Chapter 22
chapter twenty-two
Kai
If there's a woman in this whole event that's more stunning than the one on my arm right now, I'll eat my expensive alligator shoes.
Denali isn't a short girl, and with the sharp pumps they squeezed her into in that boutique, she's nearly as tall as me.
Some men might find that unattractive. I don't mind at all.
In fact, the fact that I can look her in the eyes is kinda hot.
There have been other short men who've bagged a tall goddess and lived to reap the rewards.
I've seen that one English bloke whose girlfriend is a stunningly slender, tall enigma of a woman, and she's towered over him since their co-star days in action movies.
And yet, he's the envy of all his peers for his luck.
I hope to be the envy of mine, at this rate. And I plan to have Denali on my arm for far more events in the future, too.
She's currently mingling with a former co-star of mine's wife, the two of them giggling over girl stuff.
I don't want to pay attention to her husband, because deep down, he's a pompous ass who can't see past his nose to save his life, but his wife is lovely.
I think they're an arranged marriage from before he went off to pursue his dreams as an actor, because she's not as glamorous as some of the women who have been doing it their whole lives, but she's elegant in a way they will never be, because she's seen some shit.
And like her, Denali is the elegant creature who's seen some shit that makes me look like one of the luckiest men in the room. Or at least, I feel like the luckiest man here.
I still have to find time to tell her how I feel.
I'm not shy about it, and I've been hinting all day at the emotions hiding just below the surface of my skin, but she's either not picking up on them, or she's refusing to.
Either way, her warmth at my side is a welcome distraction from the plans whirring around in my skull.
The gala isn't serving dinner, but they've got an assortment of mess-free snack options on a table in the next room, and waiters and waitresses circling with their little circular drink trays.
Denali has a flute of champagne in her hand currently, and she's sipping on it slowly, but I know I'll need to put something in her stomach to keep her somewhat sober for the rest of the party.
"Hey, why don't we go grab something to munch on while we make the rounds?
" I put my hand on her waist, a blatant move that we agreed before we came in was not a good look, but what do I care?
I want her next to me, want to feel her against me.
I don't give a flying fuck what anyone thinks here.
They're all sleeping with their secretaries or having affairs with younger women barely old enough to consent, their wives giving blow jobs to the gardener or pool boy whenever her husband is off doing his own thing.
She's probably spoiling her little boy toy with her husband's money while he's buying gifts for his underage mistress on their shared credit cards.
I hate the rich and famous sometimes, even if I am one.
"Ah, sure," she says, tugging gently out of my grip. "Let me hold on to your arm, though. These heels are starting to hurt."
"You know," I point out carefully, teasingly, "I could always carry you everywhere. It'd look great for the cameras."
"Oh, I'm just so sure that'd go over like a lead balloon," she deadpans, rolling those gorgeous eyes at me. "How many more bad ideas are you storing up in that head of yours?"
"You ready for some photo ops?" My hand extends in the direction of the main gathering area, in the opposite direction from where Theo went a moment ago. "They're standard at these kinds of events."
Her head tilts just a fraction. "Does that mean I'll be in the paper tomorrow and defending my ass to our boss on Monday?"
"If someone tries to yell at you, you tell them it was my idea."
Her smile is downright charming. "I'll remember that when Arista calls to tell me I'm fired."
We walk over to the photo staging area and participate in the typical back and forth of the opportunists looking to snag the best angle for their paper or magazine article.
The best looks will be measured and put in a column or article on fashion.
Those who avoid the cameras will be photographed anyhow and then exploited later as introverts hiding something.
Me, I have nothing to hide, so I drag Denali over and help her pose for the paparazzi, since it's only a matter of time before they spot us out together and make assumptions.
I want them to make assumptions. If they assume we're together and spread the rumor, maybe it'll be easier to convince Denali to actually go through with it.
I'll tell her tonight.
The first reporter holds out a mic and introduces herself, asking the standard questions. Then, she gets to the subject of my date, and her eyes damn near sparkle.
"So, who's the lucky lady on your arm today?"
I look down at Denali and smile softly, hoping that I don't give away too much. "This is my assistant, and one of my only friends over here. I still don't know many people, but with her on my arm, I'm sure to be the envy of many of the attendees here."
"Oh, that's so sweet! I—" she's pulled away by someone else, someone local, someone domestically recognized. I'm big back home, sure, but here, I'm new. Not many people know about me, because I'm in a niche industry. Just like that, I've been dismissed.
My eyes are instantly back on Denali. She's not as skittish as she was a few minutes ago, but there's still something off about her. I don't like it. "Why don't we make one more round for the company's benefit and then get out of here?"
The offer makes her light up like a horizon at sunrise.
"Yes, please. I feel so out of place here.
" Her hands fall to that gorgeous gown, the one that I personally picked out, the one that looks so damn good on her I had to buy it because I couldn't stomach the idea of it sitting on anyone else's body, in anyone else's closet. "This thing is so hot."
It's satin; of course it's hot. "I'd be worried if you weren't hot with all these people around."
We circle the room, the two of us together, hitting up group after group of people who it's almost obligatory to say hello to.
The organizers mingle amongst the crowd, doing their level best to make sure they're not only seen, but they're recorded in motion.
The two of them are stunning together, Kevin and James Anderson, wearing matching designer house suits and flagrant hats with feather plumes that practically scrape some of these lower ceilings.
When they pass our way, I'm polite but respectful of the fact that I don't know these people, ready to introduce—
"My, my, my, is that you, Denali Stone?"
James, the shorter of the two, rushes over and air kisses Denali like they're old friends. She embraces him with a smile, working the playing field like a seasoned pro.
"James! Oh my gosh, how have you been?"
I look from her to James, to Kevin, who stands off to the side, watching their interaction just like me—with amusement, though, instead of confusion. "Do you all know each other?"
Kevin shrugs, his smile widening. "When we had our first gala here, Denali was working for a friend of ours, taking photographs and running her social media account. We needed someone to handle ours for the night, so she rented her out to us. She does amazing work."
James holds Denali in the crook of his arm, turning to me with a quizzical expression on his handsome face. "You're a very lucky man to have her here with you tonight. Is she handling your social media, too?"
Denali turns a shade of pink I don't see on her often. "Oh, no, nothing like that, JayJay. I'm—"
"My date for the evening," I say smoothly, cutting her off before she can downplay her role in my life.
I know I haven't talked to her about it yet, but this wasn't a pity thing, and it wasn't just to fill a hole I needed filled for the cameras.
I want her here, on my arm, like this. It's where she belongs.
"I don't know where I'd be without her. She's a harsh taskmaster, but you know, since she came into my life, I've not been so organized that I can remember. And I'm never late to anything."
Kevin puts a hand on my shoulder, nodding solemnly. "Denali is good like that." Those same eyes swirl with intent, warning. "You take care of her, you hear?"
James holds out his hand and I take it as Denali wriggles out of his grip and steps back over to my side with a little nod of approval.
"It was so nice to see you two tonight. Kai, I'm glad you accepted our invitation.
We're always eager to see new faces in the industry, and the papers have been abuzz with news of you for weeks. "
"It's an honor to be here, really," I say honestly, because this is definitely one of the biggest events of the year, and it's invite-only. I don't know how we secured an invitation, but I'm thankful nonetheless. "Thank you for having us."
"Any friend of Denali's is a friend of ours," James says, and then they're off again, flitting from group to group, person to person, every inch the hosts they're renowned for being.
I turn to Denali with a smile that she reciprocates, though hers is more hesitant. "And you thought you wouldn't fit in," I say calmly, a hint of teasing in my voice. "You know the hosts better than I do."
"I didn't even think about it like that," she muses, nodding to herself. "I suppose you're right."
"So, how about we go see what kind of chaos we can get up to in here?" I offer her my hand, hoping she'll take it and let me hold hers for a little while. "I'm feeling like making trouble."
"Kai," she warns, her tone that of the no-nonsense assistant she pulls out when I'm being an ass and she wants me to cooperate, "no trouble. The last thing I wanna deal with is a media fallout, mister."
"If you don't want me to get up to trouble," I say with a wink, putting a hand on the small of her back as I lead her to the dance floor, "then you'll have to distract me somehow.
" We join the growing number of guests dancing currently, and now she's looking around, hesitant, trepidation etched into every line of her body.
"You do know how to dance, right, Denali? "
Every noise she makes is music to my ears, and the huff of annoyance that leaves her at my insinuation is no exception.
"Of course I know how to dance, Kai. Even if I hadn't worked in the industry for as long as I have, I took dance as an elective in college.
" Her hand rises, and she prepares to dance with me, her body close, but not flush, against mine.
"The real question is, can you keep up?"
My brow nearly disappears into my hairline, it hikes so high on my face. "I'm an idol, sweetheart. You can't out-dance someone who's been doing it since they were thirteen."
I reach down, lifting the edge of her skirt in my hand as I pull her against me—really against me—and we move to the beat.
At first, we're just doing what all the others around us are, swaying to the music, but soon enough, Denali grows antsy, and I notice her eyeing a couple across the room doing a box waltz.
"You ballroom dance?" She looks up at me hopefully, like she wants badly for the answer to be yes.
"You're in luck," I smile, winking at her. "I might've taken a class once or twice."
In seconds, we're outpacing the rest of the people on the floor, swirling and twisting and occasionally, I even dip her, though it's hard, and her dress and scarf accessory drag the ground when I do it.
She's stunning in motion, a veritable gem in my arms, and for the first time since she started working for me, she's shed the outer shell of business-forward tyrant, and is just . . . herself.
It's refreshing. I never want it to go away.
The music picks up, and our hosts join the couples on the dance floor, twin smiles of amusement on their faces as they parade about in some weird jig I've never seen before.
Denali, though, taps her toes on the floor as we watch them work, like she wants to join in. Unfortunately for me, I don't know the steps to this one.
"I can't do this one." It frustrates me, makes me angry that I can't give her something she wants. I've become a whole new man around her, and it's odd, but not an unwelcome change. "Sorry, kara."
"S'okay," she mumbles, her eyes watching the crowd enviously, though she doesn't move to join them. "I don't need to do all the dances."
I need something to do with myself, before I open my mouth and stick my foot in it. Idle Kai is dangerous tonight. And I don't want to fuck anything up. "Why don't I go round us up some drinks? What'll you have?"
Those sharp eyes cut to the bar, then back to me, and she frowns. "You know what? I'm not sure, really. Surprise me. Something fruity."
"I can do fruity," I tell her, and though I wish there were something more I could do, I force myself to leave her standing there at the edge of the crowd as I go off in search of libations.
I just hope someone doesn't whisk her away while I'm not watching.