about or the fund and the team could suffer.
“Gentlemen, this is Victoria Prince. Max Prince’s daughter.
She runs the Prince hedge fund — and handles errant hockey players on the side.
” She chuckles and gestures at Bennett and his knuckles flex.
Inwardly I cringe, but I can’t make a scene here.
The stakes are too high. Much as I’d love to bitch slap Eleanor, now’s not the time.
Not with Miles standing right in front of me and donors prowling the perimeter.
“Ms. Prince.” The tallest man tips his head in my direction. “Miles Gerring. Pleased to meet you.”
I straighten my shoulders, standing as tall as possible in my stilettos. I recognize Miles’s name from research reports. The guy’s an absolute whale and would be a huge score for the fund.
“Mr. Gerring. Great to see you tonight.”
Miles launches into his current reallocation strategy — Southeast Asia exposure, private equity, the kind of conversation I’d normally own. I slide into professional mode, the ground steadying beneath me.
Almost normal.
Almost fine.
Bennett stares off into the distance, a step behind me. His hand hovering close to my hip but not touching me. Electricity humming between us and for a split second I think this can work.
“Miles…” Eleanor slides back over, a dirty martini in her hand. “You simply must hear how devoted Tori’s been to the Crushers organization. Max assigned her personally to shepherd Bennett through his little probation situation.”
Bennett’s jaw ticks and he takes another half-step back, distancing himself. A small movement I feel more than see.
Shit.
Eleanor is a viper, her fangs hidden behind glossy, professionally-plumped lips.
And I hate that Bennett’s her current target — because of me.
I should reach for him, remind him we’re in this together. I lift my hand, searching for his fingers. One touch. A small signal that I’m his, he’s not alone, and Eleanor MacDonald can go straight to hell.
Eleanor’s eyes gleam at me beneath the glow of the chandelier and I hesitate.
Immediately pulling back, my fingers stay clasped together, cheeks aching from the fake professional smile plastered on my face.
She drops her voice, forcing Miles to lean in. “It’s so admirable how seriously she takes all of her responsibilities — professional and otherwise. After all, optics are everything.”
Bennett goes completely still. He doesn’t even seem to be breathing.
Miles’s smile falters, just slightly. A microscopic beat, a quick blink, and in that second I know I lost him.
Eleanor drifts away, satisfaction trailing behind her like a victorious perfume.
I desperately want to follow her and unleash every single thing I’ve swallowed over the last three-plus years. Tell her exactly how I feel about her, her son, and everything their family represents.
But Miles is still here.
I smile at him. Smooth, professional. Working to salvage the situation while my stomach bottoms out and the room tilts around me.
“Forgive Eleanor. She’s known my family for years. Always popping in to give her unwanted opinions.” I laugh lightly, trying to downplay Eleanor’s jab. Like my fund’s not hemorrhaging credibility by the second.
Miles nods politely, but he’s tuned out. The warmth is gone and he’s casting around for an exit strategy over the next few minutes. Bennett’s still in my peripheral vision, locked in place.
Finally, Miles excuses himself and I pivot, heading straight to the bar. I want nothing more than to wallow alone in my misery. Bennett trails a few steps behind me.
Worse, he’s quiet.
And Bennett’s quiet is never nothing.
I grab another glass of wine and Bennett orders a whiskey neat. We take our drinks and head to the shadowy corridor. Walking away a few steps, we move further from everyone. I drain half the wine, trying to drown my heart palpitations. Bennett stares past me, the ice melting in his glass.
The air hangs heavy between us. I cast around for things to say, but nothing feels right.
He takes a few big gulps of his drink, then sets the empty glass down hard on the side table.
Finally, he levels his gaze on mine.
“I’m not your project, Tori. I never was.”
Flat. Gruff.
Wounded.
Then he turns and disappears into the sea of suits.
And I let him.
I’m good at that.