Chapter 16
ALEX
Iwas running behind, which rarely happened to me. Naturally, that meant that I had to make up for it tonight, so I wasn’t only running behind. I’d only left the office over two hours later than planned.
As soon as I’d realized my schedule for the day had gone to hell in a handbasket, I’d arranged for a driver to pick Jane up and bring her to my apartment. At the time, I’d still intended to be there waiting for her when she arrived, calm, prepared, and in control.
Instead, I was coming off a meeting with the Westwood and Sons board that had left me as aggravated and frustrated as a caged animal. For some fucking reason, our board insisted on calling the Thayer Steelworks acquisition a merger, and it had dominated the agenda.
Most of the board wanted blood. A full acquisition. A clean swallow.
Uncle Harlan had even flown in from San Francisco for the occasion. Why he hadn’t sent Sterling, I didn’t know, but I suspected my dad had insisted my uncle attend instead.
Either way, he’d insisted this was the time to be aggressive. Hell, he’d even accused me of being sentimental, reminding me the Thayers were vulnerable right now and advising me that this was the moment to press. To apply real pressure and take everything.
I’d listened, I’d let them talk, and then, as CEO, I’d said fuck no. We weren’t going down that route of attack. The structure in place already gave us leverage. Time would do the work for us and aggression now would only create chaos later.
They hadn’t liked it. Uncle Harlan probably least of all. But the final say was mine and I’d used it. What I didn’t say was that the idea of putting any more stress on Jane made me see red.
For whatever reason, I hadn’t even been able to bring myself to consider the points they’d made.
Logically, I knew there had been some good ones, but shit, Jane had been under nothing but pressure for years.
From her board. From her family. From the weight of a company she’d been running without the title, the respect, or the salary.
By the time I’d left the meeting, I’d been so pissed off that I’d spent most of the evening trying to cool down, replaying the arguments, imagining different outcomes, and convincing myself I’d made the right call.
Time had gotten ahead of me and now I was hustling through the lobby of my building with my coat open, my phone in my hand, and ignoring the concierge’s greeting as I headed for the car waiting outside.
I pulled the door open and slid inside, but then I stopped short.
Jane was already there. She was bundled in a faux-fur coat, but even that couldn’t hide the glimmer of the deep red gown beneath it.
Her hair was loose, falling around her shoulders in soft waves, and her wedding ring glistened on her finger.
My breath left me in a rush. Just for a second, I couldn’t move or remember how to draw air into my lungs. I had to clear my throat before finally shutting the door against the cold and turning to face her.
“This is giving me déjà vu,” I said as the car pulled away from the curb.
She turned her head toward me, one perfectly shaped eyebrow lifting. “Do you mean the time you threw your briefcase at me and stole my taxi?”
“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t throw my briefcase at you, though.”
Her mouth curved into a small, knowing smile, and my heart did an odd type of double-beat. “Sure, you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting,” I said instead of arguing the point. “I had a meeting run over and lost track of time.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know how these things go.”
“Fair enough.” It occurred to me then that she really did know. In fact, she was one of the few people in the city who knew exactly how things like that went when you were in charge of a company the size of either of ours.
Relief eased some of the tension from my muscles and I leaned back in my seat, knowing I was lucky to have found someone who actually understood my life. “Regardless, I do apologize.”
“How about we both just promise to do whatever possible to meet on time and leave it at that?”
“Deal.”
She gave me another smile, then turned back to the window.
For the rest of the ride, neither of us said much.
I was too aware of her beside me and the faint scent of her perfume on every inhale to even think straight, let alone converse, and I took the time to brace myself for an evening during which I would have to do both, all the while having her on my arm.
The venue was just outside the city, a sprawling estate that screamed old money and discretion. Candlelight flickered along the drive, through tall windows, and reflected on polished stone.
I stepped out of the car first and offered her my hand. She took it without hesitation, her eyes briefly meeting mine as she wrapped her fingers around my own and stood. We made our way inside together still without saying a word, pausing in the doorway for a beat to have our picture taken.
When I helped her out of her coat, my knuckles brushed along her spine, her dress dipping low at her back. The touch was brief enough to be deemed accidental, but if I had to be honest, I would admit that it had been very much deliberate.
I caught the slight catch of her breath at the contact, but as soon as she turned to face me, I was the one whose oxygen supply was suddenly cut off. The gown was vintage in style, nineteen-nineties perhaps, and understated, meant to tastefully show off her curves.
And it did. It really, really did.
For just one moment, I let my gaze rake over her, taking in the smooth curve of her hips and following it up to her breasts.
God, it would be so easy to forget why we were here while she was looking like that, her hair arranged just so over her shoulder and the back of her dress low enough that my fingers would graze the top of her ass if I slid them below the hem.
I almost groaned out loud just picturing it, but this was our big public moment, and it went exactly how I’d known it would. Once I yanked my mind out of the gutter, that was.
The atmosphere in the room shifted when we entered, conversations stalling and heads turning.
Business allies and rivals alike watched us cross the floor, but neither one of us faltered.
Jane’s hand was wrapped around my elbow, our sides pressed together in a way I hoped made us look very much in love.
As I swept her from one group of people to another, I never failed to introduce her, even to people she probably already knew. “This is Dr. Jane Thayer. My wife.”
I emphasized the Dr. every time and Jane played her part flawlessly.
She smiled when appropriate, spoke when it mattered, and held herself like it hadn’t been years since she’d last done this.
By the end of the evening, it felt like we’d walked into rooms together countless times. Like we had practiced.
At one point, as we stood near the bar listening to someone drone on about philanthropic initiatives, I had the absurd thought that we’d leave here, go home, and argue about what to watch on television.
I pictured her kicking off her heels, stealing my shirt, and falling asleep halfway through some reality show neither of us cared about.
To my surprise, I even felt a smile on my lips as I thought about it.
The host tapped his glass and asked for everyone’s attention. A hush fell across the room immediately when he launched into a toast. I hadn’t seen it coming, but it turned out to be a toast to us, the new couple.
We leaned into each other as if it was a developed instinct, smiling as we looked into each other’s eyes while he congratulated us, but then he mentioned her father. “Clearly, this apple fell very, very far from the tree.”
It was brief and casual, a poorly considered joke, but laughter followed along with muted applause and clinking glasses. All I really heard, however, was a chorus of amusement at the Thayer family’s expense.
Jane stiffened beside me, but when I glanced down at her, she was still smiling as if nothing had changed.
Anyone else might have missed her reaction given what an expert it seemed she was at hiding it, but I felt the subtle change in her posture, the way her fingers tightened where they rested against my arm, and I saw the panic flickering across her face.
She quickly masked it, but not before I’d seen the embarrassment at having her old wounds dragged into the light.
Something hot and angry flashed through my chest. The way I saw it.
I had three options here. I could go berserk, stuff the host down the nearest laundry chute, and deal with the fallout later.
Or I could laugh along, play the part, and let it pass.
Alternatively, I could do exactly what I’d promised her I would, which was to protect her.
I didn’t give myself time to think, simply stepping into her and closing the distance before the moment slipped away. As if I’d done it a hundred times before, I took her flushed face between my hands, feeling the faint tremor of her erratic pulse under her jaw.
Somewhere behind us, the host was still smiling, probably basking in his own cleverness, but I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze and smiled that smile the Westwoods were probably going to trademark sometime soon.
We all had it, the slow, gracious curving of our lips that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than being absolutely lethal.
This guy had just signed a death warrant of sorts.
I just couldn’t decide what would die first, his business, his social status, or his membership to every club he’d ever belonged to.
“Thank you for such generous praise of my beautiful, perfect wife,” I said clearly, but not warmly, and then I kissed her.
It wasn’t a brush of our lips or a polite press meant for cameras and gossip columns.
I kissed her fully and decisively, like I meant it, because I did.
Her breath caught, the sound sharp and audible against my mouth, but then she softened, responding as her hands curled into the front of my jacket.
As soon as her tongue tangled with mine, the room faded. The candlelight, the murmurs, and the cheering fell away until there was only her. The soft warmth of her pressed up against me. The way she tilted her head like she already knew how this worked between us.
I kissed her like I was laying public claim, not out of possession, but promise. She tasted like champagne, sweet and intoxicating, and for a split second I felt drunk on it, on her, and on the way her mouth fit against mine like we’d both been waiting.
Shit, I wanted more. So much more. To deepen it or to forget where we were, but I forced myself to pull back before I lost control completely. So instead, I ended it with a softer peck to her lips, lingering just long enough to feel her follow me. Then I drew away.
The room came rushing back in, the sounds of applause, low whistles, and oohs and ahhs suddenly roaring louder than my heart in my ears.
I shot them another trademark Westwood smile, this one all charm and composure—like I hadn’t just upended my own equilibrium—then slid my arm around her waist, guiding her out of the candlelit ballroom.
“I’ve had enough of the public for one night,” I murmured as we walked away from the whispered commentary, prying eyes, and whatever perceptions people had of us right now. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
She shot me a small, relieved smile. “So ready.”
It was nearly midnight when I helped her into her coat, my fingers lingering at her shoulders a fraction longer than necessary. She didn’t say a word as we walked out into the cold night, climbed back into the car, and left that awful fucking embarrassment behind.
As the skyline shifted from hazy glow to towering buildings, I leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Take us home.”
Jane inhaled slowly beside me. “You can just take me to my house.”
I leaned back and finally looked at her, feeling like I was getting my first glimpse of the girl behind the mask. Her eyes were still bright from the kiss, her lips parted like she hadn’t quite caught up to what had happened yet.
“No,” I said, quietly but pointedly. “We’re going home, Jane. To my place. Together.”