Chapter 9 Rina
Rina
I run my palms down the front of my dress one last time, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles before pausing in front of the mirror.
The strapless red number hugs every curve while the slit running up my leg is high enough to make a statement without tipping into scandalous territory.
Paired with strappy heels and a shimmer dusted across my shoulders, the effect is precisely what I’m going for.
Confident.
Poised.
Unshakable.
It’s the armor I need for tonight, along with a reminder that no one gets to see what’s underneath.
My phone buzzes on the vanity, breaking into my thoughts.
Unknown number: Your car is waiting downstairs.
Perfect timing.
I tuck my phone into my clutch, slip the chain around my wrist, and grab my coat before heading out. The elevator shudders faintly as it takes me downstairs. When the doors slide open, a cool draft from outside greets me that carries the scent of a recent rain shower.
The lobby is quiet this time of night, with muted lighting, clean lines, and a vase of fresh flowers on the console table.
It’s not flashy like the buildings most of the players live in.
There aren’t marble floors or a doorman in a pressed uniform, but it’s relatively safe.
It’s the kind of place where the neighbors nod when they pass and the security cameras actually work.
The wall sconces bathe the space in amber light as I cross the tile toward the glass doors. Outside, a black Mercedes idles at the curb, headlights slicing through the dark. The driver steps forward, his posture crisp.
“Good evening, Ms. Reynolds.” He swings open the back door with a small flourish.
“Thank you,” I murmur, freezing when I find Oliver sprawled across the leather seat. There’s a looseness about his posture that screams arrogance.
The black tuxedo molds to his broad frame, every line crisp, as if it were tailored with him in mind. His blond hair brushes his collar, tousled just enough to look careless.
And that lazy grin curving his mouth?
It twists something in my stomach before I can stop it.
He’s trouble in sweats.
In a tux, the man is lethal.
“What are you doing here?” The question comes out tighter than intended, irritation covering something far more dangerous.
He doesn’t bother to sit up. Just stretches those impossibly long legs until the space shrinks.
“Going to the gala,” he says easily. “Same as you. I figured we could slash our carbon footprint and do Mother Earth a solid by riding together.”
I arch a brow. “Since when do you care about the environment?”
“Shows how little you know.” His tone turns teasing. “I donate three percent of my untaxed earnings to a foundation that cleans up the Great Lakes.”
That earns a blink. “Really?”
“Yup. I’d like my kids to inherit clean air and fresh water one day.”
Against my better judgment, the corner of my mouth lifts as I slide onto the seat, careful to keep my distance. “Good to know you’re more than a pretty face.”
“Baby, we both know that’s the least of what I have to offer.”
His gaze drags over me. Heat blooms across my skin where it lingers, like he’s touching me without ever laying a hand on my body.
“You look gorgeous.” His eyes dip to my mouth. “Good enough to eat.”
I shift, silently cursing the rush of awareness curling through me. No other man has ever undone me like this, and the look in his eyes says he knows it.
His thigh brushes mine, and a spark shoots straight through the thin fabric of my dress.
When he leans closer, I press a hand to his chest, feeling the steady rise beneath my palm. “Don’t you dare. You’ll ruin my makeup.”
His expression makes it clear he couldn’t care less about lipstick or anything but testing my restraint. Still, he eases back, arms spread wide.
There’s a beat of silence before he says, “I can’t stop thinking about the other night.”
My head whips toward him. “We’re not going to discuss that now.”
“So later, then?”
“Probably not.”
“How come? Wasn’t it good? Especially when I—”
“Oliver.” My tone slices clean through his comments. “One more word, and I’ll wring your neck.”
His laugh is low as amusement vibrates through the narrow space. “If I have my way, you’ll be using those same hands to hold on tight later.”
A frustrated sigh slips out as I tip my head back against the seat. “Sometimes I really hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He smirks. “And you definitely didn’t hate me when you were screaming my name.”
Before I can reply, the car slows to a stop along the curb. The instant the door opens, noise erupts around me. There are camera flashes and shouting as a swarm of reporters close in on us.
“Oliver! Oliver! Over here!”
“Big O, are you dating the Railers’ PR manager?”
“Oliver, are you confirming a relationship?”
The glare blinds me as voices blend into one deafening rush. Oliver’s arm slips around my waist, carefully steering me through the crowd.
“Smile.” His lips brush against my ear. The warmth of his breath across my skin sends a tremor through me.
I force a smile that feels brittle.
This is exactly how careers implode. One headline, one photo, and I’m the story instead of the one controlling it.
The throng erupts again when a stretch limo pulls up. Zane and Gigi step into the spotlight, flashbulbs detonating like fireworks.
“Looks like the circus has officially arrived,” Oliver mutters.
Good.
Let Zane enjoy it. He’s always been a whore for attention.
As soon as we step off the red carpet, I slip from Oliver’s hold, needing to put distance between us.
Control the narrative; don’t let it control you.
Inside the hotel, the noise fades to a dull roar, but the jittery rush inside me refuses to calm. The night has barely begun, and already, it feels like irreparable damage has been done.