Chapter 22 #2
Evan takes Parker's hand and raises it to kiss his knuckles. Lingering too long.
Parker freezes but does not attempt to pull his hand away. Jax appears amused by Evan’s overly enthusiastic greeting.
“Nice to meet you. It should be a crime for there to be two of you,” Evan comments, finally releasing Parker’s hand.
I shake my head but can’t help my grin.
Color rises to Parker’s cheeks at the compliment, and Owen claps him on the back, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest.
Parker swats his brother's hand away. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Now that we’ve all been introduced and properly embarrassed, can we move inside?” I ask them all.
Evan chuckles, but no one objects, and we enter the building.
The party planners I hired outdid themselves.
The central atrium, a glass dome located inside the building, is adorned with stunning art and photography that showcases the various charities and their respective work.
There is a temporary, wooden dance floor set up, and a string quartet is playing a beautiful melody at the far end of it.
They will be replaced by a DJ later in the night.
Cocktail tables are set up around the perimeter with long, white tablecloths and vases of native wildflowers in the center.
Beyond the atrium is another glass dome, holding the rainforest exhibit.
Large trees reach from floor to ceiling, and tropical plants fill in the spaces between them.
I can just make out the fluttering of butterfly wings and hear the calls of the macaws.
The rainforest exhibit has always been my favorite, and I make a note to take Owen there sometime tonight.
If I have the chance.
Owen looks around, taking it all in. All three of them do.
Parker is the first to speak. “I’m blown away, Miss Riley. I have no words.”
“Thank you, but I can’t take all the credit. I gave my ideas, but the party planning team did most of it.”
“Stop giving everyone else the credit, Barbie,” Evan says.
“Barbie?” Parker asks, and I groan.
“A dumb nickname I had in high school that Jax and Evan won’t let go.”
Parker looks me up and down and nods. “Switch the red to pink, and I’d say they’re spot on.”
I roll my eyes. “That is very stereotypical, Mr. Mills. Doctor Barbie was my favorite, and she definitely didn’t wear pink.”
“Runway Barbie,” Evan chimes in, and Jax chokes on a laugh.
Glaring at both of them makes them laugh harder.
Suddenly, my hand is swept up, and Owen’s voice pierces the laughter. “Excuse me, but I must steal her away to meet a few people. Please enjoy the party, gentlemen.”
Without waiting for a response, he pulls me away, and I let him. A few steps out of the central atrium, heading toward the rainforest, Owen lifts my hand up to eye level and studies it.
I instinctively yank it away from him, wincing, and he stops.
“What happened to your hand?” he asks, concerned.
Rubbing at my raw and bruised knuckles, I don’t really want to admit anything, but he waits for me to answer, unwavering in his stare.
“I had an unfortunate incident with my kitchen wall. It got in my way.”
Owen surprises me by laughing. “I feel bad for your wall. I know what it feels like to get in your way.”
I go to open my mouth, but the way he’s gazing at me makes me pause. There is nothing left of the black eye I gave him a week ago, and somehow that makes me oddly disappointed.
Owen bends over, his breath tickling my ear. “I was worried you’d look amazing tonight, but I was wrong. You look absolutely devastating.”
Angling my head, I extend my chin to get closer to his ear. He doesn’t move. With the heat of his body against mine, all I want is to curl up in him and get lost. I don’t want to face any of what’s ahead. The fear that I’ve held back is suddenly way too close to the surface.
Jax’s words echo in my mind, and even if this is the only moment I have, I don’t want to waste it.
“I’m not the only one. You have destroyed me, Owen,” I whisper back.
It’s the truth. He’s wrecked everything I thought I knew about the world—about villains and heroes and everyone in between.
He’s ripped me wide open, and I don’t know how to put myself back together.
I want it to be him who does, but I know there is no path for us to be together.
Even if I save him, he won’t choose me after he finds out I’ve been lying to him since the day we met. After he finds out who I really am.
“Nova…” There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, but he doesn’t finish as a voice interrupts.
“This must be the woman who organized the event?” The male speaking sounds neither impressed or disappointed.
Owen takes a large step back from me and practically stutters, “Father. Yes. This is Nova.”
Father. Oh.
I extend my hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
He takes it and shakes firmly. “I’ve heard good things about you but was wary of them since it was my son who hired you.”
My eyes widen, and I have the sudden urge to hurt this man.
Owen flinches beside me but doesn’t respond to the dig.
“I am pleasantly surprised with your work, Miss Riley,” Owen’s father continues. “Wonderful to have a competent employee at Regenerative Industries, even if you are only assisting with the charity work.”
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I grit my teeth. “Thank you.”
If he continues with the passive-aggressive insults, I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold myself back.
Owen either senses it or sees the balls I’ve formed with my fists, and he grabs onto me, prying my fingers apart until his are wrapped between them.
“As for you,” Owen’s father turns to him, “Noell tells me you’re going to have to file bankruptcy soon.” If his tone was even before, it now sounds downright lethal.
I overlooked Noell until this moment. She stands behind Owen’s father. There’s a grimace on her face as her name spills from his mouth.
Owen glances briefly at Noell before addressing his father. “She’s correct.”
His father clenches his jaw then spits, “You’re a disgrace. Your mother would be so disappointed.”
Owen tenses. “This isn’t the time nor the place to be discussing this.”
Owen’s father stands at the same height as his son. Like with Parker, they all share a similar build and bone structure, but Owen’s father is pale with dark brown hair and dark blue eyes.
Those eyes stare at Owen with such disdain that I almost say something, but Noell beats me to it.
“Shall we get a drink, Mr. Mills?” she offers to Owen’s father.
He gives Owen one more seething look before stalking after Noell, heading for the bar.
Owen stands stiffly beside me, his hand trembling in mine. I squeeze in silent support. His green eyes are shiny with unshed tears as they meet mine, and my heart breaks as I stare at them.
“Dance with me?” I offer.
He suddenly comes back to the room and looks toward the atrium and string quartet in the corner. When his eyes meet mine, they’ve brightened. “This is not dancing music, Miss Riley. This is a waltz.”
I cock my head to the side and give him a challenging grin. “The waltz is a dance if I’m not mistaken.”
He smirks, and the sight allows me to breathe for the first time in minutes.
“You know how to waltz, Miss Riley?”
The odd thing is, it was a skill that was taught during my field training with the CIA. Apparently, influential people still waltz.
“I do,” I reply.
Owen shakes his head. “Of course you do.”
“I take it you know how, too?”
He nods. “My mother taught me.”
“Then shall we?” I ask, even though I’m trembling with nerves and all I want to do is pry information about his mother from him. I hate being the center of attention, and we surely will be if we’re the only ones dancing a waltz in the middle of a crowded room.
Owen looks at me as though he isn’t quite sure if I’m serious, so I tug him back to the atrium and onto the dance floor. He doesn’t fight me.
When we reach the center, he pulls me close and places his hand on my lower back. His calloused palm scrapes against my exposed skin, and I close my eyes for a moment to compose myself. When I open them, he takes my hand in his other and expertly leads me into the steps.
I haven’t danced a waltz in a decade, but Owen makes it feel effortless. I’m soon lost to our moving bodies perfectly in sync with one another.
“Once again, you surprise me,” Owen whispers as we turn together.
“I think I may be the one who’s surprised this time,” I whisper back.
Owen pulls me closer as we move faster with the music filling the space around us.
I don’t register the crowd gathered around, watching, but when Owen spins me toward the bar, one person catches my eye among the myriad of faces.
Owen grabs my waist again, gracefully, as my heart rate speeds up.
I know that face. I’ve stared at it so many times in a CIA file recently that I’ve almost memorized the slope of his nose and the lines around his wide-set eyes.
It’s the assassin from the Post-it beside Owen’s computer.
Peyton Radd.