Chapter 21 #2
“We could …” I turn my whole body as if I’m taking in the room when, in fact, I want to see what Oliver is doing. Curt is standing to his right with the woman in the red dress. On Oliver’s right side—where I should be—is a bombshell.
Emerald-green dress and a stunning diamond choker.
Her hair is long and red, and if she hasn’t walked a runway at some point in her life, I’ll be damned.
A man with a large camera faces them, snapping their picture.
Perhaps he recognizes Oliver’s … friend.
Maybe she came with him last time. Or the time before that.
And I bet her dress is brand-spanking new, straight off a designer rack.
I look down at my borrowed gown from Lisbeth. I felt like a princess before. My thumb strokes the bracelet from my grandmother. I’m going to turn into a pumpkin well before midnight if I don’t watch it. I say a silent wish that I knew how to navigate these sorts of things.
I’m so out of my element. I don’t know if I’m supposed to stand here and wait for Oliver because I’m his date or if I’m supposed to mingle and represent his company as well.
What is perfectly clear is that I must look like a fool to anyone watching—certainly to Marius. Surely, anyone paying a shred of attention would see that I feel self-conscious. Edgy. Embarrassed.
“Is that a yes then?” Marius asks.
“It’s just a dance. Right?”
He offers me his arm. “It’s just a dance.”
Something feels wrong about taking his arm. But something feels wrong about standing by myself in the middle of a gala while my date has his picture taken with another woman.
It’s just a dance.
Marius leads me to the dance floor, saying hello to a few couples as we pass. Finally, we make it in front of the band.
The lights feel hotter as Marius places his hand lightly on my waist and takes my other in his.
“Hey, relax,” he says as we begin to move. “We’re just dancing.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath. “So how’s the family?”
He leans his head back and laughs. The sound eases my anxiety enough to make me able to breathe again with more ease.
“The family …” He grins. “Well, my father is in prison for tax evasion.”
“Ouch.”
“And my mother is living her best life in Mallorca, which, it would seem, is odd, considering the first fact that I shared with you. But my mother handed him off to a twentysomething ingenue years ago and laughed all the way to the bank.”
I’m not sure what to say to all of that, so I don’t say anything at all.
Marius leads me across the floor, keeping his eyes trained on me. “What do you think of this little party?”
“I think it’s really nice,” I say as an uncomfortable fire runs up my spine. “It’s been a nice evening.”
“Nice, huh?”
“Yes.”
My eyes dart around the room in an attempt to find the source of my discomfort. Oliver seems to have disappeared.
What’s going on?
“I’ve never been to anything like this,” I say, my nerves busting free of their constraint. “It’s quite a spectacle.”
“The Landrys do so much for charities that it’s not too much of an inconvenience to attend. Plus,” he says, squeezing my hip ever so gently, “you never know who you’ll meet.”
I hum in agreement. My palms start to sweat. Just as I’m about to excuse myself, my gaze is snatched by Oliver.
He watches Marius and me from next to the door, next to the man with the cigar. His lips are nothing more than a thin line. His shoulders stiff. His eyes are narrowed as he follows me—us—across the floor.
“Do you live here? In Savannah, I mean?” Marius asks.
“Um, yes. I do. I’ve lived here for a long time.”
“Where are you from?”
“I was born in Oklahoma City,” I say, pulling my attention back to him. “We moved around a lot when I was growing up.”
“Same. New York City, Seattle, London—my parents got the itch to move every four or five years.”
“I’ve never been.”
My breathing picks up as I sense Oliver’s proximity. I can’t see him and certainly can’t turn around and look, but I know he’s close. I can feel him.
“To London?” Marius asks. “It’s a lovely city.”
“To any of them.”
He furrows his brows. “Oh. Well, you should rectify that.”
“Between my jobs at Mason Limited and The Gold Room, I find it hard to believe that I’ll make it anywhere any time soon.”
“Maybe you could—oh, hello, Oliver.”
Marius slows our movements and releases his hold on me. His hand slips from my waist as he drops my other one.
I take a deep breath before I look at Oliver.
And I’m glad I do.
His face is tinted a shade of almost pink that I’ve never seen on him before. His hands are clenched at his sides. His stare slices a hole through my dress, my skin, and bleeds into my body.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words tumbling from my lips. “I—”
“I asked her to dance.” Marius squares his shoulders to Oliver. “She was left standing alone in the middle of the room. Certainly, you’d rather have me ask her than leave it up to chance.”
Oliver’s shoulders rise and fall. He rips his gaze from me to Marius.
Marius doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. He just smiles at Oliver.
“Thank you for your kindness, Marius,” I say, hoping to defuse the situation.
“It was my pleasure, Shaye. Truly. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have other matters to attend.” He nods to Oliver before disappearing into a throng of people near the bar.
Oliver doesn’t acknowledge him; his eyes stay pinned on me.
My heart pounds in my chest as I find my footing.
“He asked me to dance. I didn’t know what to do,” I say.
The band switches to a slower tune, prompting more people to file onto the dance floor. Oliver takes my hand and pulls me against him. Chest to chest, he rests his free hand in the small of my back.
We dance slowly. Oliver’s body is taut. I’m sure mine is rigid too.
Oliver’s hand flexes against my skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into the shell of my ear.
The warmth of his breath causes me to shiver. I don’t respond. I’m not sure how.
“I …” He swallows as he pulls me closer to his body. “I didn’t like that.”
“Didn’t like what?”
He presses his palm into my back. “I didn’t like seeing you in his arms.”
His words flood me with a cascade of emotions. So many, in fact, that I don’t know where to start.
My grin is dopey, and I don’t dare look at him and let him see it. Instead, I press my cheek into his chest and let him guide me into a circle.
“I never should’ve left you alone,” he says, his words soft. “I don’t know why I did that.” His chest rumbles with a chuckle. “Nah, I do know why.”
“Why?”
“Because you told them you were my executive assistant.”
I jerk my head back and look him in the eye. Those beautiful blue-green orbs glitter back at me.
“I am your EA,” I tell him.
One side of his lips turns up. “That you are.”
I study him for a long moment. “I only said that—the truth—because you left it a question and they were looking at me for an explanation.”
“Well, you gave them one.”
“What did you want me to say?” I ask as the saxophone kicks in behind us.
The sultry, smokiness of the music descends over the dance floor, adding a sexy undertone to the room. Oliver’s body relaxes as he tugs me even closer—so close that taking a full breath is difficult.
But I’m not complaining. Not even a little.
Breathing in his cologne, feeling the firmness of his body, listening to the grit of his tone, which is laced with a familiar layer of desire, has every cell of my body firing.
For him. This might be a complication, and I might wake up tomorrow morning and regret everything, but right now—in his arms—I only want one thing: more.
More of him. More kisses, touches. More promises. More laughter and more feeling like I’m worthy of a man like Oliver Mason. More than being left alone while he flirted with other women.
It’s not that. Not really. I’ve never equated my worth with a man’s opinion. But seeing him want me, respect me, desire me in the way I do him, makes me feel less like the struggling mess of a human I’ve been lately and more like the person I want to be.
Oliver holds me close to him, and our bodies sway back and forth to the music. My eyes flutter closed, and I let the thumping of his heart carry me away into a world that’s probably not real, but I welcome with open arms.
At least for now.
“Do you want to know what I wanted you to say?”
His words—low and soft—bring me back to the gala.
“What?” I ask.
He takes a breath. “I wanted you to tell them that you were with me.” He pauses. “That you were mine.”
I lean back and look into his eyes.
He smiles hesitantly. “I know it’s crazy. I have doubts that this is the right thing—but I wanted those fuckers to know that Shaye Brewer was with Oliver Mason and that they shouldn’t dare look at you twice.”
My skin prickles with goose bumps. The heat of his gaze travels through my body and pools between my legs.
I bite my bottom lip, unable to believe I heard him correctly. But then he smiles—a different one. The one I haven’t seen him use with Kelly at work or the girl with the green dress tonight. He gives me that smile, and I know I heard him right. More than that, I want that too.
I hated being left to describe who I was to Oliver. And then left behind as he socialized. But there is no doubt in my mind now what, or rather who, Oliver wants. And this time, I don’t mind being the one who has to step up. Ask for what I want.
“I think,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “that if you want me to be yours … you have to make me yours.”
He growls—the sound rough and nearly guttural. I’m still processing it when he releases me from his grasp. He takes my hand and nearly drags me through the ballroom.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice a combination of both a yelp and a laugh.
He doesn’t answer me until we pause at the exit to let an older gentleman pass. Even then, his answer is brief.
“Your wish is my command.”
He tosses me a wink before leading us to his car.