Page 33 of Fierce Protector

As we enterthe conference suite, I’m impressed with how they’ve been able to turn what’s obviously a corporate-style conference suite into an exceptionallyopulent event space. I was dubious when Katerina said it was being held on site, but it’s definitely giving fine dining mixed with rich man's playground. One side of the room is set up with a dance floor and tables with more silverware laid out than I’ve ever seen, and the other is decked out with live jazz music and casino tables.

“So, this is how you fleece the rich? You get them drunk and let them gamble their money away.”

A server walks past with a tray of champagne flutes and I take two, passing her one as she nods. “Every one of those chips they’re playing with is a minimum of a thousand dollars, and as we know… the house always wins. However, even the few who win donate it all at the end of the night.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“They get their fun in showing every other rich fucker here that they can afford to lose more than the next person.”

“Clever,” I say with a chuckle. “Who gives the least fucks about how much they can lose.”

“Precisely. Two tech bros got into a pissing contest last year, which ended in the worst display of idiocy I’ve ever seen. One invited the other to ‘take it outside’ and they tripped over each other on their way down the stairs and ended up in the emergency room. On the plus side, we got another X-ray suite out of it because they were so angry at the wait time for films.”

I let out a burst of laughter that draws attention from the craps table. I straighten my spine as I’m scrutinised by a collection of over-educated, under-whelming mengiving off so much small dick energy, it’s like being rolled over by a wave of inadequacy. They may be sneering at me, but I can see the switches flip in their heads when they swap their gazes from me to Katerina.

Their faces light up with a lecherous flare and if we were anywhere else, they’d already be laid out flat on the floor. My skin crawls when their eyes linger on her and before she can object, I reach out, laying a palm on the small of her back before moving it to her hip. I can’t help the firm grip or the way I pull her into my side in an obvious declaration of ownership.

I stare the pricks down, feeling her breath tickle over the top of my collar as she turns into my touch and says, “Pissing on me would be a more effective way of marking your territory.”

“So would bending you over the nearest table and fucking you within an inch of your life, but something tells me the board would frown upon that.” I retort. She lets out a giggle, and it defuses me a little, but not by much. I let go of my grip and gesture for her to lead the way. This is her show, and I’m merely her window dressing for the night.

As the night goes on, I find myself more and more in awe of the woman by my side. This is her natural habitat. After checking in with several board members, it’s like she’s been given her mission for the evening, and we weave through the cocktail hour ticking off each and every big spender. She makes her case for improvements that can be made for her department, but when it’s clear, she’s hitting a brick wall with our current conversationallychallenged millionaire—a chauvinist asshole who’d rather stare at her tits than listen to her speak—she introduces him to one of the male heads of departments.

Once he’s been successfully deflected to Doctor Hendrix, I whisper in her ear, “You’re a better person than me. I was having visions of plucking his eyes out with salad tongs if he spent one more second staring at your cleavage.”

“Just wait until after he’s signed the cheque,” she replies with a shrug and a wink.

There’s a clinking of silverware on glass from the other side of the room, which starts a mass exodus to the tables for the dinner.

“Do we get any respite while we eat?”

“Yes. Cocktail hour is on the docs. It’s the board's turn to inflate their egos during dinner. Then it’s all hands on deck after the speeches.” I roll my eyes when she mentions speeches, but I’m only teasing, and her smile says she knows that. My heart beats a little harder as she takes my hand and leads me to the table. I can’t deny the thrill I get being claimed by her in any small way.

Any sense of ease and happiness evaporates the second we arrive at our table. Glancing down at the place settings, we’ve been seated next to Doctor God Complex himself, Dylan Jenkins. I’d hoped to avoid having to listen to him enjoy the sound of his own voice.

“This is going to be fun.” I groan, trying to inject some light-heartedness into my voice as I point Katerina’s attention towards the place card.

“Just rise above,vecchietto. Be a good boy and you cantear this dress off me later,” she purrs, pressing her lips to my cheek and suddenly quashing every instinct I have to teach the good doctor a lesson in humility. I reach for the bottle of wine in the ice bucket in the centre of the table and fill our glasses, knowing it’s going to take more than an improperly chilled Chablis to improve my mood.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

KATERINA

The white wine turns to vinegar in my mouth when Doctor Jenkins arrives at the table with the most miserable-looking woman I’ve ever seen. Even as he pulls the chair out for her, it’s painfully obvious that she’d rather be anywhere else than next to him. I can’t help thinking ‘girl, same’ and being thankful that Stefano swapped the place cards to ensure that I wouldn’t have to sit next to him.

It was a tiny gesture but one that has me running my hand along his thigh under the table and stifling a giggle when he grabs it to hold it still as he listens to Dylan waffle on about the funding he thinks he’s already managed to secure for the cardiology department. I sometimes wonder if he knows how mind-numbingly tedious he is. He’s got to know, right? No one can be this delusional. He proceeds to waffleon about fuck knows what for a full twenty minutes, not letting anyone get a word in edgeways.

Doctor Hendrix and his wife sit down opposite us, and I can see from the glower on his face, he’s about as happy to be on this table with Jenkins as I am. Oddly, despite our recent run-in over Enzo’s care, he’s the kind of obstinate asshat I can get behind. I have somewhat of a soft spot for him. He’s a prick, but he’s a highly skilled and no-nonsense prick. Nothing he does will ever be to inflate his ego; it will always be in the name of patient care. Also, he detests Doctor Jenkins with a fiery passion.

The table falls into a series of polite conversations that are swiftly quashed by Doctor Jenkins’ constant need to be the centre of attention. As he wanders off on yet another train of thought that should have been an internal monologue, I lean in close to Stefano and whisper, “Do you think he realises he hasn’t introduced his date yet?”

Stefano shakes his head before whispering back, “No, and I can’t even see her place card from here to pull her into the conversation.”

There’s a loud clank of cutlery as Doctor Jenkins drops them on his plate. “Sorry if my conversation isn’t engaging enough for you, Mr Tiero.” His voice is low and overflowing with the energy of a petulant child. The kind you know pulls wings off flies and burns ants with magnifying glasses. There isn’t a pair of eyes at the table that doesn’t roll at him in response.

“Not at all, Doctor Jenkins. I was just distracted by your date’s stunning bracelet.” Stefano responds, leaning forward, ignoring him, and offering his hand to theslightly startled-looking woman. I think she gave up on being acknowledged by her date half a glass of wine ago. “I’m Stefano, a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, thank you,” she says with a sheepish smile and a light blush dusting her cheeks. “It was my mother’s. Alison Carter, pleased to meet you.”

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