Page 92 of The Billionaires' Prize

I stretch, draping my arm over the back of her chair. Mom raises a brow but doesn’t comment. I can see the smirk behind her teacup. I’m so getting grilled about this later. In fact, I expect my text messages to blow up two minutes after we leave.

Katherine shoots me a questioning smile and I return a confident one. The more I think about it, the more I like this plan.

Would she be interested in a career change? Would she ever leave her family’s business? Is it selfish to want more of her time, to bind her to me in all ways?

Of course it is.

And I don’t fucking care.

I trail my thumb up the back of her neck and give her a ‘you ready to go’ eyebrow raise.

“Just keep us in mind,” Momma says, “if you ever want to switch things up.”

Alex

Fury boils through my veins like lava.

“She probably has no idea,” Gabe murmurs. We’re parked across from the stately brownstone, where I watch the shadows, looking for photographers. A snooping passer-bye. The fucker controlling the drone that took pictures of Katherine and Kingston while they were on the rooftop deck. I’m looking for anyone who shouldn’t be here.

"Probably not," I agree.

I ducked out of a meeting as soon as I got word about the latest photos and picked Gabe up on the way to Kingston’s parents’ place. I’d also sent two more of my team to help Roman in case he needed crowd control.

The sidewalks are blessedly quiet, so I decided not to ruin her dinner date with King and his parents. But my chest is tight with unease.

They looked cozy up on the roof, her hand on his thigh. The drone couldn’t capture their faces because it was pretty dark up there, but it’s obvious who they are thanks to the cell phone shots of them entering the home half an hour earlier. I hope the paps don’t dig deeper and find out who lives here.

I should be used to this by now. The lack of privacy. But it hits different when it’s someone I care about. Someone as innocent and reserved as Katherine.

She doesn’t seek the limelight. She shies away from it. She’s not out there partying, parading in front of photographers hoping to get her picture in the paper, and I love that about her.

So what the hell was Kingston thinking? Taking her outside, unprotected, where prying eyes could see.

There’s movement behind the sidelight windows.

“Here we go,” I mutter. Gabe tenses in the passenger’s seat.

The heavy-looking front door opens, and golden light pours out.

We reach for the Rover’s door handles at the same time. “Stay here.” The order’s out before I can stop it.

“Why?” he quizzes, hand falling away.

I don’t have time to explain how I don’t want pictures of the four of us together. Or that he’s also a target. I ignore the pinched expression on Gabe’s face and slide out of the driver’s seat, merging with the night.

Roman’s there, blocking any potential photographs as he quietly fills Katherine in before she even steps foot onto the stoop.

I cross the street, meeting King’s glance over her head. His brows lift as he looks around, instantly on alert. He moves closer to her, sliding an arm around her waist while lifting a hand to wave goodbye to his parents.

They hurry down the steps and I fall into step with them, Roman on the other side, our other two guys in front and back.

“We’re taking my car,” I say, ushering the pair across the street and into the back seat.

Once they’re safely in the Rover, I do a quick survey of our surroundings. Gabe frowns as I slide behind the wheel, but I’ll deal with him and his hurt feelings later. At least he listened, which is more than I can say for around half of my clients.

Katherine and Kingston buckle up. In the rearview mirror, I see Roman sliding behind the wheel of his SUV and pulling onto the road, waiting for me to do the same.

“What happened?” Katherine asks.

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