Page 45 of The Forbidden
His eyes narrow, clearly done with my attitude. Well, the feelings are mutual. I’m over this nonsense of him injecting Anais into my life. “Just behave, Evan, and do as you’re told,” he warns, like I’m a child. He runs a hand across his jaw. “It’s her first event, and they can be overwhelming. Just…” he trails off, clearing his throat. “Just keep an eye on her, okay?”
My own gaze narrows. “You’ve never been concerned about the other women working the room. Why Anais?”
He exhales, “Charles asked me to look after her. She’s my goddaughter, Evan. And you know how some of our clientele can behave around attractive young women.”
My body stiffens with his words. Stupidly, I hadn’t considered that. Now that my father has brought it to my attention, I don’t like it, not one bit. I don’t want Anais around those sorts of men, being stared at like she’s a piece of meat.
Then clientele at our events include some of the most affluent, powerful people in the world. But as with many things tied with money and power, there’s often a darker side they like to keep hidden. The men believe the world is their playground and they can take what they want without fear of consequence. And sadly, most of the time, they’re right.
The heat of my father’s stare burns my cheek.
I clear my throat. “I’ll take care of her.”
He nods, just as the door opens and Anais climbs inside.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of her.
Because holy fucking shit, she is a vision to worship in that dress. Though I’d never willingly get down on my knees for anyone, in this moment I’d gladly kneel at her altar.
Awareness prickles my skin, my heart beating wildly in my chest.
She’s stunning. The kind of beauty that can make grown men weep.
And when she smiles at me… my heart stutters, my cock twitches and my blood heats.
Possessive, dangerous… Unwelcome?
And in that moment, I know my father was right.
I’m really fucking screwed.
Chapter 22
Anais
The heat of Evan’s glare scorches the exposed skin of my back.
Tonight, I chose a floor length, backless, halter neck, sequined black dress. It’s perfect for this occasion. Or so I thought. Because judging by Evan’s reaction, I might be wrong.
“Is it a requirement for you to expose as much skin as humanly possible?” he hisses as we make our way inside the Calloway owned hotel, the venue hosting the Maxwell event. Of course, Evan would choose a place owned by his friend.
Jameson Calloway – one of the so-called American Gods, according to the tabloids – is one of the most enigmatic of all my brother’s inner circle. I don’t know him as well Evan, or Parker, but over the years we’ve crossed paths at many events, enough to form a friendly rapport.
The summer after they graduated college, they spent three months partying in the Hamptons, being normal, twenty-one-year-old men, without the heat of the paparazzi trying to document their every move. I was barely thirteen, too young to join their parties but old enough that I understood the drunken conversation between Jameson and Evan. One I knew I wasn’t meant to hear. Jameson spoke of hiring a private investigator, to search for a woman he couldn’t find. When he broke down, I knew I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping. Those words weren’t meant to be heard by me. I slipped away before I learned more, but over the years, I’ve gathered fragments of the story.
Jameson had fallen in love with a scholarship student at their prestigious boarding school. They’d made plans for a life together. And then one day, she just… disappeared.
To the world, Jameson Calloway is the golden, privileged, son of the globe’s largest hotel dynasty. Handsome. Charming. Rich. But look closely and you’ll see what lurks beneath the surface. The haunted look in his eyes that even his all-American smile can’t quite conceal. But I see it. The pain. The hurt. The loss.
Jameson greets Christian, Aria, and Bishop before his emotionless eyes land on me. If he wasn’t my brother’s friend, I might wither under his intense stare. Evan is cold and detached. Jameson is colder.
“Anais, you look lovely.” Jameson greets me, leaning in to kiss both cheeks.
I smile, clearing my throat. “Thank you, Jameson. It’s been a while.”
“Indeed.” His brow lifts. “The Maxwell holiday party.” He reminds me.
“Right. About six months ago,” I breath as he looks me over.
