Chapter 6 Nate
NATE
I adjusted my bowtie in the mirror for the third time, trying to convince myself the angle was correct.
The black tuxedo fit perfectly—tailored last year precisely for occasions like this—but tonight it felt constricting.
The annual hospital gala was always a marathon of forced smiles, strategic conversations with donors, and speeches that dragged on far too long.
I'd attended eight of these events over the years, and each one blurred together into a monotonous parade of handshakes and hollow pleasantries.
Tonight would be different because tonight, Ember would be at my side.
The past ten days had passed in a blur of activity.
July had faded into August with barely a pause, and my schedule had only grown more demanding with board meetings, surgical consultations, grant proposals, and the ever-present Lightkeeper obligations.
Ember had risen to meet every challenge, and I'd started to count on her more and more, finally able to relax into the idea of having an assistant who didn't quit after a few weeks.
She'd also become a constant distraction.
The memory of her with her mouth hanging open and my being buried inside her ambushed me at the worst possible moments—during budget reviews, in the middle of conference calls, while reviewing patient charts.
I'd catch myself staring at her mouth and have to force my attention back to work.
We hadn't crossed that line again since.
Heck, she barely spoke to me about anything but her professional duties.
But the tension between us hadn't diminished.
If anything, it'd grown stronger, coiling tighter every time I spoke to her.
I grabbed my wallet and keys from the dresser and headed downstairs.
The car service would arrive in fifteen minutes to take me to the hotel where the gala was being held.
I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen and drank it slowly, trying to calm the restless energy humming through my veins.
My phone buzzed with a message from Ember.
Ember: 6:47 PM: Ready when you are. Should I meet you at the hotel or do you want me to ride with you?
I stared at the message, considering the options.
Having her in the car with me would be more efficient.
And it would also mean twenty minutes of close proximity in the back seat.
I'd been texting her a few times every day hoping to strike a conversation with her.
At some point, we needed to talk about what had happened, and she'd kept me at arm's length, avoiding that chat.
I typed back quickly before I could overthink it.
Nate: 6:48 PM: I'll pick you up. Be there in fifteen minutes.
This way, she'd have no choice but to share space with me where I could cross that bridge and find out what she was really thinking.
The car arrived on schedule, and I directed the driver to Ember's apartment building.
I'd never been there, but her address was in company personnel files, easy to find.
The driver knew right where it was and we pulled up in front of her building only minutes after I told her we'd be there.
I texted to let her know I'd arrived and she emerged two minutes later.
The door opened and my God, was she exquisite as she walked out.
She wore a floor-length navy gown that hugged her curves before flowing out at the knees—a mermaid cut, I believed they called it.
The neckline was modest but elegant, and she'd swept her auburn hair up into a twist that exposed the line of her neck.
Gold earrings caught the streetlight, and she carried a small clutch purse that matched her heels.
She looked stunning. Good enough to eat.
It had my dick roused immediately.
I climbed out of the car and opened the door for her, offering my hand to help her navigate the step up in heels.
Her fingers slid into mine, and she smiled as she settled into the seat while I climbed in and shut the door.
"You look beautiful," I said once the driver had pulled back into traffic.
"Thank you." She smoothed the fabric of her gown over her knees. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
"This old thing?" I gestured at my tuxedo in mock humility. "I've had it for years."
"Well, it works." She chuckled. Her eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary before she turned to look out the window.
She was nervous, though I was sure it was because of me and not the cameras we both knew would be at the event.
She hadn't told me why she was so camera shy, but I'd pry it out of her one of these days.
The car settled into awkward silence while I found myself hyper-aware of every small movement she made—the way she adjusted her clutch on her lap, the slight shift of her shoulders when the car turned, the faint sound of her breathing.
"Are you nervous?" I asked.
"About the gala?" She glanced at me. "A little… I've never been to anything this formal before."
"You'll do fine. Most of it is standing around making small talk with people who have too much money and too little sense of how to spend it." I loosened my bowtie slightly. "The key is to smile, nod at appropriate intervals, and never get cornered by anyone who wants to discuss their yacht."
That earned me a laugh. "Noted. No yacht discussions."
"Unless they're offering to donate it to the hospital. Then you smile wider and find me immediately." I grinned at her, and it seemed to loosen her up a bit.
I wanted to press now, to ask her what she hoped might be going on or if she had thought about me at all, but stirring up her nerves before the event seemed cruel.
So, I paced myself and vowed to ask her on the drive home.
The hotel came into view, lit up with elegant spotlights.
A red carpet stretched from the entrance to the curb, and photographers clustered on either side, snapping pictures of arriving guests.
My stomach tightened on behalf of my beautiful date for the evening, and I watched her eyes dart around as she flicked her tongue over her lip.
The driver pulled up to the curb and a valet opened Ember's door.
I climbed out on my side and walked around to meet her, offering my arm.
She took it, and I expected a light touch, but what I got were talons digging into my bicep.
She wasn’t kidding.
She really did hate the limelight.
Cameras flashed. Someone called my name, asking me to look their direction.
I kept my expression neutral and professional, guiding Ember toward the entrance.
She kept her head down slightly, but I could see the anxiety rattling her from head to toe.
"You okay?" I asked as we cleared the chaos of the crowd outside, and she nodded, but her lips were pressed into a thin line.
I could tell right away she was lying to me, but I figured she was just holding herself together.
I hated that she felt that way.
I'd have done anything to help her relax.
We stepped into the grand ballroom, and the noise hit us immediately.
Hundreds of voices competing, glasses tinkling, a string quartet playing near the far wall.
Donors in expensive gowns and tailored suits filled the space, clustering in groups around cocktail tables.
I recognized most of them—board members, major contributors, local politicians who showed up every year for the photo opportunities.
A server approached with a tray of champagne. I took two glasses and handed one to Ember. She accepted it gratefully and took a small sip.
"How long do these usually last?" she asked quietly. Her voice was tiny compared to the cacophony of the room, and it made me feel protective over her.
"Three hours. Sometimes four if the speeches run long." I scanned the room, already spotting the people I needed to speak with during the evening. "We'll make the rounds, sit through dinner and the program, and then we can leave."
"Sounds manageable."
I guided her toward the first group—a cluster of board members and their spouses standing near the auction display.
They greeted me warmly, congratulating me again on the Lightkeeper appointment and asking about upcoming hospital initiatives.
I introduced Ember as my assistant and Hearthkeeper, and they shook her hand with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
One of the board members, a man in his sixties with gray hair and an expensive watch, gave Ember an appraising look that made my jaw tighten. "Well, Dr. Bradley, you certainly know how to pick them."
Ember's smile faltered slightly.
I watched her tense up and shrink into herself without ever saying a word.
"Ms. Harrison is extremely competent," I said calmly. "I'm fortunate to have her on my team."
"I'm sure you are." The man's wife elbowed him sharply, and he cleared his throat. "What I meant to say is, it's wonderful to see young professionals getting involved in community traditions."
I nodded stiffly and guided Ember away, and we did the same thing on repeat for an hour.
None of the men in this room were bold enough to come right out and say what they were thinking, but more than once, a wife chimed in with a comment about how young Ember was.
Every last comment seemed to add weight to her shoulders that took the poised, gorgeous woman on my arms down a few notches so she looked tired and beaten up.
By the time we found our assigned table for dinner, my shoulders ached from tension.
Our tablemates included three other hospital board members and their guests, plus a major donor and his wife.
I pulled out Ember's chair for her, then took the seat to her right.
She kept her head down while I talked frankly about business, though I would much rather have been talking to her about us.
The longer we spoke, the more tense it was until dinner was served.
Then the donor's wife leaned across the table and smiled at Ember.
"You make such a lovely couple. How long have you two been together?" The woman's compliment seemed very sincere, but Ember froze anyway, her fork halfway to her mouth.
"We're not together," I said quickly. "Ms. Harrison is my assistant and serves as Hearthkeeper in an official capacity."
"Oh," she said, sucking in a breath. "Well, my apologies. I could just see how fond she is of you. What a pleasure to have an assistant with such an affinity for her boss.”
The donor chuckled and gestured at us with his wine glass. "You have to admit, Bradley, it looks more like a daddy-daughter date than a Hearthkeeper partnership. The age gap is rather noticeable."
The table went quiet except for the clinking of silverware on plates.
I felt tension rising in my chest over the comment, humiliation and anger knotting together.
Ember had gone very still beside me, and her head ducked low again as tears brimmed in her eyes.
"That's an inappropriate comment," I said coldly.
The donor waved a dismissive hand. "Come now, no offense intended. Just making an observation. She's young enough to be your daughter, that's all."
"She's also sitting right here and can hear you," I said. "And her age has no bearing on her competence or her suitability for the Hearthkeeper role. I'd appreciate it if you'd show her the respect she deserves."
The donor blinked, taken aback by my tone.
His wife touched his arm and offered an apologetic expression.
Another board member across the table cleared his throat, which cut through some of the tension, and I was glad. Insulting a donor was a bad move, but he'd been completely out of line.
"Dr. Bradley is right," he said. "That was out of line. We should be celebrating the partnership, not making crude jokes about it."
The donor had the grace to look embarrassed. "You're right. I apologize, Ms. Harrison. That was in poor taste."
Ember nodded, but she didn't speak.
I saw her hands trembling slightly in her lap, and I wanted to grab the donor by his expensive tie and throw him out of the ballroom.
Instead, I reached under the table and took her hand.
She startled slightly, then squeezed my fingers.
The gesture was brief, barely noticeable, but it steadied her and she blinked back those tears like a warrior.
The conversation moved on to safer topics—the auction, the new pediatric wing, the upcoming holiday season.
But the damage was done.
I could see Ember withdrawing, her responses becoming more mechanical, her smile never reaching her eyes.
She picked at her dessert without eating it, and when the speeches began, she stared at the stage with unfocused eyes.
I leaned close and whispered, "Are you all right?"
"Fine," she whispered back. "I'm fine."
But she wasn't fine.
I knew that look, saw it on her face as she tried to hold herself together during the naming ceremony.
I wanted to pull her out of the ballroom immediately, to get her away from these people and their cruelty.
But the speeches dragged on and on.
I sat through all of it, my hand occasionally brushing against Ember's under the table, offering silent reassurance.
And finally, after what felt like hours, the program ended.
Applause filled the room, and people began standing, gathering their things and moving toward the exits.
I held a hand out for Ember and we made our way toward the door.
Near the exit, I leaned close to whisper, "See? A beautiful woman can survive in a den of lions now and then…" and she burst into laughter.
It was a genuine reaction to my lighthearted way of breaking the tension and it felt intimate.
My hand rode her lower back as I remained pressed in close to her ear.
And the flashbulb caught us both off guard.
I looked up sharply to see a photographer lowering his camera, grinning as he reviewed the image on his screen.
He gave me a casual wave and disappeared into the crowd before I could react.
"Did he just—" Ember started.
"Yes." I kept my hand on her back and guided her through the exit. "Don't worry about it. Photographers are everywhere at these events."
But worry was exactly what I felt.
We stepped out onto the sidewalk to await the car and my gut started to churn.
The angle had been perfect—my head bent close to hers, her laughing, my hand on her back.
To anyone looking at that image, we didn't appear to be employer and employee.
We looked intimate.
Involved.
And after the comments from more than half the people in attendance, followed by the rude way that donor pointed out how much younger than me Ember was, I knew the photo would hit the tabloids and start a round of gossip.
I could live with it, though it would be frustrating.
But Ember was a private person, and I worried this would push her away from me and turn her off from even trying to see if we had a spark.
I was starting to hate the press as much as she did.