Chapter 70 – Pleasing the Boss

I’m barely aware of any of it, because it wasn’t Arthur I spotted. Honestly, I’m not sure I could ID him on my own, but I can identify his nephew. Quite easily. Naked, if I had to.

And there Hadrian is, center of the room with a willowy brunette on his arm.

Not just any brunette. When he moves so I can see her face, I realize she’s Jisella, a supermodel famous enough to go by one single name. Beautiful enough to make any ounce of beauty I’ve ever possessed seem like everyday plain.

My gut pulls with jealousy. I’m about to throw back the full glass of champagne when Hadrian’s eyes meet mine. He holds the stare, his gaze a lightning rod, sending a hundred thousand megawatts through my body and igniting a fire bet**en my legs. Every second that passes, I feel more and more inflamed, like I’ll incinerate completely right here in front of everyone, and that motherf**ker has the audacity to raise the side of his l*p into a smile.

“Oh, damn,” Elvis says quietly at my side. “Is that that Victoria’s Secret model with Hadrian?”

Way to r*b it in.

“Pretty sure it is.” Lucky him, he’s about to meet her because next thing I know, Hadrian is heading in our direction, bringing his model/date with him.

“Glad to see you both made it. Elvis, Brystin.” Smoothly, without introducing us to his companion, Hadrian takes the champagne out of my hand and gives it to Elvis, who is still holding a glass of his own. “You won’t mind taking care of this, will you? I need to steal her.”

And like that, Hadrian abandons his bombshell date with my husband, and guides me away from them with his hot hand at my lower back, his long fi**gers connecting with the bare skin at the cutout on one side of my dress. My body is a traitor, wanting to p**ss into his touch despite my head yelling to step away from the assHadrian. My ch*st tightens, trying to protect my fragile heart, and still, I’m pretty sure that if he’s taking me to find the nearest bedroom, I won’t put up a fight.

But Hadrian steers us toward the crowd, rather than away. With his free hand, he waves at someone who looks slightly familiar across the room—a state senator, I think—and seems to gesture that we’re headed that way.

So it’s all about work then. Which is good, since I don’t seem to have a functioning survival instinct. I’m pissed at myself for not feeling more relieved.

Then, with his eyes still pinned on our destination, he moves his mouth near my ear. “You wore it. I knew it would look stunning.”

The low timbre of his voice, the volume just above a whisper, sends as much of a thrill through my system as the words themselves.

I refuse to let him see their effect on me. “It’s perfect. Thank you,” I say coldly.

“You’re welcome.” One of the most common phrases in the English language, and he makes it sound like sin.

He makes no effort to continue the conversation, but I swear I feel the same anxious energy rolling off of him that’s rolling off of me. I should let it be. Act like I’m immune to the force field surrounding us.

“I thought you didn’t bring dates to these things.” Oh, for f**k’s sake. Why am I like this?

He chuckles with smug satisfaction. “Jealous?”

I pause our gait to turn to him. “Of someone else who isn’t special to you?”

His smile tightens into pursed l*ps, and I feel him battling an impulse to say something.

Before he can speak, we’re interrupted by the flash of a bulb. The hired photographer taking candids, fortunately, not of us, but of a trio nearby.

The distraction silences whatever Hadrian had been about to say. No surprise, he’s better at keeping his mouth shut than I am. Probably because he doesn’t care if I’m wounded—I don’t matter enough to him for that. Instead, he returns his hand to my back and directs me to the waiting politician. “Senator, I have someone you should meet.”

The next hour is more of the same. Hadrian escorting me around the room until I’ve met everyone he deems important, me pretending that it’s just another part of my job and that I’m not queasy and heartsick inside. Shockingly, I’m good enough at what I do to turn on the charm. It helps that several of the people I meet already know who I am, have already tuned into the show. It’s the most surreal experience to be validated in my career while simultaneously battling tumultuous emotions.

Will this be how it is from now on? Will I never get to enjoy the fruits of my success because I’ll always have this history with Hadrian?

I try not to think about it too much, and when dinner is announced, I gratefully excuse myself from Hadrian’s arm to go sit with Elvis, who has already found our place cards.

“How did it go?” he asks, and I wonder for half a second if he understands my inner turmoil. But then he adds, “The governor seems to have been truly beguiled. I’ve never been so proud to call you my wife.”

“Have you ever been proud to call me your wife?” It comes out so fast, I don’t have time to stop it. Perhaps it’s something that needs saying, but this isn’t the time, and I know that.

Fortunately, Elvis doesn’t detect the snark in my tone and seems to take it as a need for reassurance. “I’ve had faith in you longer than you’ve had faith in yourself. Yes. I’ve always been proud of you.”

When it served him, anyway.

“But especially now,” he says louder, cupping my cheek with his hand, in an unusual display of affection. “You are my queen, sweet girl.”

I don’t realize the words and gesture aren’t meant only for me, until I turn to discover that the person who sat down at my other side is Hadrian. His not-so-subtle attempt to claim me with praise is both patronizing and demeaning, but I’m too thrown off by Hadrian’s reappearance to care.

And with him is Jisella, of course, because she’s his date, even if he’s barely given her the time of day since we’ve arrived.

I suppose that most of the women he’s with understand that he will never give them his full attention. I should have known too, but stupid me, I threw away the memo.

“Oh, you’re sitting with us. Awesome. Wow.” I take a large sip of my wine, praying Hadrian doesn’t burst into some diatribe about the particular variety of grape in this specific bottle because I just decided I’m going to do my best to pretend he doesn’t exist, and that’s harder when he’s talking directly to me.

He picks up the place card next to me and shows that it says his name. “I suppose Evangeline wanted to be sure we got to dine with people we felt comfortable around.”

Hahaha. I feel anything but comfortable at the moment.

“That’s nice,” I say, then bite into my salad to discourage a continuance of the conversation.

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