Page 31 of The Unplanned Wedding

It feels like someone took a hammer to my chest, that’s how impactful the contact is. The hum of the crowd fades. All other faces vanish. I feel like I’m walking on air. There’s an alertness to his features as he watches me approach; only, as I reach him, he yawns. And now, it feels like someone poured a bucket of icy water on me.

"Sir. Madam." Jeeves half bows. He flicks Knox a look I can only term as censorious, then he turns a much warmer look on me before he does his disappearing thing again. The crowd around my boss falls silent. All of them survey me and I meet their gazes head on. I have nothing to hide—except for the fact that I ground myself against my boss’ foot.

I wince, then school my features into what I hope is a nondescript expression. I have as much right to be here as they do. Class was a constant companion throughout my school years, but I'm proud of my background in care. I'm proud that I got this far on my own merit, and on my own terms. And not-even my boss’s arrogance can take that away from me. I tilt up my chin. "I’m June Donnelly, Mr. Davenport’s Assistant."

"Is that what they’re calling themselves now?" An elderly man with a receding hairline, and a paunch not quite disguised by his tailored suit, scrutinizes me with a lascivious look in his eyes. And there you have it, ladies and gents. Money can’t buy you sophistication; not even if you come from the posh upper classes.

I open my mouth to tell him off, but my boss holds up his hand. "She ismy employee, and a very valued one. If you can’t treat her with respect, I’ll have you thrown out of this event."

I whip my head in my boss’ direction to find his face is deadly serious.Apparently, he has enough clout to have someone evicted from a royal event? Whoa, how rich are he and his family, exactly?I knew Davenport industries was influential, but that they carry so much pull is not something I anticipated.

"Now, now, ol’ chap, it was all in jest. Surely, you know that?" the other man protests. I flick him a sideways glance and find he’s pale. He mops at his temples with a handkerchief. "I do apologize. I did not mean it that way."

"It’s her you need to apologize to." My boss nods in my direction.

The other man pivots toward me. "I am sorry," he says stiffly.

"Did that feel like he was sorry?" My boss snaps.

I am about to nod, but on second thought, why should I come to this guy’s rescue? He deserves what's coming to him.

"He did not sound like he was sorry," I say in a firm voice. The other guests eye me with something like respect.

Knox glances around, and once more, Jeeves appears at his side, as if by magic. I really need to get tips from him on how to blend in and out of the crowd.

My boss nods in the direction of said guest without taking his gaze from me. "Will you please escort this gentleman off the premises?"

11

June

"With pleasure, Sir," Jeeves murmurs with the faintest note of relish entering his voice.

The man who insulted me tightens his lips. "You do realize this isn’t the end. I’m Lord Foxley, and I promise, I will have my revenge."

"Please come with me, Sir." Jeeves escorts him out with a look that comes as close to gloating as I believe he’s allowed to show on his face. If the Lord came with a plus one, they are nowhere to be seen. The crowds close behind him, and conversation resumes.

The woman with the cock-hat, looks from me to my boss. "Lucky today’s bin day in the borough." She’s referring to the fact that the garbage truck comes around normally every week on a day that’s specific to the neighborhood. The people in our group laugh.

Another man in a black suit and tie nods in my boss’ direction. "That’s the second-best decision you made today, Davenport." He nods.

My boss arches an eyebrow. "Okay, I'll bite. What was the first one?"

The man smiles in my direction and his eyes twinkle. "Why, it’s bringing your lovely companion to the event today and livening things up."

On the way back to my apartment, we're both quiet.

After that altercation with Lord Foxley, the rest of the event went smoothly. My boss didn’t leave my side. Although, he didn’t say more than a few words directly to me. The rest of his interactions were with heads of industry, and politicians, and even a few actors, all of whom he knew on a first-name basis. He kept me too busy taking notes on my phone for follow-ups for me to be awed by the company.

The silence stretches as the car glides through the night. When I shoot him a sidelong glance, it’s to find his head bent as his fingers flick across his phone screen. The glow from the screen deepens the hollows under his cheekbones, and casts shadows under his eyes. It also blends the wicked scar on his cheek with the surrounding skin. For a second, I feel this is how he must have looked before he was injured in action. Perhaps, his features were softer, and he smiled more, and he believed in the future. Perhaps, he laughed more often then and had similar dreams and hopes and ambitions, the way the rest of us do. Perhaps, he was more approachable then. Only, I prefer him the way he is now. I like his coldness. I like his distance. I like how he’s inaccessible when he glances at me or pays me a compliment, it means I’ve earned it.

Those long eyelashes hide his gaze, and his lips move as he reads something. That simple thing turns him from a god into someone more human—although, he’s never looks more saturnine or more devilish than in this half-light.

"I can hear you thinking," he rumbles without lifting his gaze to mine.

Despite the distance between us—the entire width of the backseat stretches between us—the heat of his body reaches out to me. His presence is solid and larger-than-life. It’s reassuring and yet, slightly threatening. If I gave an inch, he’d take over all of my thoughts and my dreams, I’m sure of that.And would that be a bad thing?

"How did you get your scar?"

---