Page 54 of Use Me, Daddy

I wasn’t about to take any chances tonight. Not with Amy here.

As I walked through the gallery, overseeing a few more details, I spotted her across the room, deep in conversation with one of the curators. She was a vision in that black dress, her confidence and beauty drawing the eyes of everyone around her.

It made something ache in my chest.

With a steadying breath, I motioned to Ivan, my older brother, who was stationed near the bar, dressed in a suit that made him look more like a guest than one of my men. He caught my eye and walked over, adjusting his glasses with that air of casual nonchalance that always belied his lethal efficiency.

“I want extra eyes on the floor tonight,” I said quietly, watching Amy from across the room. “I don’t trust that the Orlovs won’t try something. Make sure the security feeds are secure, and have Sergei check the back entrance again. I’m not taking any chances.”

Ivan nodded, his expression serious. “You think they’ll risk coming here?”

“They’d be stupid to,” I paused, my eyes narrowing as I watched Amy laugh at something the curator said, her head tilting back to reveal the elegant curve of her neck. “Besides,” I added, more to myself than to Ivan, “I’ve got my gallery to protect.”

Ivan’s eyes flicked to Amy, then back to me, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.

“She’s more than just your assistant, isn’t she?” he guessed, his voice measured, yet somehow still carrying with it a trace of amusement.

“Not your concern,” I said curtly, though the truth of his words gnawed at me.

He was right.

Ivan didn’t press further, only nodding before slipping away to carry out my orders. I turned back to Amy, watching as she moved gracefully through the crowd, her presence lighting up the room.

I was going to make damn sure that nothing touched her.

Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever.

I made my way over to her, my gaze never leaving her as she turned and finally noticed me approaching. The way her eyes lit up, the soft smile that curved her lips—it stirred something inside me that I had no business feeling tonight.

“Everything ready?” I asked as I reached her side, my voice low and steady, though I couldn’t help but let my eyes linger on her a little longer than necessary.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice calm, but I could see the faint blush creeping up her neck.

“Then let’s get the party started,” I murmured, and her eyes flashed with excitement before she walked away to greet a guest.

Roman came up behind me, his voice low. “All exits are secured, boss. Sergei’s got eyes on the back entrance, and Ivan is monitoring the security feeds. If anyone tries to pull something, we’ll be the first to know about it.”

“Good,” I replied, not looking away from the guests mingling around the Degas we’d set up for display. “If the Orlovs are going to make a move, tonight’s going to be it.”

Roman nodded, his expression grim. “I’ve got a few men outside as well. No one’s getting in without us knowing.”

I gave him a curt nod before dismissing him. My focus shifted to Amy, who was handling the early arrivals like a seasoned pro. She moved through the crowd with that quiet grace, her dark hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders, the black dress she wore hugging her curves in all the right places.

It was distracting, infuriating, and completely unavoidable. My palm twitched and I couldn’t get the sight of her over my knee out of my head.

I moved toward her, weaving through the crowd, my presence parting guests like the Red Sea. As I got closer, she turned, her blue-gray eyes catching mine, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded away. There was something about the way she looked at me, defiant yet unsure, like she was daring me to take her right then and there.

“How are things going?” I asked, stopping just close enough that I could catch the subtle scent of her perfume—something warm and heady that sent a rush straight to my gut.

She nodded, glancing over her shoulder at a cluster of guests who had gathered around a painting. “Very well. But… it’s the Degas that’s drawing the most attention,” she said, her voice calm but with that familiar spark in her eyes. “I’ve already seen a few buyers lingering. I think we’ll easily exceed the reserve price.”

I let my gaze follow hers to the painting in question—one of Degas’ lesser-known pieces, a striking study of a ballerina in mid-motion, her body poised with the kind of skill that only years of practice could produce. It was a rare find, something that would draw out the true art connoisseurs from among the crowd.

“Smart of you to highlight it tonight,” I said, leaning in just a little closer, my voice low so that only she could hear. “This crowd responds to the classics. You’ve got them exactly where we want them.”

Her lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, though she tried to hide it behind a sip of her champagne. I couldn’t help the surge of pride I felt at her words. She was good—better than I’d expected when I first hired her.

“You’ve got a good eye, Amy. I can see why they’re practically eating out of your hand.”

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