Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
LOTTIE
Trading barbs with Thane on the way over kept me from having any space for fear, but now that we’re entering the ballroom, I’m ready to choke on it.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is low enough that only I can hear him, but my mouth is full of cotton, and I can’t get words to work.
His right hand closes over mine that’s tucked into his left arm. Oh crap. I’m squeezing his arm so tightly I’m probably cutting off circulation. He applies just the right amount of pressure to make my grip relax, while his thumb brushes gentle strokes across the back of my hand, giving me something else to focus on.
“It’s…” I scan the room, frantically searching for my father, but before I make one full sweep of the space, Thane leads me through a service door we’re probably not allowed to enter.
“Talk to me, Charlotte. You’re pale, and if I remove my jacket, I’ll have half-moons clawed into my forearm. Are you regretting the dress now?”
“What? No. Never.”
“I knew that would be too easy. Then what is it?” He’s trying so hard to decode my expression, and I love him for it, but I doubt he’ll find anything.
“I haven’t been in the same room as my father in over a year.”
“He will be here.”
“I know. I…I know. I thought I was ready. I gave myself a pep talk for over an hour, but now that we’re here, it all came rushing back. The bastard is suing me, his own daughter, because I wouldn’t give him what he wants. Who does that?”
“A spineless coward. He won’t get to you tonight, Charlotte. I promise you that. I plan to be glued to your side so everyone in attendance knows you’re mine.”
My core clenches. My freaking vagina chooses now to turn in her feminism card.
Thane lifts a hand to my face and gently caresses my cheek with one knuckle.
“You’re here tonight to make a statement to the industry—and to your father—that you will not back down. Sebastian and I were able to finagle a couple of last-minute additions, so two of the only people he trusts at the Fitzgerald Group will be at our table. While we can’t make any declarations until the CEO is officially replaced, the optics of you with them will tell everyone everything they need to know. You’re about to become a major player, sweetheart. Don’t allow someone as spineless as your father to dull your shine. Do what you came here to do—put him in his place and make a name for yourself. I’ll be at your side every step of the way.”
“How do you do that?” I’m in complete and utter awe of this man.
“Do what?”
“Put me at ease so effortlessly?”
“That’s easy.” He graces me with one of his rare smiles. “I finally know my place in this world, and that place is here, with you. I don’t allow failure, Charlotte. If I hit opposition, I simply find a new way forward. My path has always been leading me to you, so if anyone, even your father, thinks he can stand in your way, I’ll build a bridge to climb over him and leave him there like the troll that he is.”
I wrap my arms around his middle, hugging him tightly and breathing him in. He’s my strength when I need it, and I’ll be the same for him.
“Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me, sweetheart. But if this can be considered brownie points that you remember the next time you purchase a dress, I’d really appreciate it.”
I laugh against him. “I’ll see what I can do.” I take half a step back and peer up at him through mascara-heavy lashes. “Do you really not like this dress?”
I swear his groan starts in his toes and builds until it finally releases somewhere in his chest. “You misunderstand. I love this dress when it’s for my eyes only. It’s knowing that strangers will see you in it that’s making any semblance of decorum impossible.”
Even in four-inch heels, Thane still towers over me, so I lift up onto my tiptoes and seal my lips against his. The kiss is gentle, loving. It’s a burst of confidence we could probably both use at the moment.
“You ready to take on the world?” His breath tickles my nose as he speaks. The scent of mint and ginger lingers in the air between us.
Linking my arm through his, I put on my best brave face. “I am. Let’s do this.”
“That’s my girl.” He holds open the swinging door for me, and we quietly reenter the ballroom.
As we make our way toward the front, people stop and stare, they whisper, some even point, but it’s not me they’re talking about. It’s Thane.
He moves gracefully, but his jaw ticks, so I know he’s not immune to the attention.
Right before we reach the table reserved for Wilder Minds and the Fitzgerald Group, a beautiful blond woman steps into our path with a young teenager at her side. Nervously, I look around the room. This isn’t the type of event children attend, but he stands handsomely in a tux, while his fingers march against his thighs as he stares at the floor.
Thane doesn’t spare the woman a second glance—his focus is rooted on the boy. Before my mind can spiral with wildly inappropriate thoughts about the child’s parentage, the woman holds out her hand to me.
“Hello, I’m so sorry to bother you. My name’s Winnie Westbrook, and we’re so excited to meet you. This is Weston. I don’t want to embarrass anyone, but Mr. Wilder, you’re basically his idol. Please don’t let my husband hear that though, it’ll crush him.”
“What?” When Thane is uncomfortable, his tone takes on a very harsh edge.
“Tone,” I whisper. It draws Weston’s attention, and his gaze flitters over mine for a fraction of a second.
“Are you nervous, Weston?” Thane’s not quite whispering, but I can tell he’s attempting to adjust his tone.
The boy lifts his head, stares at Thane, and I can almost hear him counting the seconds of eye contact before he breaks it again. “Yes, sir, but I’m going to work for you someday, and I’ll be invaluable to you.”
Weston doesn’t sound cocky in the slightest. He said those words as if every single one of them were fact.
“Is that so?” Thane says with a smile. He’s doing everything he can to be gentle for this child, and my heart overflows with love for him because of it.
“Yes.” Weston bobs his head emphatically. “I’m fourteen, I’m taking college courses, and sold my first app last week. Well, my Uncle Preston bought it, but he put in the contract that it wasn’t nepotism.”
“No way. Preston’s a prick. No nepo babies in our family.” A very handsome and somehow playful-looking man wearing a glittery bow tie steps between Winnie and Weston. “Colton Westbrook. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand to me, then Thane.
“Would that be the productivity tracker that the Westbrook Group announced last week?”
I stare a little in awe at Thane. Sometimes I forget that he’s at the top of the tech industry for a reason—he knows everything.
“Yes. Yes, that’s it. I did that.” Weston says, still not making eye contact but so freaking happy that my returning grin feels as though it’ll split my face.
“That’s very impressive.” Thane turns his body while still keeping me tucked into his side, toward Weston, essentially cutting the older Westbrooks out of the conversation.
I offer them an apologetic shrug, but they both seem content to stand back and allow their son to shine.
“This is truly a dream come true for him,” Winne whispers. “For Christmas, the only thing he wanted was to meet the Thane Wilder. Colton’s been buying tables to any and every event where he might attend in an attempt to make that happen.”
I know the Westbrook name. It’s nearly impossible to live in the United States and not know of them. From their businesses all over the country to their charitable endeavors, they’re basically American royalty.
“Yeah, and Thane Wilder isn’t someone you can just call up and make an appointment with. And trust me, all my brothers have tried.” Colton studies Weston with love filling his eyes. “I told him he could start any kind of company he wants. We would all back him financially until he was old enough to do it himself, but he’s insistent that the only way to be the best is to learn from the best. According to him, that’s Mr. Wilder here.”
Winnie stares up at her husband as though he hung the moon and the stars. Jesus, maybe he did. I’m a little teary-eyed here too.
I tune back into the conversation Thane is having. It’s the most animated I’ve seen him since we’ve been in New York.
“That’s an incredible theory, Weston. Do you have data to back that up? Have you done any testing?”
The kid launches into a series of numbers and stats that I have no way of following. Thane interjects a few times to offer an idea or to ask a question, but I have the distinct impression that these two could stand here talking for a week and not touch the surface of their shared passion.
“Weston?” Colton steps up beside his son. “Remember we can’t monopolize Mr. Wilder’s time.”
The heartbreak is written all over the boy’s face, but he recovers quickly. “This was the best night of my life.”
“Do you have trouble making eye contact, Weston?” Thane’s no-nonsense tone cuts through the air, and Colton goes from playful to pissed off in a heartbeat.
“S—sorry,” Weston stutters, and my throat closes up as Winnie wraps a protective arm around her son and Colton steps forward to get in Thane’s face.
Thane sidesteps Colton. “Can I teach you a trick?”
Everyone freezes.
“I’ve spent the last couple of months or so attempting to learn how to read expressions because I don’t hear tone properly, and eye contact was a real nightmare for me when I was your age.”
Weston nods, but his parents anchor him on both sides now.
Thane reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of glasses I’ve only ever seen a handful of times. Once they’re on his face, he points to his temple. “I used to count to five in my head every time I had to make eye contact, and then the timer would start all over again. But try staring just to the side of someone’s eye. I don’t know why it works. My friend Rafe would probably have all kinds of theories, but it’s worked for me. It’s even more effective if you have a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. It hides some of your eye movements. These are just blue light glasses, but I have them on me for events like this.”
“I’m going to try that.” Weston practices on Thane, and they share a smile. “Mom, I need new glasses.”
“P—pick out whatever you want, Wes.” Winnie is visibly choked up, and Colton wraps his arms around her. “We’ll go tomorrow to buy them.”
Thane reaches back into his pocket and removes a business card, then hands it to Weston. “Can I offer one more piece of advice?”
“Yes.” Weston’s voice is about three times too loud for this event, but no one bats an eye.
“Take the next two years to experiment with anything and everything that interests you. Even if it’s something that makes you uncomfortable, or maybe because it makes you uncomfortable. Try everything. And then, if you haven’t outgrown me, call this number when you turn sixteen, and we’ll have a spot for you in the office right next door to mine.”
All three Westbrooks stare at Thane in disbelief.
“He reminds me a lot of myself, except…” Thane tugs on the collar of his tux, and Weston mimics the movement. “He appears to have very supportive parents.” I study the Westbrooks, hoping they take that as the compliment it is. “And Weston, you’re a hell of a lot more social than I am even now. I’m excited to see how you change the world because I have no doubt you will.”
Weston practically bounces on his toes as Winnie steers him away after a lot of thank yous.
“Weston is a special kid,” Colton says after his wife and son are out of earshot. “I sincerely hope you meant everything you said. If you crush my kid’s dreams, I will destroy everything you love.”
“As you should.” Thane takes my hand in his. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m only here tonight for my girlfriend, and we have some other business to attend to.”
“You know how rumors run in our circles.” Colton lowers his tone. “Well, Weston is technically Winnie’s little brother. We’ve raised him since he was very young, so we have a lot more in common than you realize. If we can ever be of any assistance to you, please reach out. I do truly appreciate you taking the time to speak with him tonight. You’re basically a superhero in his world.”
Thane nods, then ushers me toward our table, where everyone’s waiting for us.
After brief introductions, we take our seats, and dinner is served. The Westbrooks sit at a table directly in front of the stage, and halfway through the meal, Colton changes seats with Weston, who has spent the entire evening turned around in his chair to stare at Thane.
“You have a superfan,” I whisper in between speakers.
Thane drops his gaze from the stage and lands directly on the little boy. They wear matching dopey grins that make my stomach turn somersaults.
“He is exactly the type of kid you’re going to help, Charlotte. Who knows, maybe he’ll be the one to take your ideas to the next level.” He waves his fingers at Weston, who immediately looks away, does a double-take, then taps his temple.
Winnie puts her arm around him, and he finally faces forward as the lights dim.
The emcee stands center stage, speaking about Thane as though he’s Taylor Swift and Steve Jobs rolled into one mythical creature. Thane sits tense and silent at my side, but every one of his employees at our table is nodding and clapping with the rest of the audience.
He’s truly Bruce Wayne, and this is where his superpowers shine.
“No.” Thane growls loudly enough that people from three tables over turn to us.
I’m so absorbed in the atmosphere that I’ve tuned out the actual presentation. But when the bones in my hand crackle under the pressure of Thane’s grasp, I know something is drastically wrong.
“Thane?” I pry his fingers off mine with my free hand, but he doesn’t appear to hear me.
“Thane, get up here,” someone says into the microphone.
He agreed to come but was very clear that he wouldn’t be the one accepting the award. His team, as previously planned, would accept on his behalf.
Uncomfortable silence spreads out across the room as the emcee calls him to the stage once more.
Who the hell does this guy think he is?
I’m on my feet before my mind registers my movements. I’ll accept the damn thing. I was raised to thrive under this type of spotlight.
But first, I need Thane to release my hand. “Why aren’t you moving?” I hiss to the gentleman across the table from me. I’m almost certain he’s the CIO and was supposed to accept the award.
“Ah, even better. Charlotte Sinclair.” The spotlight glides through the room to land on me, and I freeze. Why would the emcee know who I am?
I narrow my gaze at the man who is about two seconds away from being emasculated in a room full of people by all five foot two of my pissed-off attitude, but the air is knocked from my lungs when recognition sinks in.
Jonah Wilder stands on stage, the picture of smug assholery as he takes pleasure in Thane’s reluctance.
“No you don’t, motherfucker.” It’s as though every movie where the heroine is about to kick some ass montages through my mind at once as I stare at him. I tear my hand away from Thane while slipping out of my high heels, then I remove my earrings.
I’m going to rip this asshole apart from one end of the room to another.
“It’s okay.” I barely hear Thane’s words over the blood boiling in my ears, but he presses his hands to my shoulders and eases me back into my chair.
When did he stand up?
I try to catch Thane’s eye, but his gaze is straight ahead with murderous intent. His fingers dig into my shoulders, and I squeeze them in a show of support. He inhales deeply before releasing me and making his way to the stage.
My heart is in my throat, my fists clenched tightly in my lap, and I’m ready to pounce at the first sign of my man needing me.
Please, please let this asshole make one wrong move so I can fight for everything I hold dear by utilizing every dirty trick my father ever taught me.
I will not be a pushover. I have something, someone—a family—that makes fighting for love so much more powerful than anything these assholes could ever throw at us.
And we never fail.