Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Shaye
“I’ll be in touch. It was good to see you, Harris.” Oliver shakes hands with the distinguished-looking gentleman to his left. “Vivian—as always.”
The woman nods politely at my date. She must be my mother’s age, maybe a tad older, but is downright regal. Everything from her dress to her posture to her perfectly timed interjections in her husband’s conversation with Oliver is admirable.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Shaye,” Vivian says, smiling warmly. “Thank you for joining us this evening.”
“The pleasure is truly mine, Mrs. Landry,” I say.
She takes her husband’s elbow and gives it a pat. “Let’s see if we can find Graham, darling.”
Oliver turns to me. His eyes are a mix of liveliness and ease.
“What?” he asks, wrapping an arm around my waist. It’s a natural movement, a gesture that anyone watching would think that he’s done a thousand times. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
The gala, now in its second hour, is in full-blown revelry.
Servers mingle with the guests holding trays of fancy hors d’oeuvres like Nate warned me about.
A band, complete with a saxophone, plays upbeat music that fills the air with festivity.
Laughter from various groups of sophisticated men and women fills in any gaps.
“What’s not to love?” I ask, declining a fresh glass of champagne from a server. The two drinks I’ve had already plus the one in my hand are enough to take the edge off my nerves.
Oliver’s fingers press against the exposed skin on my back. The contact sends a chill up my spine.
“Do you go to things like this often?” I ask him.
“Like this?” He chuckles. “No. There aren’t many events like this.” He takes a sip of his champagne and looks around the room. “This room is filled with some of the most powerful men and women in the country. See the man smoking a cigar near the ice sculpture?”
I nod.
“He owns a large hotel chain. Worth a few hundred million, I’d guess,” he says.
“Oh, wow.”
“Marius Blast, the man next to him, owns a bank. He was in Forbes last month. And the woman next to him runs an umbrella company that controls more assets than the two men combined.”
I force a swallow down my throat. “That’s … That’s one way to make you feel unaccomplished.” I give him a tight smile. “Me, not you. I have no idea how much you’re worth.”
He grins devilishly.
“And I don’t want to know,” I say, trying not to let his sexiness distract me, though that task is virtually impossible. “Your business is your business. I just make the coffee.”
He angles his head and gives me a look of disbelief.
“Okay, I don’t make the coffee.” I laugh. “But I’ll add that to my duties if it makes you happy.”
He smiles again, but there is no laughter. Instead, he brushes a strand of hair off my face. “You really aren’t interested in how I compare to these people?”
It’s an odd question for a myriad of reasons. Even if I could overlook the question itself, I would be stumped by the curious yet hopeful look in his eyes.
“No,” I say, my voice soft. “Why would I care?”
He trails the back of his hand down my chin but doesn’t answer me.
“In my lifetime, I’ve learned a few things,” I tell him. “One of them is that money and relationships—friendships,” I correct quickly, “never mix. In any capacity.”
“Friendships. Right,” he says, his brows furrowed. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Good logic there.”
It is good logic because money complicates things. And we are friends. Assuming we are more than that sets me up to have a broken heart. I’m not sure what part of that he seems to have questions about, but I don’t have time to ask him.
Two men come up to us. Both men are older than Oliver, and both are extraordinary in their own way.
One of them—the one Oliver addresses as Curt as he approaches, has a Sean Connery vibe.
He’s ruggedly handsome with a voice that could melt honey.
I instantly like him. The other one is the man Oliver told me was Marius Blast.
Jet-black hair, a dimpled smile, and a suit that was tailored for his long, lean body, Marius is stunning.
“It is good to see you, Oliver,” Marius says, extending a large hand.
Oliver shakes it with gusto. “Good to see you, Marius.”
“And who is this beautiful woman at your side?” Marius turns slowly toward me. His eyes are a brilliant green that lack a certain warmth about them.
I instantly miss Oliver’s arm around my waist.
“Curt, Marius, this is Shaye Brewer.” Oliver faces me. He seems to want to say something, but the seconds pass with silence.
Oliver’s associates look at us expectantly, also assuming more will be said. And with all of their eyes shifting to me as the subject of the conversation, my stomach begins to twist.
“I’m his executive assistant,” I say. It’s the first thing that I can think of to finish his thought. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”
The words flow from my mouth in a nervous rush, and I have to clamp my lips shut so I don’t keep talking. Oliver’s lips form a hard, thin line as he turns away.
“Yes, Shaye is my executive assistant,” Oliver tells them, his words clipped. “I thought it would be nice for her to come tonight and meet some of the people she’ll be engaging with in her new role.”
“Brilliant idea, ol’ boy,” Curt says, clapping him on the shoulder.
“I knew you were fit for a CEO when you were this high.” He holds his hand out waist level.
“So many men—people, forgive me, miss,” he says to me, “expect their right-hand people to work with other brands and businesses without knowing them. I’ve always said that it’s easier to do business if you know who you’re doing business with. ”
They banter back and forth, Marius contributing to the conversation here and there. I stand at Oliver’s side, clutching my champagne flute and replaying the last two minutes.
Could he possibly be mad that I told the truth?
Oliver stands a few feet away from me. He glances at me from time to time, but the hand closest to me is now in his pocket. It’s a small thing to notice, but everything with Oliver Mason is calculated.
This is too. I just don’t know why. I am his EA. It’s my job title. It’s how he presented me to the Landry family. “This is the lovely Shaye Brewer, my EA. I’m pleased for you to meet her.”
My body shrinks. There isn’t room for the champagne and the tiny pastry with brie and mushroom that I tried on Vivian Landry’s request. It was delicious when I ate it. It’s less delicious as it threatens to become unreasonable in my stomach.
“Have you said hello to Tyra?” Curt asks. “She wasn’t with me last year. I believe she was in Switzerland with our granddaughter Carys. She’s here this year, and I know she’d love to see you.”
I lift my chin, taking a deep breath to settle myself. Maybe having a woman in the conversation will stabilize things?
I prepare to take a step toward the table that Curt motions toward when Oliver turns around.
“I’m going to say hello to Curt’s wife. I’ll be right back.” His face is free from emotion, but his eyes tell another story. It’s just not one I can read.
“I’ll be fine. I’ll be … here.”
My heart pounds as he walks with Curt toward a table with three gorgeous women. Their heads all snap to Oliver, their faces awash in delight at the opportunity to score his attention.
I don’t realize Marius is still standing next to me until he chuckles.
“Excuse me?” I ask, not sure what I missed to warrant a chuckle.
“Oliver—your boss,” he says pointedly. “I think I’ve seen him with a different woman at every social engagement.”
“Oh.”
My brain races. Logic tells me that I didn’t know him at any of those social engagements, so why do I care? I was with Luca—married to Luca. I can’t, shouldn’t, feel any sort of way about Oliver’s acquaintances.
Still, my gaze falls to his broad back and the way the ladies at the table laugh at something he says.
“Yes, Shaye is my executive assistant.”
My spirits tumble.
“I don’t suppose he can help himself,” Marius says. “He’s a hell of a guy.”
“He seems to be, yes.”
I take a sip of champagne to keep myself from saying anything else.
“Have you worked for him long?” he asks.
I sigh softly. “No. Not too long. We are just getting to know each other.”
A woman with long, blond hair places her hand on Oliver’s wrist. My breath hiccups in my chest as I pull my gaze from their interaction. It lands on a smiling Marius.
“I’m sure you’ll like him. He’s a nice guy.” He swishes his champagne around in the flute as he watches me.
I steady myself the best I can.
Too many things stream around me, carrying me in an invisible current before I get swept away in another line of thought. Oliver’s kiss tonight. The way he alluded to something more after the gala. How he cooled off after the Landrys left us and then the awkwardness of meeting Curt and Marius.
And now … this. I glance over at Oliver. He’s standing next to Curt and a woman in a long, brilliant red dress cut into a sharp V in the front.
I gulp.
Maybe it’s the champagne. I place my glass on a passing server’s tray and thank them. Marius sets his next to mine.
The music transitions into something lighter and jazzier.
“Would you care to dance?” Marius asks.
“Dance?”
I trip over words in my head as if they’re steps in a dark hallway. My mouth hangs open, but none of them—the right nor the wrong ones—slip out. Instead, I stand in front of Marius Blast and look like a fool.
Thankfully, he doesn’t make it awkward. “Yes, dance,” he says with a big smile. “It’s what people do at galas.”
“Couples do, I’m sure,” I say.
“Yes, definitely couples. But I’m here alone, and you are here with your boss who,” he says, leaning closer and whispering conspiratorially, “is having a conversation with two women on the other side of the room.”
“And I’m having a conversation here with you.”
“And we could be having this conversation while dancing.”