“Anyway”—she patted my arm—“if you need a cup of sugar or anything, just call me. I’ll have one of the staff run a bag down to you.”
I hesitated, unsure if that was a joke, and when she laughed, I joined in, feeling like a caricature. I caught a glimpse of William, moving into the house, and stopped. “Cynthia, excuse me. I just saw someone I need to say hi to.”
“Sure, sure.” She lifted her mojito, and there was an edge of annoyance in her tone, as if I had beaten her to the punch of leaving. “Go ahead.”
I moved through the house, ignoring the clusters of conversations that I stepped around. William wasn’t in the front foyer, and I passed the coat check and pulled open the heavy front door, peeking out.
It was peaceful and quiet, and through the twitter of birds, I heard the faint sound of arguing. Stepping out, I eased the door closed, blocking out the sound of the party.
“You need to leave. You’re embarrassing me and yourself.” William’s deep voice carried, and I walked down the front stairs of the home carefully, keeping my steps soft. I paused in the shade of the porch, surprised to see William toe to toe with Harris Adisa, his hand gripping the front of the scientist’s baby-blue collared shirt. They were almost identical in height, though William was toned and athletic, his biceps developed, his shoulders strong. Harris sagged before him, his smile slipping as he stumbled to one side and said something too softly for me to catch.
William shook his head, and Harris shoved at his chest. The men broke apart, and William glanced over his shoulder toward the valet, then swung in my direction. I stepped back, hiding behind the pillar, and held my breath, hoping he hadn’t seen me.
“Get in the car. The driver will take you home.”
I moved deeper into the shadows, trying to get another glimpse at the men, and almost fell, my brand-new sandal catching the edge of the steps. I grabbed the column for stabilization and glanced up, my gaze connecting with William’s.Crap.He grabbed Harris’s shoulder and squeezed, then pushed him down into the open door of the Town Car.
I turned, suddenly anxious to be away from their private conversation and back in the party. While our grilled-cheese lunch early this week had certainly improved our dynamic, I was still wary of crossing him when he was on the warpath.
“Neena.”
I climbed the steps toward the front door, hoping it wouldn’t be obvious that I had heard his call.
“Neena!”
I stopped.
“Come here.”
Come here.He was a man of few words, but they carried the weight of stones. I turned and retraced my path down the steps.
William’s face was dark. “You make a habit of spying on people, Neena?”
“I wasn’t. I—um—just stepped out for some fresh air.” I looked back at the house, the doors closed, no one privy to our conversation.
The shiny sedan passed, and I imagined Harris watching us from inside. I glanced back at William, who settled against the side of a Lamborghini as if he owned it. My tension eased as he sighed, his head dropping back, his strong profile looking to the sky.
“Harris is a little on edge,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, he chose to relieve that stress at this party.”
“He seemed okay. A little tipsy, but”—I shrugged—“everyone in there is drinking.”
“It’s not that. He ... ah ...” He scratched the back of his neck, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was embarrassed. “He’s drunk and beelining straight for any blonde in sight. Waitstaff, wives ...” His gaze settled on me. “Potentially fellow employees.”
“Oh.” I turned over the information, warming at the protective look in his eye. “I thought he was married.”
“Come on, Neena. You’ve been around long enough to know that a ring on a man’s finger doesn’t mean much. Especially not in this world.” He studied me. “I want you to be careful when working with him. Skip any one-on-one meetings.”
I moved closer, crossing my arms over my chest in a gesture that would press my breasts together and up against the low neck of my wrap dress. “That’s fine. To be honest, we haven’t exactly hit it off.”
His eyes found my enhanced cleavage, and there was a moment when the powerful William Winthorpe lost his train of thought. “Well, I—”
I waited, and he fell silent, visibly struggling to pull his gaze away from my breasts. I laughed, and he winced.
“I’m sorry. I blame it all on Kelly’s mojitos. They’re almost straight rum.”
“Yeah, I’ve stuck to wine. And no worries. I’m honored.” I blushed and fought to keep the victory from my features, my heartbeat increasing at the cat-and-mouse game. “They’re a little, uh, neglected at times. The attention is nice.”
He didn’t respond, but I could see the processing of information. It would be stored. Cataloged. Referenced every time he got a glimpse of my cleavage. He’d start thinking of them in terms of being needy. Sensitive. Craving. I had studied personality profiles until I knew each by heart, and he wasn’t the sort of man to go after the slut. He’d want a conquest. A discreet housewife who wasn’t sexually satisfied. One who would worship him while keeping her mouth shut and her knees parted—but for him and him alone. If I decided to take this risk, I could play that role with the best of them.