Chapter 21

I fumble with the black silk, hands shaking as I loop it around his collar. I’ve never tied a bow tie before, and the proximity isn’t helping my concentration.

“I don’t know how,” I confess, stepping back in defeat.

He chuckles, taking it from my hands. “Then watch and learn. It’s a useful skill for an executive assistant.”

His fingers move, creating perfect loops and folds until the tie sits immaculately at his throat. I watch, mesmerized.

“Your turn,” he says, untying it. “Try again.”

I step forward. He tilts his chin up, exposing the strong column of his throat as I work.

“Like this?” I ask, attempting to mimic the folds he showed me.

“Almost.” His hands come up to cover mine, guiding my movements. “Pull this end through, then fold it like this.”

His touch is electric, sending sparks racing up my arms. His face is inches from mine, his breath warm against my forehead. His cologne is making my world go fuzzy at the edges.

Together, our hands create a perfect knot. When it’s done, neither of us moves away immediately. His hands remain over mine, resting against his chest where I can feel his heartbeat.

Strong. Steady. Unlike mine, which threatens to burst through my ribs.

“See?” he murmurs. “Not so difficult.”

I look up, making the mistake of meeting his eyes. They’re dark with something that might be desire or might be danger. With Vincent, it’s impossible to tell the difference.

“I should—” I begin, but the words die in my throat as his hand slides to the back of my neck.

“Should what?” he prompts, his thumb tracing patterns at the base of my skull.

“Get the jacket,” I whisper.

He smiles, releasing me. “Yes. You should.”

I retreat to the coat rack, grateful for the momentary escape from his orbit. My hands still tingle from his touch. My skin burns where his lips pressed against my palm.

I return with the jacket, holding it open for him to slip his arms through. As I settle it onto his broad shoulders, smoothing the fabric across his back, I allow myself one moment of weakness.

One moment to imagine that this is real. That I’m helping my lover dress for an evening out. That, later tonight, I’ll help him undress again.

The fantasy is so vivid it makes me ache.

“Perfect,” I whisper, stepping back to admire the finished look.

And he is. Perfect in a way that hurts to look at. The tuxedo fits him like it was painted on, accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow waist. With his dark hair and those piercing blue eyes, he looks like he stepped out of a James Bond film.

A villain, not a hero. But all the more alluring for it.

“Not quite perfect,” he chides. “Something’s missing.”

He crosses to his desk, opens a drawer, and removes a small velvet box. From it, he withdraws a pair of sapphire and platinum earrings—identical to the ones he’s already wearing.

“For you,” he says, extending the box. “Since you’ll be accompanying me tonight.”

I stare at him in shock. “Excuse me?”

“The gala,” he explains, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’ll need to be there to manage introductions, take notes on potential donors, keep track of my schedule.”

“But I—I don’t have anything to wear,” I stammer. “I can’t just⁠—”

“Already taken care of.” He gestures to a garment bag I hadn’t noticed before, hanging on the back of the door. “I took the liberty of guessing your size.” His eyes drag up and down my body. “I think I got it exactly right.”

I should be outraged at the presumption. At the invasion of privacy. He’s calmly rearranging my evening without so much as asking if I have plans.

Instead, I’m fighting a ridiculous rush of pleasure at the thought of spending the evening at his side.

“The car will be here in twenty minutes,” he adds. “I suggest you get ready.”

He turns back to his desk, dismissing me without another word. As if he hasn’t just upended my entire evening or spent the last half hour making me question every life choice that led me to this moment.

I take the garment bag to the executive bathroom and close the door behind me with trembling hands.

When I unzip it, I can’t hold back a gasp.

Inside is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. Deep emerald green—the same shade as the dress I wore my first day. But this one is pure silk, with a price tag that would cover a month of my mother’s treatments.

Beside it hangs a delicate gold necklace with a small emerald pendant.

I touch the fabric reverently, then catch myself. I shouldn’t accept this. It crosses boundaries I’m not sure I want crossed.

But then I think of my bank account, slowly filling with enough money to give Mom the care she deserves. I think of Diane’s advice: Keep your head down. Do your job. Forget what you saw. That’s how you survive in this world.

And I think of Vince’s hand on the back of my neck. His lips against my palm. His eyes darkening to pitch black when he looked at me.

I start unbuttoning my blouse.

I have a gala to attend.

16

VINCE

The limousine glides through Manhattan traffic like a shark through dark water. Rowan sits across from me, the green dress clinging to her curves exactly as I’d imagined when I ordered it. It’s fucking torture to have it here and now in front of me, to watch my dream take on the precise shape I wanted it to—and to stop myself from touching it. I’ve got my hands tucked in my pockets just so I don’t do something fucking rash.

But it’s tempting. Very tempting. Her eyes, her scent, all of it is calling to me, trying to drag me across a distance that shouldn’t be crossed. Even the emerald at her throat catches the passing streetlights, winking at me like a co-conspirator.

Cheeky piece of fucking jewelry.

And yet I can’t stop thinking about how good it would look if it was the only thing she had on.

“You clean up well, Ms. St. Clair,” I murmur, breaking the silence.

Her eyes snap to mine. “Thank you, Mr. Akopov.”

“Vince,” I correct her. “When we’re in public tonight, you’ll call me Vince.”

“Is that appropriate? I’m your assistant.”

“Wrong. Tonight, you’re whatever I need you to be.”

A flush creeps up her neck, spreading across her cheeks. It’s becoming my favorite thing to watch.

“And what exactly do you need me to be?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observant. Attentive.” I lean forward and capture her eyes. “Mine.”

Her breath catches. “I don’t understand.”

“You will.” I sit back, straightening my cuffs. “Tonight, you’ll meet some of my most important business associates. People who matter to my world. Pay attention to names, faces, connections. Take mental notes. I’ll quiz you later.”

“Is this a test?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Tests can be failed. This cannot.”

The car pulls up to the glittering entrance of the Plaza Hotel. Cameras flash as celebrities and high society figures strut the red carpet into the Pediatric Cancer Foundation gala.