Chapter 8
Daniel
I’ve been to a hundred of these events, maybe more.
I stopped counting years ago when investor dinners and charity galas became another part of running a company.
It’s always a performance, forcing smiles, shaking hands, and pretending I care about champagne and small talk.
But tonight feels different because tonight, I’m bringing Bailey.
I arrive early, which is unlike me. I usually arrive on time, make my rounds, and leave as soon as possible. But tonight, I need the extra minutes to settle my nerves.
The Four Seasons library is quiet and private. I asked them to hold it for me until Bailey arrived because the last thing I need is photographers catching us before we’re ready.
I stand at the window, watching the city lights blur into rivers of gold and white below. My reflection, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo with a straight tie and carefully combed hair, stares back at me in the glass. I look every part the perfect CEO everyone expects me to be.
Except my hands won’t stop fidgeting in my pockets.
I pull them out and flex my fingers before shoving them back in again. This is ridiculous. I’m nervous about a fake date with an employee I’ve already slept with. The absurdity would be funny if my career didn’t depend on this going well.
The door opens behind me.
I turn around to see who’s entering.
And I suck in a breath.
Bailey stands in the doorway wearing an emerald-colored dress.
The deep green silk skims her curves without clinging, falls to just above her knees, and shows enough shoulder to be elegant without being obvious.
Her dark hair is pulled back on one side while falling in soft waves over the other shoulder.
She’s wearing minimal jewelry and just enough makeup to make her eyes look impossibly large.
She’s absolutely stunning.
Not in the polished, artificial way of the women who usually attend these things. There’s something real about her. Something warm. Something that makes me confident that every other person in that ballroom will look like they’re trying too hard compared to her natural beauty.
“Is this okay?” She touches the dress self-consciously. “Gretchen said emerald, but I wasn’t sure if it was too much or not enough or—”
“You look perfect.”
The words come out more honest than I should allow.
Her cheeks flush slightly with color. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
“I do my best.”
We stand there momentarily, separated by twenty feet of expensive carpet.
“So,” she says finally. “Do I get the briefing now? Am I supposed just to smile and look pretty while you talk business?”
The edge in her voice makes me wince internally. “That’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
“A partnership. You’re not arm candy, Bailey. You’re my girlfriend. At least as far as anyone out there knows.”
“Right. Your fake girlfriend who you’re using to repair your reputation.”
“My girlfriend, whom I’m grateful for, is here.” I cross the space between us and stop close enough to smell her perfume. The scent is light and citrusy and completely intoxicating. “I know this isn’t ideal. I know I’ve put you in an impossible position. But I need you to trust me tonight.”
“Trust you to do what?”
“To have your back. I’ll ensure no one treats you as anything less than you are.”
Her eyes narrow slightly with skepticism. “And what am I?”
“Brilliant. Talented. Far too good for any of the people in that ballroom.” I pause and hold her gaze. “Including me.”
Her defensiveness softens fractionally.
“You’re really nervous,” she observes.
“I’m really nervous,” I admit.
“Why? You do this all the time.”
“I’ve never brought someone who actually matters before.”
Bailey’s breath catches audibly. “Daniel—”
“I mean to the optics,” I correct quickly. “You matter to the optics.”
We both know that’s not what I meant.
She studies my face for a long moment, looking for lies or truth. I don’t know which one she finds.
“Okay,” she says finally. “What do I need to know?”
I exhale slowly and feel myself return to safer ground. “Larsson’s team, several board members, and our investors will be here. The press is outside, but they won’t be allowed in. Still, assume anything we do will be photographed by someone.”
“So I should smile and stay close to you.”
“And be yourself. That’s the most important part.” I take her hand and feel electricity shoot up my arm from the contact. “Just be the stubborn woman who challenged her boss and told him he’s controlling.”
“That woman might tell someone you’re an ass.”
“That woman would be honest, which is exactly what we need.”
Her mouth curves into something that might be a smile. “You’re terrible at this pep talk thing.”
“I’m very aware of that fact.”
“You’re supposed to tell me that nothing will go wrong.”
“I could tell you, but you’d know I was lying.”
“So instead you’re going with radical honesty?”
“I’m going with the truth. This is going to be uncomfortable. People are going to ask invasive questions. Someone will probably say something rude, but we’ll get through it together.”
She squeezes my hand in response. The gesture is small but grounding. “Together. I like the sound of that.”
“Are you ready?”
“Absolutely not, but let’s go anyway.”
I lead her toward the door while our hands remain connected. It feels natural in a way that kind of terrifies me.
The hallway leading to the ballroom is packed. I can hear the string quartet playing something classical and the murmur of conversation rises and falls as the clink of crystal punctuates the air.
Bailey’s grip on my hand tightens fractionally.
“You’ve got this,” I murmur close to her ear.
“We’ve got this.”
The ballroom doors open in front of us. Music and light spill out into the hallway. I feel her take a breath beside me.
Then we step inside together.
The effect is immediate and unmistakable.
Conversations pause mid-sentence. Heads turn in our direction. I feel the weight of dozens of eyes landing on us. They’re looking at her hand in mine. They’re looking at how we stand close enough that our shoulders brush.
A photographer I didn’t notice by the door raises his camera, and the flash goes off.
Bailey doesn’t flinch or hesitate. She lifts her chin slightly and squares her shoulders, and God, I’ve never been more attracted to anyone in my life.
“Mr. Williams.” Richard Larsson himself approaches us first. He’s a short, silver-haired man squeezed into a suit that looks like it has shrunk around him. If my stability didn’t depend on his merger, I’d probably have avoided him.
“Richard. This is Bailey Rodgers. Bailey, this is Richard Larsson.”
Bailey extends her hand with the brightest smile. “Mr. Larsson. Daniel has told me about your company. The sustainable energy portfolio is impressive.”
Richard’s eyebrows rise in surprise. “You’ve done your research.”
“I believe in being informed about important things.”
He glances at me with something like approval flickering across his face. “She’s sharp. You should keep her around.”
“I fully intend to do exactly that.”
Bailey’s hand tightens on my arm in response.
We make our way through the crowd together. I introduce her to investors, board members, and business partners. She’s great with each one of them, asking intelligent questions and making genuine connections.
I watch her charm a venture capitalist who notoriously hates everyone and laugh at a CEO’s terrible joke in a way that’s kind without being condescending. I watch her defuse an awkward moment when someone asks how we met with a perfectly crafted story about running into each other at a coffee shop.
The lie comes easily. It comes too easily.
“You’re good at this,” I murmur when we have a moment alone.
“I’m good at pretending.”
“It doesn’t feel like pretending to me.”
She meets my eyes directly. “Doesn’t it?”
Before I can answer, a woman’s voice interrupts.
“Daniel, darling. Is this your new friend?”
I turn to identify the speaker. It’s Mrs. Patricia Whitmore. She comes from old money and manages a massive portfolio. She’s also the wife of one of my largest investors.
And a notorious snob.
“Patricia. Yes, this is Bailey Rodgers. Bailey, this is Patricia Whitmore.”
Patricia’s eyes rake over Bailey from head to toe.
“Rodgers. That’s not a name I recognize from anywhere.”
“It’s fairly common,” Bailey says evenly.
“I meant from the social register.”
“I’m not in the social register.”
“That much is clear.” Patricia’s smile is faker than her teeth. “What is it you do, dear? Before Daniel scooped you up, I mean.”
I feel Bailey tense beside me. I should step in, but maybe not yet. They need to see that she can hold her own.
“I’m a graphic designer,” Bailey says. Her voice is steady, but I can hear the edge underneath it.
“How quaint. You make logos and things like that?”
“Among other projects, yes.”
“Well. That’s very practical, isn’t it? Not everyone can afford to be useless.” Patricia laughs at her own joke. “Though I suppose you won’t need to work now that you’ve caught Daniel’s attention.”
I finally find my voice. “Bailey is the lead designer at my company. She’s incredibly talented.”
“Of course she is.” Patricia’s tone suggests she believes the complete opposite. “How fortunate for her that you’re so generous with opportunities.”
The implication is crystal clear. Bailey got her job because of me. I open my mouth to correct her. I’m ready to defend Bailey and make it clear that she earned her position on merit alone, but Patricia has already turned away and is calling to someone else across the room.
I turn back to Bailey immediately.
She’s smiling at me, but it’s brittle, bright, and fake.
Her eyes tell the real story. They’re wounded.
“Bailey—”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. She was completely out of line.”
“She’s an investor’s wife. You can’t afford to alienate her.”
“I don’t care about alienating anyone who speaks to you that way.”