Chapter 15
WORTH
Iadjust my cuffs and stride towards the stage. My gaze should be on the cameras flashing, on the donors waiting to be impressed. Instead, it catches on a swirl of green fabric in the crowd.
Jesus Christ—that dress. Emerald silk that clings to her in all the ways I shouldn’t notice, a neckline that dares the eye lower, hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders, like it was made to be tangled in my fists. Mya doesn’t look like my employee. She looks like temptation wrapped in satin.
Sliding up beside her earlier at the bar nearly undid me. The faint scent of her perfume, the brush of her arm on mine… Fuck.
And watching her laugh with Griffin like she’s known him forever… It looked comfortable. Easy. The opposite of how she is around me. I hated how much it gnawed at me, even knowing Griffin’s not interested in anyone like that.
And when Ethan-fucking-Chan put his hands on her, guiding her across the dance floor? I nearly saw red.
This is just an attraction. Maybe all I need is to get her out of my system and I’ll stop feeling like I’m about to combust every time she walks into a room. But I refuse to cross that line and break my word to myself, to Griffin, to Henson, to Andrée. Not happening.
I take the podium, grip it tight until the wood bites into my palms.
“Thank you for joining us tonight. This marks the thirteenth year W.H.M. has had the privilege of hosting the gala for the Seattle Women’s Network. Thirteen years of supporting a cause that uplifts, empowers, and advocates for women in our city.”
Applause ripples, flashes go off. I keep talking. “Your generosity is what made this possible. Not just through donations, but through the friendships, connections, and partnerships formed here. We thrive when we work together. When we lift one another up.”
My gaze slides back to Mya, her lips parted slightly like she’s hanging on every word.
“And as important as friendship is,” I continue, shifting my tone, “it’s equally important to remember boundaries. Professional boundaries.”
I watch her stiffen. Good. Let the message sink in. For both of us.
“At W.H.M., we value teamwork, respect, and collaboration. Those things can’t thrive without professionalism. We must remember that no matter how tempting it may be, stepping outside those boundaries risks fueling the very kind of harassment this foundation is committed to ending.”
The crowd nods, completely oblivious. To them, it’s corporate policy. To Mya, it’s a warning.
And to me? It’s the closest I can get to saying what I really want.
I end my speech and step down from the stage, striding towards the redhead waiting for me off to the side.
I usually bring dates to these events as a buffer. But tonight, I almost didn’t.
After I told Ryan I was seeing someone off the record, I spent days brainstorming who could carry the part. Sophia made sense on paper: we’ve been seen together, we’ve dated casually, and she’s very eager to be the one to take Worth Miller off the market. She’d say yes even if it was fake.
But every time I tried to lock that plan, Mya muscled to the front of my mind and wouldn’t move. So I brought the buffer anyway, hoping to drown out thoughts of the doe-eyed, tan-skinned beauty who’s been plaguing my thoughts for weeks.
I haven’t even kissed Mya and I crave her like a starving man craves his next meal. It’s visceral. The defiance in her eyes when she calls me Mr. Miller, the sway of her hips in that emerald dress—it’s enough to drive me wild.
I don’t even recognize myself like this.
I’ve built an empire by staying in control. But when it comes to Mya, it’s a thread unraveling in my hands.
Sophia hooks her arm through mine. “Shall we get seated, honey?”
I cringe. I’m not her damn honey.
We make our way to the dining area. As expected, I’m at the head table, Sophia glued to my side, flanked by the rest of the executives and higher management. The chatter is polite, full of forced laughter and networking bullshit, and I let my eyes scan the room.
Mya is seated at a table not too far away. And right next to her is Ethan Chan.
My fists curl under the tablecloth, knuckles straining against the linen. He leans towards her with a smile. My gut twists, territorial anger sparking hot in my veins.
I force myself to ignore it and focus on Sophia.
Except, before I look away, my gaze locks with Mya’s.
She doesn’t cower or lower her eyes. She holds my stare, her chin tilted ever so slightly in defiance.
My cock twitches.
She’s such a brat. And God help me, I’d love nothing more than to bend her over and punish her for it.
I spend the entire dinner with my jaw locked, pretending Mya doesn’t exist. Pretending the sound of her laugh doesn’t slice through the chatter at the executives’ table.
It works—barely—until dessert is cleared and the band shifts into something upbeat.
That’s when I finally let myself glance her way again.
She leans toward Chan, says something I can’t hear, then gets up from the table. A few seconds later, he follows.
Motherfucker.
Are they about to leave together?
Against every shred of better judgment I’ve ever had, I shove back my chair and follow.
Sophia calls out to me, but I ignore her.
Mya slips into the bathroom, while Ethan waits outside the door like some eager puppy. I linger to the side, brushing off a donor who tries to snag my attention, eyes locked on the scene unfolding across the hallway.
When Mya steps out, she startles at the sight of him, her brows pinching before she smooths it over with a polite smile. Interesting. She masks discomfort well, but I see it.
Ethan says something and leans in, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Red floods my vision.
I stalk forward, every step heavy with the fury that’s been simmering for weeks. “If you value your job, Mr. Chan, I suggest you get back to your table. Now,” I seethe, teeth clenched.
He pales, mumbling some apology and scurrying off like the coward he is.
Mya looks at me with wide eyes.
I don’t give either of us time to dwell on it and grab her wrist, pulling her away. I angle us in a shadowed alcove behind a bank of palms, away from any cameras. A couple slips past us toward the dance floor; a server glances over, then away.
Mya jerks slightly, protesting. “Worth, what the hell are you doing?”
“I have a business proposition.”
Her eyes narrow. “A… proposition?”
Watching Ethan crowd her space, something in me went volcanic.
That decided it. Not Sophia. Not anyone else.
It has to be Mya. For Brianna, but also for me.
I need her close, where I can control the story.
I need to burn this out of my system, and a temporary arrangement is the cleanest way I can think of.
“Don’t look so nervous.” My mouth twitches, even though this isn’t actually funny. “I need your help with something,” I continue, my expression schooling into something more serious.
“Okay… what can I do?”
I choose my words carefully. “It’s about my ex-wife.”
I proceed to tell her what my lawyer advised. By the time I lay out my plan, Mya is blinking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Maybe I have.
“You can’t be serious,” she bites out. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”
“No… I mean yes, but no.”
“What do you mean then?”
“I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend, then my fiancée, and then… my wife.”
Her eyes widen like saucers. “Worth, that’s nuts! You’re nuts. Why would I ever agree to something like this?”
I drag a hand down my face. “What if I offer you something in return?”
Her arms cross instantly over her chest, protective. “Like what?”
I hesitate, choosing my words. “You’ve been… struggling financially. I could compensate you for helping me.”
Her face hardens, cheeks blazing red. “Fuck you, Miller. I’m not a wife for hire!”
Shit. Wrong words. The last thing I meant was to make Mya feel like some escort I could purchase.
“That’s not what I meant,” I rush out. “I’m saying this could be mutually beneficial. You’d get a way out of the financial stress. And I’d get—” I stop myself before I say you. “I’d get to protect Brianna.”
Mya shakes her head, curls bouncing, fury radiating off her. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you have any idea how condescending that sounds? I’ve worked for everything I have. I don’t need to be rescued by a man.”
I close the space between us even further, desperate for her to understand. “This isn’t about saving you. It’s about saving my daughter.”
She exhales. “No one has ever even seen us together outside of work.”
“That works in our favor,” I counter. “We can say we kept it quiet for professional reasons. Discretion. It’s believable.”
“And what about the fraternization rule?”
“It’s my company. I’ll change it.”
Her jaw drops. “You’re crazy.”
“Practical,” I correct.
“No. People are going to think I’m fucking my boss to get ahead.” Her voice trembles, equal parts anger and disbelief.
“They won’t. Not if they believe the relationship is serious. And if anyone talks shit, I’ll fire them.”
“You can’t just do that.”
“Watch me.”
She scoffs. “And what about my age? Won’t it bother you, being married to someone so much younger than you?” Her lips curl, sarcasm sharp as glass.
“No, we’re both adults.”
Mya’s brows lift, clearly unconvinced.
“Though I am aware of how much younger you are than me.”
Mya glares at me like she wants to set me on fire. “There it is. You don’t care because this is convenient for you.”
I step closer, bracing my hands on the wall above her, lowering my voice.
“Convenient or not, I don’t have another option.
” I brace my hands on the wall above her and lean forward, lowering my voice.
“Vanessa is coming after my daughter, and I’ll do whatever the hell it takes to protect her. Please, Mya.”
Her lips part, but no words come. For a moment, it’s just her stare locked on mine—furious and conflicted. And beneath all of it, something that tells me she hasn’t completely slammed the door shut.
“I can’t marry you, Worth.” Mya’s chin tips up stubbornly. “What would I even tell my family? What will you tell your daughter? This is completely unbelievable.”
“Then we’ll work hard to make it believable. Sell the story. We’ll be a whirlwind romance. And don’t worry about Brianna, I’ll handle her.”
Her eyes flash. “Handle her? Worth, she’s not a business deal. What if she hates me? You’d be forcing a stranger into your daughter’s life. And me—” she presses her hand to her chest, voice breaking “—I’d have to move into your house. Be in her space. Oh my God, this is insane. I can’t do it.”
She pushes off the wall when a laughing couple squeezes by with two champagne flutes and a sorry.
“Mya—”
“I’m not a damn charity case. You want a rent-a-wife? Find someone else.”
She storms off, but pauses, shoulders rising and falling with the weight of her breaths. When she finally speaks again, her voice is softer, but it cuts deeper. “I thought you respected me, Worth. Guess I was wrong.”