Chapter Sixty-Six #2
“The year before last. While he loved the venue and the drinks, he was miserable. Cam likes aspects of wealth, like the nice shoes and the good champagne, but he has no use for a lot of the stuffiness.”
“I was once forced to sit through an hour-and-a-half discussion about yacht repair,” Brock said.
“Exactly. It can definitely be dry. If I have to listen to one more person talk about golf, I might strain my eyes from trying not to roll them.”
“Why is it always golf?” Brock asked, shaking his head. “They could do any other sport, but they choose golf?”
“I think it is sport-lite and business-heavy,” I said.
“I remember someone advising me when I was really starting to get some success that I should invest in a membership at a very exclusive club just to rub shoulders with the ultra-rich. As much as I was desperate for connections those days, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. ”
“Probably for the best. It’s still such a boys-only type atmosphere. You’d have been constantly hit on.”
“That was part of my thinking as well,” I agreed.
“What time is the benefit?” he asked.
“Eight.”
“But you don’t want to get there at eight.”
“No, I do not,” I agreed. “Eight twenty to be there. So leave here at ten after.”
“I’ll be ready,” he told me.
I guess I just hadn’t been prepared for how ready he would be.
I figured he had a suit. Any man who made it to his thirties had better have a suit.
But this wasn’t just any suit.
This was the to-the-book black-tie-affair suit.
A single-breasted black dinner jacket made out of barathea with silk peaked lapels and covered buttons.
Under that was a white marcella evening shirt with bib detail and double cuffs and pricey-looking cufflinks.
The pants had a nice taper, neither too tight nor too loose, and his black shoes looked shiny and in good shape.
The bowtie was where most men screwed up.
It was always too small or too wide, making their heads look disproportionate.
But Brock nailed the bowtie as well.
In fact, he actually looked good in it. Which was not an easy feat.
“Wow,” Brock said when he sensed me standing there, and turned to look.
It was a good wow too. The breathless sort. Like I’d taken his away.
I won’t lie. Brock had absolutely been on my mind as I scanned through Cam’s options, as I wondered what would be most flattering to my figure, be appropriate, but still sexy.
I’d settled on a floor-length—obviously—gown in a green so deep it was almost black.
It was off the shoulder with a deep slit between the breasts that gave the appearance of cleavage, but had a modesty panel blocking you from actually seeing anything.
It was high-waisted, tight through the hip, then flared out into a mermaid hem from the knee.
“You stole my line,” I said, giving him a soft smile.
“You don’t do that enough with your hair,” he told me, taking a single step forward. Almost like he didn’t trust himself to get any closer than that.
I almost never had my hair down, in fact. Having it up meant it was a little more fuss-free when I was working long days at the office.
Then when I got home, I couldn’t take it down because it had that thick crease from being back all day, so I tended to just continue to keep it up.
Sure, an updo would have been perfectly appropriate for the benefit as well, but I’d carefully washed, dried, and styled my hair instead, wanting a soft and feminine look for the evening.
I never went crazy on makeup, but I did some mascara and light liner around my eyes as well as a slight tint to my lips. And maybe a swipe of blush just to warm up my cheekbones.
I opted out of a necklace, but went with simple drop earrings with two-carat teardrop emeralds.
Understated and classic was what I was going for.
There were no rings or bracelets either.
Just a spritz or two of my signature perfume.
That was it.
“I have a problem,” I told him.
“That no one is going to be able to look at the presenter with you in the room?” he asked, giving me another quick once over that had my belly flip-flopping.
“Well, yes, there is that,” I said, smiling.
“But, actually… this is not a bend forward sort of dress,” I said, pressing a hand between my breasts where my boobs were just barely staying contained in their strapless bra.
It was a big ask for them to stay put, and they were behaving so far.
I didn’t want to push it. “But I didn’t put on my shoes beforehand,” I told him, waving over toward the box.
I didn’t technically need new shoes for the event, especially seeing as no one was going to see them. But Cam, well, we shared that footwear fetish. He told me that he’d seen them and knew instantly that I had to have them.
I hadn’t even looked at them yet.
“Well, if this isn’t just a real-life Cinderella moment,” Brock said with a boyish smirk before he turned to fish the shoes out of the box, pulling out the velvet wedge put inside to keep the shape, then coming over toward me with them.
Cam was right for choosing them.
They were nude Louboutin with a scalloped edge that was to die for.
Then I watched as Brock went down on his knees before me, making my mind flash with a bunch of vivid, steamy images.
He set the shoes down as he reached to bunch up my skirt, then reached for my ankle, drawing it up.
I was balancing just fine.
But did I reach out to place a hand on his shoulder anyway?
I sure as hell did.
His hand gently held the back of my ankle as he reached for the shoe, then carefully slid my foot into it, before settling my foot back down.
This time, I genuinely did need his support to balance on my left foot as he lifted my right, so my fingers dug into him a bit as he continued the process.
It was an unexpectedly intimate moment, and I felt oddly buzzy by the time he was done, and looked up at me.
I didn’t really think, I just let my hand slide down his arm to hold his hand, helping him back onto his feet.
“Thank you,” I told him, feeling like he was too close. Too attractive. Too tempting.
And, God, he smelled good.
“All set?” he asked, taking a careful, deliberate step backward.
“I, ah, yes. No,” I said, shaking my head.
“Which is it?”
“I forgot my clutch,” I said, turning and making my way to my bedroom. Where I paused to take a few slow, deep breaths before grabbing my bag and heading back out. “Okay. Now I’m all set,” I said, giving him a bit of a forced smile as I moved toward the door.
There was a bit of strained silence between us on the way down and ride across town.
It was in the backseat of that car, though, that I saw something I’d missed before.
Brock’s sleeve slid upward.
And there was a watch I hadn’t seen earlier.
Not just any watch, either.
Nope.
A Patek Phillippe.
If I wasn’t mistaken, with the rose, red, and pink gold mixed with the blue leather band and partially blue face, it was a Ulysse Nardin.
That was easily over thirty thousand for that watch.
And while a part of me respected the casual way he didn’t even try to put it on display, I couldn’t seem to help the surge of jealousy that grew inside of me at the idea of one of his well-to-do ladies buying it for him.
“Have you ever run into a man named Fenway Arlington?”
“Is it possible not to run into Fenway?” I asked, smiling at the last memory I had of the man. Spinning a former First Lady around on the dance floor with a rose between his teeth. To this day, no one knew where he’d gotten the rose since the venue hadn’t had any.
“Fenway has required extensive… assistance. And he typically turns to a fixer agency. But every once in a while, he comes to us for help. The watch was a gift for helping him track down a random man on the streets of Spain to ask him what cologne he was wearing.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, smiling.
“You’ve met Fenway.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. And the Fenway I knew would absolutely be that absurd. “Here we go,” I said, looking out the window at the long building with stately old pillars.
People were milling around on the steps, greeting one another, putting off going inside for whatever reason.
“Just keep reminding yourself about French fries,” Brock told me as he slid out of the car, then dipped down and held a hand out toward me. The perfect gentleman.
I’d never taken a date to the Falkes Benefit.
Cam didn’t count.
And all other years, I went alone, all the while telling myself it was a power move to go to such an event without someone else. It screamed confidence, since I could clearly bring someone if I wanted to.
I was a mix of nervous and excited about actually having company, someone to talk to, to share jokes and observations with, someone to discuss the event with afterward.
“Miranda!” a voice called almost as soon as I’d exited the car.
“Here we go,” I said under my breath as I plastered a smile on my face.
But then Brock’s hand was at the small of my back.
“I’m right here,” he murmured.
And I swear I melted right then and there.
The next hour or so was a blur of greeting people that I only saw once or twice a year, people I went out of my way not to get too close to.
But it was somehow made much more tolerable by Brock’s presence right there at my side, his hand a reassuring presence at the base of my spine, a touch that was both comforting and possessive at the same time.
“Miranda, you gorgeous creature!” a genuinely welcome voice called.
“Bellamy!” I said, turning with a smile.
“And who is the lucky…” Bellamy started, then broke off when he saw Brock turn.
There was a moment, just a quick flash of something dark on Bellamy’s face before it was gone, and he was reaching out toward Brock.
“Brock, long time,” he said as the two shook.
“How did you get so lucky to be escorting the lovely Miranda Coulter?”
We’d agreed that it was best no one knew about my situation.
“I’m not sure,” Brock answered before I could think of something to say to brush it off. “But I am enjoying every moment. How have you been?”
“Oh, touring the world. Romancing beautiful women. The usual. Is that Teddy and his father over there?” he asked, looking past us toward the man standing beside a little person who was, objectively, a bit too young to be at the benefit. “Excuse me,” he said.
With that, he was gone.
“You know a surprising number of people here, considering you don’t live in the city,” I said when we were alone.
“I know Bellamy from our service days.”
“Bellamy was in the service?”
“Yes.”
“Bellamy?” I asked, incredulous.
“Hard to believe, but yes. What?” he asked, looking down at me with drawn-together brows.
Apparently, he could read me well.
Because I’d felt my stomach clench when I saw another familiar face. One with makeup that was just barely hiding some fresh bruises. Jenny. And her shitbag husband who had given those to her.
“Oh,” he said, following my gaze.
“She’s so isolated,” I said, feeling my heart break for her. “So cornered by his well-connected family.”
“All you can do is offer to help,” Brock said, his hand sliding a bit to squeeze my hip.
I had.
Several times.
Anytime I caught her alone in the bathroom at an event.
I couldn’t begin to understand the psychological damage that being so horrifically abused caused, but, clearly, her husband had beaten her down so much that she didn’t even realize she could rise again without him.
My heart always broke for her.
“Come on,” Brock said, leading me away from the crowd.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he led me out of the banquet hall.
But he didn’t answer me, just guided me down a hall, then another, before he opened a door and ushered me inside.
“How did you know this existed?” I asked, looking around the small space with its comfortable-looking couches and chairs. Some sort of private lounge that I didn’t know about.
“I was looking over the plans before we came, just in case I needed an exit strategy.”
“In case of uncomfortable social interactions?” I asked, frowning.
“In case of an attack,” he clarified as he lowered down onto one of the couches.
When his hand reached out, I figured he was just inviting me to sit too, to get off of my aching feet.
Then my hand was in his, and he was yanking hard, pulling me off my feet, and sending me crashing down.
Right onto his lap.
One look in his eyes after I’d landed told me everything I needed to know.
He wanted me right where he had me.
And we were done pretending that we didn’t want each other…