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The wealthiest in a room full of the city’s elite. In control of more than a dozen extremely profitable businesses that only became so profitable under my supervision. Constantly fielding requests to sit on this board or that—they want some of my magic to rub off on them.
I have a knack for cutting through bullshit, seeing through the extraneous, and getting to the heart of what matters.
That knack, those instincts, have never screamed at me the way they are now. The sound is loud enough to drown out the pointless ass-kissing conversations of everybody describing their holiday travel plans to the sound of cheesy Christmas music. It’s loud enough even to drown out my pounding heart.
It’s not the pounding of fear. I don’t waste time with fear.
It’s certainty. It’s the way my body reacts when I find what’s right.
“Warren Fletcher.” A honeyed voice works its way through the screaming between my ears an instant before a pair of arms wind around one of mine. The scent of a light, floral perfume gives away the identity of the woman distracting me. She considers it her signature.
When all I can do is stare at her like a stranger, she pouts her blood-red lips. “What? You’re not in a friendly mood tonight?” Before I can tell her to fuck off forever, she glances at my chest. “What happened to you?”
Good question. If I only had the words to describe the sense of my life truly beginning. Finding what I was born for. Who I was born for.
“A happy accident. If you’ll excuse me…” Her face falls as I extricate myself from her clinging. What did I ever see in her? A body? Pouty lips I knew would feel good around my dick? I was right about that much.
It’s in the past. All of it. As of this evening, I am a new man.
Still, even as I make the pretense of mingling while always, always keeping one eye trained on the kitchen door in anticipation of my angel showing herself again, there’s no forgetting the plans I made prior to meeting her. I didn’t go out of my way to be here tonight because of a particular fondness for Santa Claus or champagne.
Across the room stands the man I intended to have a word with. Look at him—give the guy a red suit and a fake beard, and Josh Crawley would be a dead ringer for St. Nick. From what I’ve learned of him, he wouldn’t mind a line of girls waiting to sit on his lap.
Only I doubt Santa would get away with shoving his hand up the girls’ skirts.
He’s slime. What’s worse, he’s a shitty businessman. That’s what I can’t forgive. Born wealthy, everything’s been handed to him, so he has no connection to it and doesn’t care if it tanks. He’ll never understand hunger beyond his cheap physical cravings.
He doesn’t deserve what he has. Why shouldn’t it be mine?
He can wait. It isn't like I needed to chat him up this evening, anyway. The only reason I'd planned to do so was to prove to myself whether everything I've heard about him was true. All the intel in the world can't make up for sizing a man up face-to-face. The way my head is still spinning, I doubt I would retain a word he said.
Besides, I can't take my eyes off that kitchen door. Every time it swings open, I expect to see her.
Finally, I do—and she's struggling. My chest tightens at the sight of her walking slowly, eyes wide with a tray balanced precariously upon one shoulder. One of the event organizers gets on the microphone, advising us to find our tables for the first course. I'm only partly aware of this because too much of my attention is focused on her. Where is she going? Which tables are hers?
She comes to a stop, lowering the tray to a folding stand. She's so worried, her eyes darting around like she's checking to be sure she's doing this right based on everyone else's actions. Not much in this world tugs at my heart, and I'm not certain what to do with the warmth spreading through my chest as I approach.
She does a double take when I reach her, her cheeks flushing, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Small world.”
“’Fess up,” I murmur, leaning in until I'm speaking directly into her ear. The scent of her skin and hair is dizzying. “You're new to this.”
“Is it that obvious? I really need this job to go well.”
I bite my tongue before confessing how unlikely anyone will notice the way I have because no one else is glued to her every move. “You're doing fine. Though you do resemble a scared rabbit.”
Instead of becoming indignant, she giggles. I’d talk forever if it meant hearing that joyful, giddy sound. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
I drop into the nearest chair with no regard for whether this is my table. Who cares? As if I'd sit anywhere but where she'll be, where I have the excuse to gaze upon her, the possibility of brushing against her as she places a plate in front of me. This is beneath her, all of it. She ought to be here at my side rather than serving food.
If anyone has a problem with me taking their seat, they're smart enough not to show it. I make no attempt to join in with the conversation at the table, all of which is meaningless, anyway. Winter is my entire focus, my purpose. I need a minute alone with her. I need to find her after this. She'll never serve anyone again—unless I'm in the mood for that, and it's just the two of us. That's another story, one which sets my dick to thickening while discreetly covered by the tablecloth.
She returns to the kitchen after clearing the salad plates, and once she disappears behind the swinging door, I allow my gaze to travel beyond there to the tables surrounding mine. Josh Crawley sits two tables over. The sight of him eyeing the kitchen door as I was only seconds ago sets off alarm bells in my head.
Everything in the world melts away, the entirety of my focus drilling down until Josh Crawley is firmly in my crosshairs. No fucking way. He will not. I’d slit his fucking throat.
“Hey there. You might want to watch yourself with that knife.” Only when the man sitting to my left nudges me do I realize there’s a steak knife clutched in my right hand.
I drop the knife when Crawley gets up from his chair, headed through the ballroom doors. I'm out of my chair, intent on following him. It's about time someone set him straight on his true place in the world and how no one sets their sights on what's already mine.
