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“I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwell,” I chirp in my sweetest assistant voice as I step away from his touch. “Did you need something? Maybe your schedule rearranged or perhaps another round of strategic small talk with a side of ego-stroking?”
The three of them look uncomfortable at my words.
Good.
“Sola, I wasn't going to give Adrian Cross the satisfaction of knowing anything about our personal lives.” His expression tightens. “Especially not in a room full of people looking for their next piece of gossip.”
“Oh, so that was for my benefit?” Sarcasm drips through my tone. “You are so right. Because God forbid anyone in this room know I’m more than the woman who manages your calendar.”
Nate frowns. “Would you rather I introduced you as ours in front of every reporter in the room?”
“I'd rather you hadn't stood there in silence while he made me feel like I was nothing more than your assistant,” I hiss, the words cracking louder than the jazz.
“You think I enjoyed standing there while that bastard insulted you?” Nate’s voice roughens as he moves into my space. “You have no idea how much restraint that took.”
“Then why did you—”
“Because we haven’t discussed how you want to go public. Not with one of us, and certainly not with all of us. And I doubt the first time you want it announced would be in front of a ballroom full of strangers with pens for knives.”
The sharp retort on my tongue dies right there.
Damn him. He’s right.
Jace wraps his arms around me from behind. “For what it’s worth, Sugar, nobody in this room sees you as an assistant. And if we had it our way, the whole room would know exactly who you belonged to.”
Elias’s voice is softer, meant for me alone. “You’re not a decoration. Not for us.”
I shake my head, blinking back the hot, embarrassing prick of tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“Oh no, you don’t,” Nate grunts, picking up a linen napkin and dabbing at the corners of my eyes before the tears can fall. “If you want to discuss how we can address you out in public going forward, we can do that, but no tears. I’m not giving this room the satisfaction.”
God, I hate that he can steady me.
The emotional whiplash leaves me breathless, and a sound escapes me, half-sob, half-laugh. Jace mistakes it for humor and joins in, which only makes Elias crack the faintest smile.
I’m about to apologize again for overreacting when the emcee’s voice cuts across the ballroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please…” He pauses, basking in the ripple of anticipation. “Tonight’s charity gala wouldn’t be complete without our annual tradition.”
The room stirs, laughter rolling through the crowd.
Jace groans and tosses back the last of his champagne. “Another year of desperate heiresses measuring relationship potential by how much some man is willing to spend on them.” He sighs before offering his hand with a theatrical flourish. “Come on, Sugar. Let’s go watch.”
We move toward the front as a silver-haired man takes the podium, wearing the smile of someone who’s made fortunes off other people’s pride.
“Tonight, you’ll have the privilege of bidding not only on exclusive packages but on the rarest prize of all: an evening of someone’s company.”
The room ripples with anticipation as Jace leans toward Nate and whispers, “You think Vivienne will try to get Eli to bid on her again this year?”
“She can try,” Elias snorts, “but she’ll end up disappointed.”
The auctioneer takes the podium with the ease of a man who has done this a hundred times. A white-gloved assistant materializes at his elbow, holding a velvet tray at an angle that catches the chandelier light.
“Our opening lot,” he says, “is a sapphire pendant from the Devereaux estate. Forty-two carats, platinum, with documentation tracing the piece to 1887. We’ll begin at one hundred thousand dollars.”
A pause. Then a paddle near the front. Then two more.
The auctioneer doesn’t rush. He lets the silence do the work, his voice dropping just slightly as the number climbs, the way a card dealer slows down when the stakes get interesting.
