Page 128 of Guarded King

I’ve only been waiting out front for a minute when a dark car pulls up and the back window lowers, revealing Sophie, who waves excitedly. “You look stunning,” she says as I slip in beside her. “When you said you didn’t need to buy a dress, I didn’t realize it was because you already owned something like this. Who’s your secret sugar daddy and does he have a brother?”

She laughs at her own joke, and I do my best to join in, even as guilt swirls in my stomach. What will she think when she finds out? What will Roman’s brothers think? The other employees of the King Group? That I’m a gold digger? That I’m like Katherine, just out to get a ring from any rich man who offers?

My heart sinks. I haven’t put any thought into that issue until now. I’ve been too busy worrying about the risk to my job and what it could mean for Dad and me to think about the personal implications.

I let out a slow breath. I don’t want to dwell on that tonight. Not when I’m about to have a fun night out with my friend.

“Your dress is gorgeous too,” I tell Sophie. “The red looks incredible on you.”

“Oh, this old thing?” She grins as she smooths her hands over the silk chiffon. “I found it on sale a while ago, and I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to wear it.”

The driver heads toward the King International Hotel where the gala is being held, navigating through traffic with ease. To distract myself from my nerves, I ask Sophie to tell me more about what to expect tonight.

She fills me in on her experience at previous galas, and before I know it, we’ve pulled up outside the hotel where a red carpet has been rolled out and people are milling around, holding cameras. I frown in confusion as I take them in. From what I can tell, they’re not taking photographs of the people walking inside.

“The real VIPs won’t come until later,” Sophie says, as if she can read my mind. “The photographers are just getting into position, but they’re not really interested in little old you and me.”

“Makes sense.”

That means Roman won’t be here yet. Knowing that eases the butterflies. I can check the place out, get comfortable, and maybe have a glass of champagne before he and his family arrive.

It doesn’t take long to make our way inside. From the top of the stairs, I have the perfect view of the hotel’s grand ballroom, which is aglow with chandeliers reflecting warmly off all the crystal and marble.

I hold my dress up carefully as we descend, not wanting to punctuate my grand entrance by tumbling down the stairs.

Once we’ve made it safely to the ballroom floor, Sophie leads me straight to the bar, and we both order champagne. Then we stand back and I take a good look around.

This year’s gala aims to raise funds for urban renewal projects that focus on revitalizing underdevelopedneighborhoods and supporting local arts and education programs within the city.

One end of the huge room is filled with tables, all with delicately sculpted metal centerpieces made to look like urban buildings, with plants and flowers spilling out from the rooftops—a nod to the green roofs that the King Group now incorporates in many of its developments.

At the other end of the room, a wall has been set up to display digital art installations, many of which feature images of urban landscapes and some of the King Group’s projects morphing from blueprints to finished buildings.

Sophie and I wander to the auction table first and survey the items that guests will bid on later. Many,manyof them are eye-wateringly expensive: a private island getaway in the Maldives, an all-inclusive expedition to Antarctica aboard a luxury vessel, a private dinner cooked by a celebrity chef, and a zero-gravity flight experience. There’s even a day at a racetrack, complete with time behind the wheel of the world’s fastest supercars. I can’t even imagine how much these kinds of experiences will go for.

Then there’s the memorabilia. Signed items from celebrities, including an electric guitar signed by Tex McLain, famed lead guitarist of the band Fractured, and a script signed by A-list actor Declan Monroe.

My favorite items are the original artworks—paintings and sculptures by both renowned and emerging artists from across the city. It’s impossible not to picture one of Dad’s paintings hanging here, fitting in beautifully with the others.

Maybe one day.

While we’ve been browsing, the room has been slowly filling. The crowd is a mix of King Group executives, celebrities, politicians, and well-known philanthropists. Scattered among them are several other King Group employees. Samson, Cole’sassistant, is here with his girlfriend. We stop and chat with them for a while. A few more people I recognize from around the building join us, and soon, a little group of us has formed near where the trays of finger food are being brought out.

Despite the lively conversation around me, I’m on high alert, waiting for my first glimpse of Roman.

I sense him before seeing him. Maybe awareness of his arrival has been transmitted through the crowd—he is the CEO of tonight’s hosting organization after all—or maybe my body has somehow attuned itself to his. Either way, when I steal a glimpse over my shoulder, his wolf-gray eyes are fixed on me.

Even from across the room, the intensity of his stare draws me in, as if for the briefest of moments, the people around us cease to exist.

Then his brothers join him and guests approach, hands stretched out to shake theirs. When our connection is broken, I turn back around, hoping no one caught me staring at my boss like a lovesick teenager.

No such luck. Sophie bumps me with her elbow and waggles her brows as she mouthsexploding panties. A laugh escapes before I can stop it. It’s true. And the vision of Roman in a tuxedo is burned into my brain. Black jacket stretching across wide shoulders, making him look even taller and broader than usual. Crisp white shirt molding to his chiseled chest. Black bow tie perfectly affixed around the base of his throat.

It’s almost hard to believe that I’m going home with him tonight. Until then, I have to focus on not staring at him and panting.

It’s more challenging than it should be.

The two of us spend the next forty-five minutes circling each other. Every few minutes, our eyes meet. No matter who we’re talking to, our gazes are pulled together like magnets.

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