Chapter Nine
Raina
The ballroom décor took my breath away. I’d known the gala would be impressive—this was one of Manhattan’s grandest hotels, after all—but I still paused just inside the entrance to absorb it all.
The space stretched before me like something from a fairy tale, with white marble floors gleaming beneath three magnificent chandeliers dripping with hand-cut crystals.
Deep crimson drapes hung between French doors that opened onto a terrace, beyond which I glimpsed a garden illuminated by soft golden lights.
Tables filled half the room, draped in crisp white linens and centered with glass vases overflowing with orchids and hydrangeas. Beyond them, there was an open area in front of a stage where a string quartet played, their music weaving through the hum of conversation.
I was right on time, but the gala was already in full swing. Men in tuxedos and women in elegant gowns moved through the space, sampling hors d’oeuvres from silver trays carried by waiters in black and white uniforms. One stopped beside me, offering his tray with a practiced smile.
“What is this?” I asked, reaching for one of the delicate morsels.
“Wagyu beef carpaccio on an herb-infused crostini,” he replied.
I took a bite, and flavor exploded on my tongue—herbs and butter and meat that was simultaneously savory and subtly sweet. It was possibly the best thing I’d ever eaten, and I’d only just arrived.
Another waiter passed with champagne flutes, and I claimed one before stepping deeper into the ballroom, scanning faces for Simon.
He’d offered to pick me up, but I’d declined and had driven myself.
Having him show up at my door, then seeing me off at the end of the night…
it would have felt too much like a date, and I needed to keep my head on straight tonight.
Better to meet here and say goodbye outside the ballroom when the evening ended. Clean. Professional. No awkward moment of uncertainty about how to part ways.
But I couldn’t stop wondering…would he walk me out at the end of the night and escort me to my car? Shake my hand? Hug me?
Kiss me?
No. Absolutely not. My thoughts had no business going there.
I made it about halfway through the room before I spotted him.
Simon was attractive in his everyday business suits, that was undeniable.
But tonight, in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, he was something else entirely.
The black jacket hugged his broad shoulders, emphasizing the powerful build I’d tried so hard not to notice over the past three weeks.
The sharp lines of the cut drew the eye down from his chest to his trim waist, and I found myself tracing that path with my gaze before I could stop myself.
My eyes traveled upward, past the crisp white shirt, over the strong column of his throat, and found him already watching me. The riveted look in his eyes made my breath catch.
I was still learning to read this man, but there was no mistaking what I saw now. His smoldering gaze moved over me in a slow, deliberate survey, traveling from my face down the length of the sapphire gown and back up again. Everywhere his attention landed, my skin tingled with awareness.
I’d stopped walking without realizing it, waiting for him to come to me. He crossed the distance between us with unhurried steps, and I took a long sip of champagne, hoping the cool liquid might do something about the heat spreading through my body.
It didn’t help.
“Raina.” His voice came out lower than usual, rougher. “You look… nice.”
Not exactly poetry. But his eyes—dark and burning with something he was clearly fighting to contain—told me he thought I looked far better than nice.
“You’re not looking too bad yourself,” I managed, matching his understatement. Safer that way. For both of us.
Simon lifted the glass in his hand—not champagne but some kind of amber liquid swirling around a large round ice cube—and took a drink. I watched his throat move as he swallowed and had to look away.
“I suppose we should be social,” he said, surveying the crowd with obvious reluctance.
I wasn’t surprised. When he’d first told me about this gala, I’d been confused. This seemed like Liam’s territory, not Simon’s. But securing Alexander Spencer’s business required a personal touch, and Liam was buried in the GalvaTech launch. So here we were.
As we moved through the ballroom together and he greeted associates he knew, I quickly realized I was more useful than just serving as his plus one. Simon was terrible at small talk.
It wasn’t that he didn’t try. He was endlessly polite, and he smiled more tonight than I’d seen in three weeks of working for him.
But when conversations stretched past the initial pleasantries, he faltered, growing awkward, struggling to maintain interest in topics that didn’t involve profit margins or market analysis.
When that happened, I picked up the slack.
Most of the people we encountered were business associates or colleagues, so it was easy to keep things from lapsing into painful silence by asking about their work.
When Simon was holding his own, I turned my attention to the companions—wives, girlfriends, husbands—finding common ground by asking about their lives.
More than once, I was met with surprised gratitude.
Apparently, the partners of wealthy executives were often left standing bored and overlooked at events like this.
After a particularly smooth conversation with a tech executive and his girlfriend—a special effects artist whose work I found genuinely fascinating—Simon leaned in close as the couple walked away.
“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.
His breath was warm against my ear. His cologne filled my senses—something spicy and sophisticated that suited him perfectly—and I had to fight the urge to lean closer, to press myself against the solid warmth of him.
“I like talking to people,” I said, aiming for casual and probably failing. “And she was interesting. Did you hear that she worked on the effects for three Marvel movies?”
Simon shook his head. He’d been absorbed in his own conversation, discussing market trends and emerging technologies with an intensity that bordered on passion.
That was where he excelled. Once the small talk was over, once he could dive into substance, he became magnetic.
The way his eyes lit up when he talked about business, the confident authority in his voice.
I’d never found finance particularly fascinating before, but Simon made it compelling.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly.
The words hit me somewhere deep in my chest. My teeth caught my bottom lip as warmth flooded through me. Not just physical attraction this time, but something softer. More dangerous.
Before I could respond, another businessman approached, eager for Simon’s attention, and the moment passed. Probably for the best. He didn’t need to see what his words had done to me.
The music cut off, and a woman’s voice rang out over the crowd. I looked toward the stage, where a figure in a sparkly silver gown stood at a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please take your seats, dinner is ready to be served.”
Simon excused himself from his conversation and to my surprise he held his arm out to me.
Giving him a smile, I slipped my hand through his crooked elbow.
Heat radiated through the fine wool of his tuxedo jacket, and a strange sense of rightness settled over me.
For one impossible moment, surrounded by crystal chandeliers and elegantly dressed strangers, it felt as though I belonged exactly where I was—at Simon’s side.
The thought caught me completely off guard.
This wasn’t real. It was one dinner. One business event. I was here because Alexander Spencer preferred getting to know the people he worked with, and Simon needed an assistant who could help him navigate the evening. That was all this was.
So why was I letting it feel like more?
Maybe it was the way he’d instinctively offered me his arm or the quiet confidence with which he guided me through the ballroom, making me feel included instead of invisible.
Or maybe it was the man I’d been discovering over the past three weeks now, the one hidden beneath the gruff exterior.
The one who worked harder than anyone I’d ever met because failure simply wasn’t an option.
The man who thanked me when I anticipated what he needed, even if the words seemed unfamiliar on his tongue.
Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped seeing him as an impossible, demanding boss. I’d started seeing Simon, and that realization should have terrified me.
Instead, it filled me with a quiet warmth that spread through my chest, leaving me hopelessly confused. I knew better than to blur the lines between boss and assistant. Nothing good could come from developing feelings for the man who signed my paychecks.
It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself of that. Every day, those lines seemed to blur a little more for me and tonight was no exception.
The tables had small white place cards at each setting, names embossed in elegant gold lettering. I had no idea where we were supposed to sit, but Simon led us to a table near the dance floor.
As we approached, I felt him tense, his arm going rigid beneath my hand. When I glanced at his face, a muscle flexed in his jaw, his eyes narrowed on a man already seated at our table.
“What is it?” I asked softly.
“Nothing,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
It was clearly something, but before I could press the issue we’d arrived at the table.
The man who’d triggered Simon’s reaction sat across from where we stood, thinning brown hair slicked back from a face that wore a knowing smirk. Whatever history existed between them, he was clearly aware of the effect he was having on Simon.