Chapter Eleven
JOY WAS GAINING confidence with these parties and events, but this charity gala was the fanciest yet, increasing the pressure on her to look her best. To reflect well on Axel.
He was making important connections at these things. He’d been a little more open since their argument the other night, telling her how things were going with Otto—(poorly)—and that he was moving forward with his own firm, courting investors and preparing to take on his first few projects.
That worried her a little. What did he need her for if he had given up on taking over Vorstoben?
He hadn’t, he assured her. He had merely accepted that his dealings with Otto would take time so he was pursuing what he’d really wanted all along.
His new venture had lit a fire in him that was exciting to be around.
She was already on cloud nine, having made the first cut at the audition process for the festival.
Axel’s support in her dance aspirations meant the world to her, which increased her desire to do whatever she could to help him get what he wanted.
To that end, she had a professional style her hair and apply her makeup.
She broke out the most expensive gown in her closet, one of pale blue satin that made her feel dipped in liquid moonlight.
It flowed off one shoulder and down her body, clinging enough to accentuate her curves without being blatant about it.
“You look incredible.” He seemed transfixed as he watched her come down the stairs.
“So do you.”
He was in a tuxedo, jaw shiny and sharp, ice-blue eyes gleaming with such pride in her, her heart panged with pleasure.
He opened a box and held out a gorgeous bracelet with an aquamarine that closely matched her gown. It was set in ornate filigreed white gold that cuffed her wrist.
“I love it,” she said, biting her lip. “But why?” They had made up from their fight.
“I wanted to.” He kissed the heel of her palm, then her fingertip.
As he held her gaze, a potent silence fell between them, one that was becoming familiar. It was filled with a helpless sort of energy on her side. His was more difficult to interpret, but she had the suspicion he wanted to be closer to her, he just didn’t know how.
“Thank you,” she said softly, stepping closer to lightly touch her lips to his, taking care not to stain him with her lipstick. “You really don’t have to spoil me, you know.”
I’m here, she conveyed, basking in the warm admiration of his half-lidded gaze. She was starting to think she would be here forever. If he would let her.
If he wanted her forever.
Please let him want me forever…
“You’re too beautiful,” he chided. “We should go, or I’ll take you back upstairs.”
Perhaps he’d given her the bracelet so she would fit in better, Joy thought when they arrived. She’d never seen so many designer gowns and extravagant jewelry—real diamonds and emeralds and sapphires—outside of watching a red-carpet event on TV.
The wearers were celebrities and high-level politicians, filling her with awe as she recognized them.
Axel seemed comfortable around all of them. Unimpressed, which amused her into relaxing. He introduced her, and most people were polite if not effusively warm. A few were genuinely nice, like the Canadian woman Joy chatted with as they left the powder room.
“I love your bracelet,” the woman said. “Can I ask where you found it? I’m looking for something for my sister-in-law’s birthday.”
“Let me ask Axel.”
He was watching for her and approached the moment he saw her looking for him.
The woman introduced herself as Quinn Gould.
She was a wholesome-looking redhead with freckles, which wasn’t to say she lacked sophistication.
Not at all. Her gown was a gold confection that suited her slender figure, and she did not look as though she needed advice on where to find good-quality jewelry.
She wore emerald earrings and a choker with a square-cut emerald at its center.
“Your husband is Micah Gould?” Axel asked. “We’re acquainted. I’ve been wanting to catch up with him, actually.”
“He’ll come find me,” Quinn assured him. “I ditched him when he was dragged into a conversation about microelectronics. He knows my eyes glaze over when he talks shop,” she confided.
Quinn was in the middle of offering tips on where Joy could take language lessons when an older couple approached the three of them.
Axel introduced them, mentioning the husband ran a company that had been a longtime supplier of steel to Vorstoben. Joy could see him eyeing up the man, trying to discern whether the couple were being polite or if the man’s loyalty to Otto was fading.
“I hear you’re a dancer,” the man said to Joy, cutting though the small talk with the delicacy of a sledgehammer. “Is it true you were stripping in a club when Axel met you?”
Joy heard Quinn’s indrawn breath. Maybe it was her own.
Adrenaline spiked through her while a heavy blanket of mortification encased her.
She wasn’t ashamed of dancing at Martini’s, but she was sorry her previous line of work had chased her to the other side of the world and was being used to stain Axel’s hard-won image.
Especially as he was trying to establish his new company.
“You did not just say that.” Axel’s voice was positively lethal.
“Am I mistaken?” The man feigned surprise, looking around. “I’ve heard it from several sources. These things have a way of getting around.” He flicked a disdainful look toward Joy as though she was one of those things that got around.
“I think—” Quinn started to say.
Axel stepped right into the man’s space and said something in German that had Quinn gasping again.
The other man’s wife wore a stony expression, not looking at any of them, but her eyes flared with shock.
“Axel.” Joy touched his arm, still feeling stabbed in the lung but not wanting to make this scene any worse than it already was.
“Do not tell me it’s fine. It’s not,” he growled at her.
“No, but I’ve dealt with this before. Men like him come into the club all time.” She let that statement land before adding, “They think I’ll put up with being put down, but I don’t. You shouldn’t, either,” she said to the man’s wife, startling the other woman into a look of wide-eyed entrapment.
The man’s patronizing smirk faded into his own shock.
“I know how hard it is to leave.” Joy continued speaking to the wife. “Even when you’re being treated poorly. But it’s worth it. Reach out to me if you need help. I promise I’ll do everything I can to assist you.”
“Who the hell do you think you are? You—” The man lurched toward her, but Axel fully blocked him, shoving his chest right up against the other man’s, pushing him back a step.
“I will rip you in half,” Axel assured him.
At that moment, a server came up to ask urgently, “Is there a problem?”
“No.” The older man stepped back and grudgingly brushed at his jacket.
“Yes,” Joy contradicted, thanking her months in the club for the ease with which the next words rolled off her tongue, firm and assertive. “That man is being insulting and aggressive toward me. He needs to be removed.”
Then she walked away, head high. She didn’t know where she was going or what happened behind her. She wanted to steal a glass of champagne off a passing tray, but was shaking so badly, she was sure she’d spill it down her front.
She was almost at their table when she realized Axel hadn’t come with her. People were glancing at her curiously.
These things have a way of getting around.
More like that man had spread rumors through this room like a virus.
Oh God. Her throat started to ache. She wished the floor would open and swallow her.
“Well, that was some serious badassery.” Quinn looped an arm around her. “You and I are going to be very good friends. I can tell. Let me introduce you to some of the most sarcastic people I know. You’ll love them.”
“I—” Joy couldn’t help looking back the way she’d come. There was no sign of Axel, which made her heart swerve and dip anxiously.
“I put Micah on him,” Quinn said. “He’s big enough to hold your man back from the murder he was about to commit. You’re welcome for keeping him out of jail.”
“I didn’t mean to make a scene,” Joy said with agony.
“A scene? It was a master class in dealing with ass clowns. ‘He’s the kind of man who goes into strip clubs and scorns his wife? I’ll help you leave him?’ That was sniper-level assassination of character. Teach me.”
“You’re being nice,” Joy said, but she found a weak smile as Quinn introduced her to someone from the British embassy. She was acutely aware that Axel still hadn’t come after her.
* * *
I’ll kill him.
Axel was in such a haze of rage, so ready to remove that scumbag himself, he didn’t realize Joy had walked away until he heard Quinn say stridently, “Micah! I told Axel you’d find me. He wants to speak with you. I’ll go after Joy.”
That was when Axel had snapped out of his locked stare to see Joy wasn’t here. His whole world screeched to a halt.
“I’ve got this, big guy.” Quinn patted his arm. “You take a beat. And you,” she advised the piece of crap who’d insulted Joy, “should go save your marriage.”
The other man’s wife had already walked away as well.
Where was Joy? The ladies’ room? Axel looked around. He couldn’t spot her.
“What happened?” Micah asked. He was one of the richest men in Europe, running a family conglomerate that had weathered some ethics scandals in his father’s time but was now recognized for its green initiatives and commitments to diversity and transparency.
“Gossip.” Axel spat the word as though it was the most obscene curse ever uttered. Considering how it had been wielded against Joy, it was.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sickened that Joy had been attacked. He was livid with himself that he’d put her in the position of becoming fodder for those ugly rumors, then ambushed by such gross behavior.