5. Natalie
NATALIE
“Is that Candice Wyatt?” Rebecca whispers, as a tall blonde walks past us in a silky blue dress.
The Morrison Art Show is in full swing. Champagne, laughter, camera flashes going off near the artwork. Rebecca and I have been making the rounds for nearly an hour, smiling, chatting, and slipping Vue’s new direction into every conversation. It’s going better than I expected.
Candice Wyatt is the kind of model brands build entire campaigns around. If we got her photographed in Vue, it would be huge.
My eyes follow her without thinking, already planning what I’ll say until I see who she’s walking toward.
My stomach drops.
Henry.
He’s near the far wall, laughing with a group of women. He looks effortlessly put-together in a black tux, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink. The women hang on his words, smiling too wide, leaning in too close.
When Candice appears, the group shift to let her in. She moves straight to him, like she belongs there. Any hope of getting her in Vue disappears the second she looks at him. She’s officially in his fan club.
Next to me, Rebecca is staring, her mouth slightly open.
“Try not to drool,” I say.
She blushes but doesn’t look away. “He’s beautiful.”
“Enjoy the view. It’s all downhill from the moment he speaks.”
Henry is beautiful, but that’s not what gets to me. It’s the way he moves, how people instinctively make room for him. That pull. And maybe I’m not immune to him. I’ve thought about him more than I should after that phone call. But I know better. He doesn’t want me, he wants the win.
I steer Rebecca back toward the bar before he spots us. I didn’t expect him here; he never comes to these things. For a second, I wonder if he’s heard about the deal I’m closing. But if he had, I’d know by now. He’s really not going to like it, and that’s kind of the point.
Rebecca and I swap our empty glasses for fresh champagne. I start listing who we need to talk to, but halfway through, her attention drifts. She’s staring past me, her eyes locked on something over my shoulder. I don’t need to look. I already know.
“Stop looking at him,” I say.
“I’m trying. He’s just…”
“An idiot. Focus.” I turn us slightly. “Ian Howler’s here. He’s a buyer at Reynolds. They stock us, so it wouldn’t hurt to—”
She’s still looking.
“Rebecca,” I snap.
“Sorry.” She finally looks away.
“Come on.” I pull her out of Henry’s line of sight.
We work the room for about half an hour before Rebecca slips away to follow a contact toward the far gallery.
That’s when I get cornered by a man at least twenty years my senior, wearing a tuxedo that strains at the buttons and a gaudy watch he keeps flashing like it’s supposed to impress me.
He leans in, his cologne strong enough to kill a houseplant.
“You should let me take you to dinner,” he says. “I know people who could really help you. You’d be surprised how far the right company can take a young woman in your field.”
I open my mouth, a sharp refusal ready on my tongue, but before I can speak, someone slides between us.
“Run along,” Henry says to him, his tone dripping with condescension.
The man hesitates, puffs out his chest as if to protest, then thinks better of it. With a nervous adjustment of his jacket, he vanishes into the crowd without another word.
Then Henry turns to me. He’s entirely too close, but with a solid wall behind me, I have nowhere to retreat.
He pins me with those too-blue eyes, and something low and electric skims through me, landing square in my stomach.
It flutters once, then winds its way higher, coiling tight and warm in my throat.
“You’re welcome for the rescue,” he says, that familiar, infuriating smugness coating his words.
I blink up at him, all feigned innocence. “Rescue? That man was just telling me how far he can take my career.”
“Let me guess,” Henry says, grinning as he slides a hand into his pocket. “As far as the nearest motel?” He takes a sip of champagne. “I’ve been waiting for you to say hello. You’re taking your time.”
“Why would I?” I ask.
“Because it’s painfully obvious you’re into me,” he says, leaning in as if sharing a secret.
“And when did I give you that impression?”
“You didn’t have to. I can feel it.”
My pulse jumps, a traitorous beat I’m grateful the crowd swallows. What is he seeing? What tiny crack has he found? No. He’s just guessing. He has to be.
“You don’t have to play coy with me, Natalie.”
“It’s Miss Wright to you.”
“Alright then, Miss Wright,” he says, his grin sharpening. “You can stop trying so hard. You’ve won. I’m all yours tonight.”
“Sorry?” I say.
“You need me to spell it out?”
“Apparently.”
“Alright,” he wets his lips, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face. “I’m going to take you home, back you against my front door, and see if I can make you come before I even get my jacket off.”
I choke on a laugh, nearly spitting my champagne back into the flute. “You can’t be serious.”
“What’s funny?” he asks, his posture stiffening.
“This,” I say, gesturing between us. “You just walk over and declare we’re having sex. God, you’re lazy.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Has that line ever actually worked?”
“Works every time,” he says, without a hint of doubt.
I let out a short, sharp laugh. “It does not.”
“Does too.”
“It really doesn’t.”
He tilts his head, a spark of pure mischief in his eyes. “Alright then. Pick any woman in this room. I’ll prove it.”
I immediately jab a finger toward my own chest.
His mouth twitches, fighting a smile. “Someone else.”
Fine. I scan the crowd and land on a woman seated at the bar. She has intelligent eyes behind stylish glasses and a sensible, yet elegant, green dress. She looks like the type who’d see right through his act. Perfect.
I point decisively at the woman. “Her. Go on, Casanova. Give her the exact same pitch you gave me.”
Without a word, he moves. It’s a smooth, confident glide that cuts through the crowd, and I track him with a smug satisfaction, ready to watch him crash and burn.
My gloating evaporates in seconds. The woman’s face transforms the moment he speaks.
She beams, then she’s laughing, leaning in, hanging on his every word.
The most irritating part is that Henry looks completely at ease, like he’s barely trying.
He doesn’t even have to turn on the full charm. He just…is.
He glances back at me, points in my direction, and gives a regretful shake of his head. The woman’s gaze follows his, and her smile curdles into a death glare aimed directly at me, as if I’d just personally ruined her night.
Before I can process it, she’s scribbling on a cocktail napkin. Henry takes it with a charming smile and strides back to me.
I cross my arms. “Why does she look like she wants to murder me?”
“I told her I’d just remembered a prior commitment with my demanding business partner and had to take a rain check.” He presses the napkin with the phone number into my hand.
I roll my eyes and shove it back at him.
A slow, knowing smile touches his lips as he leans in, his hand finding my waist. “So. About that prior commitment…”
I swat him away, but a traitorous smile escapes me. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Glad you think so.”
He watches my smile, his widening in response. Then he bites his lower lip, and for a heartbeat, I almost think this might be a good idea. Until his smug grin reappears.
He knows it’s working. Damn it. But two can play this game, and I’m a quick study.
I lean in and he tilts his head just slightly, like he’s expecting a kiss. My hand drifts down between us, and I hook a single finger inside the front of his waistband and give a tiny pull.
His breath catches. He thinks he has me.
I let my eyes drag over his face, taking my time, from his dark lashes to that infuriating mouth. Then back up.
“You wouldn’t last two minutes inside me, Carter.”
His jaw tightens. Then comes the low, dangerous laugh.
“Who needs two?” he says. “I’ll have you falling apart in one.”
The sheer confidence in his voice lands hard. For one terrifying second, I feel it, right between my thighs. I hold the feeling. Then bury it.
“The only thing you’d accomplish in one minute is disappointing us both.”
I don’t let him reply. I step back into the crowd as my pulse hammers in my throat. That was dangerously stupid.