Chapter 5
FIVE
CRESSIDA
Case Notes
I guess this one I don’t have to sneak into.
He wants me to go to an event. It takes me a day to form a reply, and I read it several times before sending it.
Good afternoon, Soren,
I apologize for the delay in responding; work has been busy.
I would be happy to accompany you to an event in exchange for your story.
Thank you again.
No longer your stalker thanks to your invite.
I’ve snuck into several parties, and now he’s inviting me to one. There has to be some catch to this. He would never willingly take me to an event, especially knowing how hard I’ve been digging into him.
Less than two minutes after I sent the message to Soren, I receive a response. I power down my work laptop, grab my coat and bag, and head out.
Answer your phone.
Then my phone rings, the call coming from a private number.
I get a lot of calls from private numbers, tips, and similar information for stories from people who wish to remain anonymous.
Pressing accept, I hear his low and smoky voice echo through the phone, sending shivers racing all over my body when he says my name.
“Cressida Knight.”
“Soren Nixon.”
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Ready?” I question, confused as I hail a cab in front of my office building. When one pulls up, I climb in and cover the mic, I rattle off my address before I turn my attention back to Soren. “Ready for what?”
“I’m standing outside your house. Are you ready?”
“A-Are you joking?” I stammer as the driver navigates through the traffic.
“Do you think I’m the type of man who jokes, Miss Knight?”
“Well, no, but who doesn’t give a woman notice before showing up at her door and expecting her to be ready to go somewhere when she didn’t even know the date and time?”
“I’m giving you notice right now as I stand here waiting for you.” Then he hangs up on me.
For fuck’s sake.
What an asshole!
Noting where we are, I realize we’re still more than ten minutes away from my house, and that’s if the traffic cooperates.
My leg bounces anxiously as I stare out the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of light and motion, silently urging the driver to go faster.
The hum of the engine and the flicker of passing traffic do nothing to calm the storm twisting in my stomach.
The traffic isn’t too bad, and when we reach my street, my pulse spikes.
He’s there. Leaning against the building in his pristine suit, head bent toward his phone.
When his gray eyes lift and lock on me as I push open the cab door, the rest of the world seems to fade away.
His gaze rakes over me, slowly and deliberately, and I swear the air thickens between us.
I know I’m not dressed for whatever function he wants me to go to, but if he’s giving me no time to change into something more appropriate, he’s going to have to accept me as I am. Thankfully, Oliver is with Noah tonight, so I don’t have to explain the man waiting for me.
“Ready?” I ask, and I can feel my cheeks heat from the look he gives me.
“If you are,” he replies, and that’s when I notice his driver waiting for us.
Soren walks over to the car and holds the door open for me. I race to my house door, unlock it, put my laptop bag inside, then relock the door and run to the car, where he’s still waiting by the back door.
As I slide into the car, I feel his gaze locked on me. I’m dressed in black pants with a designer belt around my waist, and my shirt is baby blue. It’s tight-fitting. Definitely not an outfit to wear to anything fancier than a work event, and this man looks like he’s going to a gala.
The car ride passes mostly in silence, and Soren ignores me for the majority of the drive.
I’m unsure what to say. He hasn’t technically given me the go-ahead for the interview yet, and I don’t want to overstep because I really want to interview him.
It would be detrimental to my job if I missed out on this opportunity.
“Where is the event?” I ask.
He looks up from his phone, and the light hits his high cheekbones as he stares at me with stormy eyes.
“We’re almost there,” he tells me in a bored tone, his gaze lingering on me.
I’m the first to look away, and I glance out the window to see where we are. This place is known for hosting the fanciest galas, and here I am, with a man dressed like a fucking God while I’m wearing my dowdy work clothes.
The car door is opened for me when we come to a stop, and when I step out, the valet gives me a look, confused by my outfit, but then quickly covers his reaction.
Yeah, thanks for that. If I didn’t already feel inadequate, I definitely do now.
I see a few people I recognize entering the venue, and I assume they are members of the Society. A few of them give Soren a simple head nod as he steps up next to me.
“Do you just plan to stand there?” he asks.
“Do you plan to guide me in?”
His glare traces over my body before he says, “Dressed like that? No.” And then he walks away.
My mouth falls open in shock, and I wonder if it’s too late to turn around and go home.
But I need the fucking story.
I want the fucking story.
And the bastard knows that.
So, I follow him up the stairs, where the door is opened for him as if he’s the man of the hour. He doesn’t thank the person who opened it. In fact, he doesn’t even make eye contact with them.
Asshole.
The moment we step inside, I know it’s a black-tie event, and I am clearly not dressed for this at all. I hear a few announcements from the stage and realize this is an awards ceremony.
What the actual fuck?
Rushing my steps, I get in line with him and hiss, “Is this some type of award show?”
He looks down at me, as if I’m less than him, and lacking in some way.
“It’s a recognition gala.” He waits for me to say something else, but I can’t. He’s brought me to an event that I’ve never been invited to, but have heard of. It’s a night when major publishers, news agencies, and other media outlets receive awards for their achievements.
“The star of the show is here,” someone says from behind us. I turn to see a woman in a stunning red dress that almost matches the red carpet, except her dress is sparkly. She offers her hand to Soren with a smile, and he takes it and leans down to kiss the top of her hand.
I scoff, louder than I anticipated. Soren’s standard settings include rudeness and bluntness, so this must all be an act on his part right now.
“It’s so good to see you, Soren. I feel like it’s been way too long.
Tell me, when are you going to accept that invitation I keep extending?
” She gushes a little too hard before he releases her hand.
She immediately takes that same hand and places it on his chest. She doesn’t pick up on the way he tenses at her touch—he’s obviously uncomfortable with it.
But he is being polite, which makes me want to laugh.
He takes a half step back, just enough that she’s no longer touching him.
“I’m sorry, Miranda. As you can imagine, I’ve been swamped. Please, let me introduce you to my girlfriend.” He waves toward me, and I stare at him in utter shock.
Did he really just say that and look directly at me?
Miranda eyes me cautiously, but also with a look of hurt etched on her face. She wasn’t expecting that response, but then again, neither was I.
“This is Cressida. She came here straight after work to support me, so you’ll have to excuse her attire.” His gaze sweeps over me briefly before it fixes back on her. And all I can do is stand here in stunned silence while being judged.
Should I correct him? It’s risky because he could end our agreement at any time. I will do a lot of things to get a story, apparently even pretend to be the girlfriend of an obnoxious jerk. Go figure!
“Oh, that explains your lack of formal wear. I was surprised they let you in. Maybe they thought you were one of the workers.” She laughs.
“So what if I were?” I question with a fake smile etched on my face.
She waves a dismissive hand at me. Then, without a care that his “girlfriend” is standing right next to him, she touches him again in a more-than-friendly manner. I notice his subtle flinch, and it’s so clear he doesn’t want her touch any more than I want to be here.
He once again shifts away from beneath her hand, and she brings it up to rest on her chest, where the swell of her breasts presses against the neckline of her top, a deliberate display of soft skin framed by the low dip of fabric meant to draw attention.
I know she’s waiting for his gaze to drop, for that flicker of male interest she’s used to commanding.
But it doesn’t happen. His eyes stay on her face, unbothered, and, unreadable.
Then slowly, he scans the room, his gaze skimming over me before settling back on her.
“You must excuse us; I’m needed.”
Without even glancing back, he reaches for me, his hand finding mine easily.
His palm is so much larger than mine, and his grip is firm and unyielding.
I try to pull away, but it’s useless as he leads me away from Miranda.
I go because, really, what else am I supposed to do?
Under normal circumstances, I’d kick him or tell him exactly where to shove it, but this isn’t normal.
I’m standing in a room full of prominent people in my field whom I want to impress, and every one of them is watching.
So, I let him drag me over to someone I recognize but don’t really know personally—Arlo Graves. A highly respected therapist. Probably one of the most sought-after among the extremely wealthy.
“I see you brought company. Did you not tell her about the dress code?” Arlo drawls.
Soren spares me a look, and I know he can see the flush of embarrassment on my cheeks as I once again try to pull my hand from his.
“Cressida, is that you?” I turn my head to watch Cora approaching in a stunning light-pink dress and bright-pink heels. “It’s been too long. How is work?”
Soren stares at me, waiting for me to speak.
“Good” is all I can give her in reply.
“Are you crashing the party?” Cora asks.
The last time I crashed one of the parties, I used Arlo’s interest in her as my way in. Now they’re together and clearly happy, as evidenced by her bright smile while his hand skates around her waist, and he pulls her against his side.
I’ve warned her about their reputations and that of the Forsaken. About how people have mysteriously gone missing. And while no evidence points to them, I know their secret little Society has something to do with it.
“You could say I was dragged here.” I smile and lift the hand that is still clasped in Soren’s.