Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Solenn
I stepped out of the car, smoothing my dress with my palms as I took in the scene before me.
The gala was in full swing, the grand ballroom of the St. Regis glowing under crystal chandeliers, the air buzzing with the soft hum of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. High society at its finest.
I had spent more time than I cared to admit getting ready, making sure I looked the part.
My dress was sleek, black, and elegant—sophisticated without being too revealing, powerful without trying too hard.
I had been determined to walk in here tonight owning the room rather than just blending into the background.
But now that I was here, standing at the entrance, I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes, each one trained to judge, assess, and measure worth in an instant.
I exhaled slowly, squared my shoulders, and stepped inside.
The room was filled with New York’s elite—executives, investors, politicians, people who had the power to shape industries with a single decision. Women in designer gowns floated across the space, their diamonds catching the light, while men in tailored suits exchanged handshakes worth millions.
I wasn’t intimidated.
Not exactly.
But I was very aware that I was not one of them.
Still, I wasn’t here to be a guest. I was here for work.
I scanned the room for Maverick, expecting to find him already surrounded by the city’s most powerful players.
Instead, I spotted him near the bar, standing alone, his broad frame commanding the space without effort.
His tuxedo was effortlessly tailored, the black-on-black ensemble only making him look more imposing.
He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t smiling—just watching the crowd like he was assessing the stock market instead of socializing.
Typical.
I shook my head and made my way toward the champagne table. I could handle a few hours of corporate politics and forced conversation. Besides, if I was stuck here, I might as well enjoy the free alcohol.
I had barely taken one sip when I felt a presence beside me.
“Not used to these events?”
I turned, finding a man a little too close for a first conversation. He was good-looking in a polished, investment-banker kind of way—all charm and expensive cologne, the type who probably had an Ivy League degree and a yacht he rarely used.
“I’ve been to a few,” I said smoothly, keeping my tone polite but distant.
He smiled, taking that as an invitation to keep talking. “You don’t look like the usual crowd.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what does the usual crowd look like?”
He chuckled. “Like they’ve been attending events like this since birth. You look like you have… more interesting places you’d rather be.”
He wasn’t wrong.
But I wasn’t about to let him think he had me figured out.
I took a slow sip of champagne. “And yet, here I am.”
His grin widened. “Lucky for me.”
I almost laughed at the blatant flirtation. Men like him were all the same—charming, confident, and always looking for entertainment at these events.
I was about to brush him off when I felt something change.
A presence.
Not just anyone.
Him.
Before I could turn, I felt a warm, firm grip settle at my waist.
Maverick.
His hand curled around me possessively, his fingers pressing just enough against my side to make his presence undeniable.
The man in front of me immediately stiffened.
“Am I interrupting?” Maverick’s voice was calm, but there was something undeniably sharp beneath it.
The other man’s confidence faltered—just slightly, but I saw it. Felt it. He glanced at Maverick, then back at me, his smirk dimming. “Not at all,” he said quickly, taking a small step back. “Just making conversation.”
Maverick’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened slightly, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of my dress.
“Is that what you were doing, Ms. Wheeler?” His voice was low, and deliberate, brushing over my skin like a warning wrapped in silk.
I lifted an eyebrow, turning my head just enough to meet his gaze. Unbothered. Unimpressed.
“Obviously,” I said, my tone light but challenging. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
His lips curved—just barely. “It is. You’re working.”
I exhaled a slow breath, feeling the tension coil between us. “I don’t recall conversation being against my job description.”
His grip stayed firm, his gaze unwavering. “It is when it’s distracting.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Distracting to who?”
His gaze flickered to my lips—quick, unreadable. Then back up, sharp and unrelenting.
“To me.”
I swallowed, heat licking up my spine before I could stop it.
He was too close, his body angled toward mine, his hand at my waist like a claim no one could challenge.
The other man—now completely forgotten—cleared his throat. “I should… probably go find my table.”
He disappeared before I could even respond.
Coward.
I exhaled, shifting slightly, but Maverick’s grip didn’t budge.
“That was unnecessary,” I muttered, tilting my head to look at him fully.
His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. “I don’t like wasting time on pointless conversations.”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, boss.”
His gaze darkened just enough to make my stomach tighten.
“This isn’t jealousy.” His fingers pressed slightly firmer into my waist, enough to make my breath hitch. “It’s control.”
My lips parted slightly, and for the first time tonight, I had nothing to say.
Maverick watched me for a beat longer, then leaned in—not close enough to touch, but enough to make every nerve in my body tense.
“Stay close,” he murmured. “You work for me. Act like it.”
Then, just as calmly as he arrived, he released me and walked away—leaving me standing there, heart pounding, pulse erratic, every part of me far more affected than I wanted to admit.
I took a slow, unsteady breath, gripping my champagne glass a little too tightly.
This was not just work anymore.