Chapter Thirty
Roman
The crowd of paparazzi and fans is overwhelming as the limo pulls up to The MacArthur. There’s a red carpet that stretches up to the grand entrance, and on either side, cameras flash, and people scream at the chance of meeting someone high-profile.
It’s suffocating.
Charlie puts a hand on my bicep, pulling me back. “Rose goes first. Watch this.”
I scowl at the manager before watching a man dressed in a suit rush to open the door. Rosalie kicks her legs around, her strappy silver heels hitting the carpet as the man takes her hand and helps her stand. I don’t like the contact with a stranger, but I’m too focused on our girl to snap at him.
She’s fucking stunning in figure-wrapped, red satin.
Her dress trails behind her, and the stole draped over her arms makes her look like a goddess—a higher being of light and warmth so infectious that I’m left gawking at her.
Her hair is pulled up into a braided crown on top of her head, and her lips are painted a fiery red as they pull up into a dazzling smile.
The moment she lifts her head, the camera flashes are blinding.
“Now!” Charlie ushers us out of the vehicle, and we fix our suits as we crowd around Rosalie. She keeps up her appearance, waving and blowing kisses as we walk towards the gala doors. As soon as she steps foot inside the building, I release the breath I was holding.
The hard part is over.
“Keep an eye on the back entrances,” I command Kairo.
He nods before separating from us. Maddox is already staking out our table and securing the main floor as I walk with Rosalie.
She greets a few high-profile guests, swapping pleasantries and talking animatedly about tour dates and other charities she plans to attend.
She’s wrapped up in conversation when a host hands her a chute full of something bubbly.
She takes it before turning to look at me over her shoulder.
Those siren eyes of hers are like a beacon, and I find myself getting lost in the deep emerald enchantment.
“I don’t drink,” she whispers quietly before handing me the glass. “Get rid of that for me, then hand the glass back to me.”
I don’t think of her request as I do as she asks.
I knock back the champagne, grimacing at the taste, before handing the empty glass back to her.
Her perfectly manicured hands brush mine, her French tips conjuring a fantasy I can’t get rid of—her hands wrapped around my cock as she strokes me and looks up through her thick lashes with desire.
Fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking of that while I work…
But when she smiles sweetly at me, I can’t help it. All I can think of is smearing that fucking lipstick across her mouth and her mascara tracking down her cheeks as I ruin her.
She’s quickly given another glass of champagne before giving me an apologetic look and handing it off to me.
My mind is so damned preoccupied that I don’t even realize what the little siren is doing until it’s too late.
It isn’t until I see Kairo staggering towards our table that the puzzle pieces click together.
When he plops down beside me, I fight past my inebriation. “How…” I hiccup, blinking a few times. “How many glasses?”
His eyes are glossy and faraway as he slurs. “You too? If I counted correctly… seven.”
Fuck.
Surely, she hasn’t gotten to Maddox. There’s no way.
But I’m proven wrong once again as he nearly trips a server on his way to our table. His hands fumble as he tries to catch the tray that’s tumbling to the ground, but he’s far too damn drunk to be of any help as the server glares at him.
“She got us fucked up,” I groan, rubbing my eye with the heel of my hand. My movements are sluggish and sloppy with the alcohol coursing through me.
Maddox takes the seat next to me, nearly falling to the floor rather than easing onto the chair. “I…I think she gave me…alcohol poisoning…” His head slouches forward until his forehead scrapes across the tablecloth, and he’s out like the lightweight he is.
Rosalie joins us, her head and beautiful eyes just as clear as when we arrived, as she eases into a chair and crosses her pretty legs like the vixen she is. “How are you feeling, boys?”
“Sick…” Kairo nearly gags. He’s never handled his alcohol well.
I point a jerky finger at her. “You did this on purpose—”
“Shhh,” she lifts a finger to her cherry lips, a smirk tugging up the corners of her mouth. “He’s sleeping.” She points to Maddox, who’s drooling all over our table at this point. “Besides, the auction is about to start, and then we can leave.”
Auction?
Sure enough, a man stands on the stage, some cards in his hand as he starts the bids.
His voice rings out at the gala as socialites and celebrities compete for the prizes they want.
Each bid that wins goes towards a cause that’s noble in its own way—women’s and children’s shelters, feeding the homeless, and cancer research.
It isn’t until a particular charity is mentioned that Rosalie finally lifts her number.
“This next prize is a vacation home in Aspen. All proceeds will go to the New Beginnings Foundation—an organization that helps teens who are struggling with mental health resources and addiction. The bidding will start at two million—”
“Thirty million,” Rosalie calls as she lifts her number high. The gala quiets as heads swivel towards our table.
The auctioneer stammers. “Uh-uh, thirty million to the lady in red!” His assistants rush to record the new pricing as they wait for someone to up her bid. When no one else raises it, the auctioneer slams his gavel on the stand. “Sold! To Rosalie Beckett.”
Even in my state, I’m left staring at her in awe. Everything she’s ever faced, and she still chooses to be kind. That money will change the lives of others, but I don’t miss the distant look in her eyes.
Does she see herself in their places?
A teenager who needed someone or something so desperately that getting help seemed impossible?
What was that like for her?
I can’t even begin to imagine what she must be feeling right now—happy for the aid she can now offer, but upset that a hand was never extended to her.
It’s bittersweet and heartbreaking, all wrapped up in one nicely intricate package.
She now owns a vacation home in Aspen, but I know she doesn’t care about the material objects.
She only cares about helping kids who went through the same thing she did.
She’s extraordinary in every way, and I can’t believe I didn’t see that until now. My disapproval of being drunk on the job is dashed as pride swells in my chest.
Even when I have to drag Maddox to the limo, I don’t grumble. I prop him against the door as Kairo gives me a warning look. He’s pleading with his eyes for me to tell Rosalie something, and I know I have to.
As she settles in beside me, I make small talk. “That was very kind of you.”
She tenses for a moment before shrugging as if her act of selflessness was no big deal. “I wish someone had been there for me. It feels good to know I’m helping someone out of the same situation I was faced with.”
Her hand rests on the seat between us, and I take her thin fingers in mine, examining our size difference before I intertwine them and lift them to my lips.
The kiss I place on her knuckle is tender and sweet, but the conviction in my eyes is fiery and full of something profound. “You’re amazing, Rosalie.”
Her lips part, the little gasp that escapes her making for my deepest desires. She stares at me with wide, intelligent eyes before her expression softens a fraction. “Thank you…”
I take a deep breath, my eyes flickering to Maddox. “There’s…something else I need to tell you.”
She tilts her head, those enchanting eyes staring into my fucking soul as if she can lay me bare. Hell, she may if we keep this up.
I clear my throat, the alcohol beginning to wear off. “There’s a reason I asked you to lock your doors.”
“I figured,” she smiles.
“Right. Well, Maddox has…tendencies—”
“Is this about him standing on my balcony?”
My head swivels to her. “He’s been standing on your balcony?”
She rolls her lips in, her eyes widening as she shakes her head. “Nope. Not at all.”
I release a breath, closing my eyes. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry,” she winces.
“I’m just going to come out and say it. He has an obsession with breaking and entering.” I stare at her, waiting for the dots to connect. When she blinks at me, I rub a hand across the back of my neck. “He’s obsessed with breaking and entering and…using someone.”
“Using them for what?” She asks innocently.
Fuck me.
Kairo groans, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “He has CNC fantasies. It’s short for consensual-non-consensual. He’s also into somnophilia, which is where the person is asleep while being touched and fucked. We’re telling you this because it’s worse when he’s drunk.”
Rosalie’s mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ shape as she blushes. “That’s…different.”
“It’s gotten him into trouble before,” I warn. “If he tries anything, just shout for me. I’ll stop him.”
She nods, but as she turns to face the window, I catch the small smirk tugging at her red lips. I don’t know what it means, but something tells me this whole conversation was an open door instead of a closed one.