Chapter Two

Here’s the thing—will Donovan fire me for using his discarded invites without his permission? No.

Will he reprimand me? Also, no.

Will he take advantage of my desire to attend these functions and put me to work at future events? No, probably not.

In fact, he’d probably pat me on the back while giving me one of his infamous smirks and tell me how to get a hold of his partners’ discarded invites as well. Donovan and I are two of a kind like that, which is the real reason he keeps me around, not my awesome PA skills. It’s not always easy to find company while walking semi-ethical lines.

But this is my thing. My thing that has nothing at all to do with who I am during office hours. It’s personal and private and sort of embarrassing, when I think about admitting it out loud, because it’s not just about getting free food. Hell’s Kitchen apartments take a fair amount of my salary, but Donovan pays well. I can afford to go out.

I just don’t really want to go eat solo in expensive restaurants.

People stare and whisper. Not that I care what they think, but it’s distracting. It’s much easier to be a solo at a business function. Maybe my plus one is involved in the actual event. Maybe they canceled, last minute. Maybe I’m there purely because of work, and no one whispers or stares or judges, and waiters don’t give me pitying comments, and strange men don’t (usually) take it as an opportunity to hit on me.

It’s a perfect hobby, as far as I’m concerned, and I’ll be damned if it’s taken away because of the hazel-eyed assface who sat at my table, who is the sole reason I’m out in the lobby at the same time Donovan is.

I have half a mind to turn around and go tear that too-hot-for-his-own-good fucker to shreds, and I would if my boss wasn’t looking at me like I’m a lifeline.

I quickly try to make up a backstory. “Uh, Donovan…I’m…” Try and fail. “Hi. You’re here.”

He waves to a security guard then points at me, which…okay. Maybe I was wrong thinking he wouldn’t be mad. He really doesn’t have to go so far as to bring security in.

But though the guard is eyeing us, he doesn’t make a move, letting Donovan approach me.

“Hey, I’m looking for Sabrina. Do you…?” Donovan trails off, and I can see that I misjudged the situation, because it’s just now that his expression becomes suspicious. “What are you doing here? Did you use my ticket?”

“No!” The denial was too obvious, but I’ve chosen my path. Now I have to walk it. “No. Of course I didn’t do that. I just. I’m, um, here—”

Suddenly, an arm slips around my waist. “She’s here with me. It’s okay, Simone. We don’t have to keep it a secret.”

I look up to see it’s none-other-than the antagonizing prick from the ballroom, and I’m both shocked and…aroused?

I mean, I’m not into being rescued. By anyone. Ever.

Especially not by strangers that I want to punch in the face. But his hand feels warm around my body, and there’s definitely some action happening in my lower parts. Even as it occurs to me that this rescue will most likely come at a cost. A steep cost, I’m betting.

And godfuckingdammit, he heard Donovan say my name. He’s going to use it like a weapon, now. I know it.

It takes Donovan only two seconds to size him up. “You’re a Sebastian.”

“Steele,” he says, offering his free hand to Donovan. “And you are?”

Oh, shit. An actual Sebastian, not just someone who works for the company. No wonder he’s so arrogant.

Though, his elitist tone makes my insides turn to jelly. I’ve always known my place on the hierarchy, which is below anyone with the name Kincaid. With a Sebastian’s arm around me, I’m automatically moved up the ladder to a position at least equal to, if not higher than, the man in front of me.

Donovan doesn’t seem to like it one bit.

He takes the offered hand and narrows his eyes with irritation, presumably because he has to announce his name. “Donovan Kincaid.”

If I know him at all—and I do—I’m sure he’s squeezing Steele’s hand extra hard.

Fun as it is to be wrapped up in this pissing contest, I know where my loyalty lies. “That’s my boss, Steele. Honey.” I add the final word last minute, cringing at how awkward it feels in my mouth. “Be nice.”

“Ah, right. Your boss. At that advertising agency you work at.”

“Uh-huh.” I try to smile, but it’s forced because I’ve obviously made a big error in judgment. As soon as Mr. Arrogant—Steele, I guess—put his arm around me, I should have given up the ghost and confessed to Donovan.

Now, I’m on the wrong side of a billionaire battle. Steele is smooth, and apparently at least knows of Donovan, by name, if not by face, and all of that makes me nervous. What will he expect in exchange for this favor? If I’m going to be swimming with sharks, I’d much rather be with the shark I know.

Wouldn’t I?

Before I can doubt myself to the point of confession, Donovan switches gears. “Yeah, yeah, nice meeting you. Hey, Simone, I left my ticket at the office, and I can’t get inside without it.”

I don’t feel guilty, exactly. It’s his fault for telling me to decline his RSVP. “If I’d known you were—”

He cuts me off. “I wasn’t planning on coming, Just something came up, and I need to talk to Sabrina, but this fine lady”—he smiles toward the host who is watching us from the check-in desk—“won’t let me in without a ticket.”

As if to prove her point, she calls out. “Still can’t let you in.”

“You need me to get you in?” Steele offers, as if he’s better at pulling strings than Donovan Kincaid.

Okay, maybe he is, and if so then…hot. (Sigh).

“No,” Donovan says sharply. “Thank you. I just need Simone to try to find her for me, have her come out for a second.”

Something is wrong.

I should have sensed it immediately, but I was too distracted by…well, things that shouldn’t have distracted me. Donovan doesn’t show up at events like this, spur-of-the-moment. He doesn’t drop subjects when he has a bone to pick. He doesn’t speak with the sense of urgency that I hear now in his tone.

He’s obsessed with his wife, Sabrina, but he doesn’t bring me into dealing with her. Something’s up. “An emergency?”

“Not an emergency. But important. And urgent. But not anything to worry about. Make sure she’s not worried.”

Yeah, definitely an emergency.

“Uh, sure.” I look toward Steele, as though he might be helpful, who knows why. “I’m not sure where the presenters are seated…”

“In the front, sweetie.” The endearment rolls off his tongue easier than it did mine, sending goosebumps down my arms. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“No.” If this really is urgent, I don’t need more of his distraction. “I’ve got it.”

It’s not until I’m halfway to the ballroom that I realize I chose wrong, again. What was I thinking, leaving Steele with my boss? If he’s not ratting me out, he’s probably gathering more information from Donovan to use against me. Thankfully, Donovan is usually good at picking up on other sharks, but he’s obviously off tonight. Something’s up. Something with Sabrina.

That’s what I should be thinking about as I head toward the faux stage, not Steele. I should be focused on whatever has my boss in a tailspin. Admittedly, I’m not that fond of his wife—she pulls a lot of Donovan’s attention and always demands special treatment. “Interrupt Donovan from his meeting, please” kind of special treatment. Or “I don’t care if he has a full schedule, I need to see him in my office.” It’s so annoying having lovers in the same office. I have to keep track of her schedule as well as his, think of her time as well as his. It’s like pulling double duty.

Like right now. I’m looking for Sabrina when I should be bickering with the arrogant Sebastian in the Brioni suit who looks at me like he might eat me up and makes me feel like I actually might like it.

Fortunately, the stage manager isn’t too hard to find. “Pardon me. I work with Sabrina Lind—I mean, Kincaid—and I need to get her a message. Do you know where I can find her?”

The woman seems annoyed at the intrusion until she hears Sabrina’s name. “She was here. Checked in and everything, but then she left to go to the bathroom or something, and when she came back, she grabbed her purse and rushed out. Before presenting her award.”

“Oh, fuck.” That’s not like goody-goody Sabrina at all. “She didn’t tell anyone where she was going?”

The stage manager shrugs. “Sorry. Hope nothing’s wrong, but I gotta get back to—” She nods toward the stage.

“Of course. Thank you.”

I double my walking speed back to Donovan, and I’m breathless when I’m back in the lobby, noting with dismay that Steele is still there, and that whatever they were talking about has left Donovan somewhat heated.

Why do I have the sinking feeling that it has to do with me?

Remembering my priorities, I concentrate on delivering the news. “She’s not here.”

Donovan’s whole body tenses up. “What do you mean she’s not here?”

“I don’t know. I talked to the stage manager. Said she was here but she left. Rushed out, actually. Before the award she was supposed to present.”

He’s concerned, and that makes me concerned.

I’m sure he’s thought of this already, but… “You tried to call her?”

His phone is already in his hand. Before he dials, the phone rings. He checks the caller ID before answering. “What happened? Where is she?”

Their driver, Danny, I’m guessing.

I lean in, trying to hear the response. The voice sounds like it’s Danny, and while I can’t make out everything, I think I hear something about an emergency room.

“Don’t leave her side. I’m on my way.” When he hangs up, he gives me the bare minimum of details. “New York Presbyterian. I need you to…” He’s already walking toward the elevator, so I trot to keep up with his long strides while he tries to articulate what he needs.

I try to guess. “Do you have a ride?”

“I drove.”

I’d offer to drive if I knew how, but I’ve always lived in walking friendly cities and never bothered with a license. “I could call you a cab if you’d rather.”

“I’ll be faster.”

“I’ll let the guys know.”

“Yes. And Roxie. Have her cancel her, um…” He pushes the elevator call button. When it doesn’t open immediately, he presses it several more times in succession. “Have her…”

It’s freaky to see my totally-cool-as-a-cucumber boss so rattled. “I’ll have Roxie clear Sabrina’s schedule for tomorrow. I’ll get yours cleared too.”

He nods. The elevator opens, and he rushes in, pushing the parking garage button with as much demand as he did the down button.

“Call me if you need anything else,” I say as the door shuts.

I’ll do what I can, even if he doesn’t call. I’m as dependent on my cell as anyone else, but I prefer the tactile feel of a writing instrument in hand so I carry a notepad and pen with me at all times. Spotting a bench along the wall, I pull them both from my purse and head over to it so I can sit and get organized.

After sending a text to Nate and Roxie, I start a to-do list.

1. Call Danny for more info

2. Order dinner for Donovan and Sabrina if they’re going to be home tonight

3. Order flowers to be sent to home or hospital

I pause my writing when I feel a presence looming over me. A very manly, dominating, arrogant presence.

A quick glance up, and sure enough, Steele Sebastian is standing there, hands crossed over his chest, his eyes pinned on me, as though waiting for something.

I get it. He rescued me once. He thinks I need rescuing again. As if I don’t know how to handle an emergency. “I’m good.”

“Except that you owe me.”

For fuck’s sake, seriously? I’d assumed he’d play this game, but can’t he see that I’m busy doing very important assistant things? “I don’t have time for you.”

I go back to my list, but find it hard to concentrate. What was the other thing I need to do?

“That’s not how this works.” Steele continues to loom.

What I need to do is finish this list elsewhere.

“Not how what works? Your privileged life where everyone falls over themselves to please you?” I throw the pen and pad in my purse, then stand. “You might not have ever heard this before, but I have more important things to deal with.”

I start toward the elevator, but his voice follows me like a dog with a scent. “That’s not how blackmail works.” He waits until I turn back to glare before adding, “Simone.”

Shit.

My name sounds obscene in his mouth, and paired with the predatory look in his eyes, my knees can barely hold me up. See? Using it like a weapon.

I reach out to the wall, trying to remember words and how they work and what I wanted to say in response.

Ah, yes. “Blackmail? You don’t have anything on me.”

Somewhat recovered, I resume making my exit.

This time, he follows with more than just his voice. “I do, though. First, I prevented you from having to admit to your boss that you are here with his ticket.”

Without turning around, I shake my head, dismissively. If Donovan finds out, he finds out.

“Second, I now know that Kincaid is in the midst of an emergency, something he likely doesn’t want revealed to the media before he’s ready.”

I whirl around to face him. “You wouldn’t.” Tattling like that about others in the fold is against the billionaire code of conduct, isn’t it?

Though, the man’s family does own a huge news network and several media outlets…

He shrugs. “I might. The point is, you don’t know.”

This feels like a repeat of the conversation we had when I’d been choking. It has nowhere to go but round and round, and like I said before, I don’t have time.

Before I can turn away a third time, he continues. “Third, you don’t know what Donovan and I talked about while you were gone.”

Okay, he’s got me there. Really got me. He proved he was smooth, and that means that, under the guise of being my boyfriend, he could have lured all sorts of information out of my boss.

But Donovan wouldn’t have said anything too terrible. Right?

Right??

“You’re bluffing.” I finish my trek to the elevator, feeling him hot on my heels.

“You don’t know that I’m bluffing.”

“Well, I don’t care.” I hit the down button.

His arm stretches above me to lean on the wall above the call panel, which is…whoa. Sexy. “Now who’s bluffing?”

“I’m.” I have to clear my throat. “I’m not bluffing.” I can’t even remember what I’m supposedly bluffing about. All I can think about is how slick my thighs suddenly are, and wondering when I can work self-care into my night’s agenda.

“You, Simone, are a bad, bad liar.” God, he’s such a villain. In the yummiest way.

Fuck. I don’t have time for this!

I push the button again, repeatedly. When the elevator opens, I’m surprised by the cart full of desserts that rolls out, and I step aside, stupidly bumping into Steele when I do.

My body shivers at the sudden touch, and once more, my knees buckle. This time, he’s the one who steadies me. He leans in closer. “Admit it, Simone.”

I’m not admitting anything. Certainly not how badly I want to lift my chin and angle my mouth toward his.

I close my eyes, searching for something to anchor me. Something to keep me focused and on task.

Wait…was that cart really full of desserts?

I peek around Steele’s body at the cart. It’s only a couple of feet away—the man who pushed it out, having abandoned it for the time being to flirt with the check-in lady. It gives me a chance to examine it and see that, yes, indeed, it’s a cart full of desserts.

I hadn’t even noticed dinner was served.

I missed the damn steak tartare, and it’s no one’s fault but Steele’s.

Anger gives me the force to step away from his magnetic pull. “You rescued me, but you also” — I put up a demonstrative finger — “let me choke.” Another finger. “Made me get cut by a rose thorn.” Another finger. “And made me miss my dinner.” I drop my hand. “I owe you nothing.”

Without waiting for his reply, I cross to the cart and swipe a dessert. It’s not really swiping since I was supposed to get one anyway, though I wasn’t supposed to keep the bowl.

C’est la vie.

I catch the elevator just before the doors close. Steele is still standing there, watching, a curious smirk on his face.

I lift the bowl. “I guess you have this on me now too. Still pretty sure I come out ahead.” I push the button for the first floor, and when the doors close and the elevator takes me away from the handsome devil, I feel triumphant.

For all of two seconds.

After which I start to feel the tug of regret. Maybe I should have played along. It won’t take me long to do what I need to do for Donovan, and what will I do with the rest of my evening then? I could have made time to “owe” a hot, arrogant billionaire.

Whatever. I hate people.

I have what I truly need to be happy—saffron crème br?lée.