Chapter 14 #2
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Don’t get used to it. Tuxedos aren’t really my thing.”
“Well, it suits you.” I nudge him lightly with my elbow.
He grins but it fades almost instantly when he glances at his phone. His brows knit, thumb swiping the screen, before locking it again.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly, but the tightness in his jaw betrays him.
I raise a brow, waiting.
Finally, he exhales. “Just a little nervous. My son is with a new babysitter tonight. His usual nanny—my neighbor—is getting older and can’t keep up with him anymore. So her granddaughter is filling in.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say, trying to reassure him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs.
“I don’t know you that well yet, but I’m sure you’re a good dad, Griff.”
His eyes meet mine, something vulnerable flashing there before he looks away, forcing a smile. “Trying my best. He’s a handful, but he’s my world.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest ache. I clear my throat, deciding to nudge the conversation back into safer waters. “So… Did you bring a date tonight?”
Griffin gives me a deadpan look. “No. I don’t have time for dates.”
The bluntness makes me laugh.
“Fair enough. Guess you’ll just have to put up with your coworkers as your dates for the evening.”
That earns me a grin, brief yet genuine. He then checks his phone again with the same pinched expression as before. I bite back the urge to tease him. This isn’t the same easygoing Griff from the office; this is Dad Griff, the one who’s worried about his kid.
I reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Try not to think the worst. He’s probably running circles around that babysitter, charming the socks off her. You deserve to have fun tonight.”
His mouth pulls into a reluctant half-smile. “Yeah. You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Now… Where is everyone else hiding, anyway?”
“Some are near the silent auction tables, others are hovering by the buffet like vultures. Dre’s probably making her rounds to keep us in line.”
I nod. “Perfect. I’ll grab a drink and see if I can find them.”
The bar is crowded, but I manage to wedge myself in and get a glass of champagne. I’ve barely taken my first sip when the air shifts. That familiar prickle down my spine tells me who it is before I can even look.
Worth steps in beside me, his presence pressing in from all sides. “Ms. Jones. Enjoying the evening?” His voice is calm, professional.
My pulse kicks up. “Yes, Mr. Miller.”
The muscle in his jaw ticks, subtle, though impossible to miss. It happens every time I use his last name, like the sound of it coming from me grates on him.
Worth’s eyes flick briefly across the ballroom before landing back on me. “I’ve noticed you and Griffin have become quite close.”
My breath hitches, and for a second, I can’t tell if it’s an observation or an accusation.
“So you are jealous, Mr. Miller.” I angle my head, letting the challenge hang in the air. “All that talk about not fraternizing with other employees the other day, and yet…”
That twitch in his jaw again, and the faintest flare of his nostrils—like he’s fighting to control a reaction.
Worth’s mouth curves. “Careful with that word, Mya.”
“Why? Did I hit a nerve?” I sip my champagne, feigning nonchalance even as heat coils low in my belly.
He leans in just slightly, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Jealousy implies possession. And I don’t make a habit of laying claim to my employees.”
Something reckless sparks in me. “Good. Because I don’t make a habit of belonging to anyone. You don’t get to claim me.”
His eyes hold mine for a second too long. It’s not professional or distant, like the front he usually puts up. “Then stop looking at me like you want me to.”
My throat goes dry, but I force a smirk and push back. “Why don’t you go back to your girlfriend?” I nod towards the redhead across the room.
“That’s not my girlfriend.”
“Go figure,” I mutter under my breath.
His head tilts. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I answer quickly, pasting on another polite smile.
Worth studies me, his gaze lingering.
“I read your email to HR.”
The champagne nearly goes down the wrong pipe. I cough, eyes wide. “What? How—”
“It’s my company. I know everything.”
Embarrassment creeps hot into my cheeks. Of course he does. And apparently that includes snooping through payroll requests.
I don’t know why I assumed he wouldn’t find out.
“Right. Well… Never mind about that. It was a mistake.” I wave it off, even though inside I feel about two inches tall.
His tone shifts. “Is everything okay, Ms. Jones?”
“Yes,” I lie too quickly, and I know he hears it. His eyes narrow, as if he’s dissecting me on the spot. I give him a tight smile, willing him to drop it. Please don’t look at me like that.
Like a charity case.
Worth nods and orders a drink. Then, he tips his glass in my direction and walks off, leaving me gripping my flute a little too hard.
I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself. I should feel relief that he’s gone, but instead, my skin still burns with the remnants of his presence.
And that’s a problem.
The music swells, couples drifting onto the dance floor. I’m halfway through another sip of my drink when I hear a familiar voice, “Hey, Mya.”
I turn to find Ethan, one of the project managers from design. He’s been at W.H.M. for years, and knows everyone, remembers birthdays, and manages to charm even the prickliest clients.
“Ethan,” I greet with a polite smile.
He grins, charming without trying too hard. “You look incredible tonight.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks. “Thanks. You look nice, too.”
His eyes stay on me a little too long, his smile softens a little too much. It’s subtle enough to brush off, but I make a note of it.
I take him in quickly. Tall, lean build, sharp jawline, the kind of guy who probably runs marathons for fun. Always dressed neat without being showy.
He’s… cute. Objectively.
And yet I’ve never really paid him much attention.
He tilts his head toward the dance floor. “Care to?”
Why not? I set my glass down, slip my hand into his, and let him lead me out.
His touch is respectful. One hand at an appropriate height on my back, the other guiding me with ease.
But his voice drops low when he leans in, murmuring something about how well I move, and it’s impossible to miss the flirtation threading through.
I smile, playing it off, but as he twirls me back into his arms, my eyes catch on another couple across the floor.
Worth and his date move effortlessly, her body draped against his. To anyone else, he looks composed—exactly what you’d expect from a man used to being watched.
But his eyes aren’t on her.
They’re on me.
His stare burns hotter than Ethan’s hand at my back. Anger simmers there, buried beneath a mask of indifference. No one else would see it. But I do.
My chest tightens, heat crawling up my throat. I force a laugh at something Ethan whispers in my ear, trying to pretend I’m unaffected. But with every twirl, I feel Worth’s gaze like a tether pulling me across the room.
Then the microphone squeals, cutting through the music.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our host for the evening, Mr. Worth Miller.”
The crowd applauds, couples slowing their steps. Worth guides his date off the floor, but before he heads for the stage, his gaze lingers on me for a moment longer.