Chapter 14: Chapter fourteen

Alexander’s POV.

Brandon pulled the car into the hotel’s private valet entrance like he’d done it a hundred times—which, knowing him, he probably had. His hands were steady on the wheel now, but his jaw was still tight. That one comment—you look so fucking good I almost forgot how to speak—kept replaying in my head like a cursed loop.

I didn’t know if I wanted to scream or melt.

The moment the car stopped, a valet was already opening my door.

“Smile,” Brandon said under his breath as he stepped out. “And don’t look so much like you’re being emotionally strangled.”

“Noted,” I muttered, adjusting my jacket as I climbed out.

Flashbulbs. Cameras. Wait—were people actually photographing this?

He appeared beside me a second later, tall and composed and intimidatingly hot. I felt like a knockoff version of him—polished, yes, but still too new to this world.

He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. “Relax.”

“Easier said than done when you’re channeling Christian Grey with a vengeance,” I hissed back.

He snorted. A rare, genuine sound that sent something warm crawling up my spine.

Inside the lobby, we moved like clockwork. Brandon’s hand brushed the small of my back once.

“Mr. Cole, a pleasure to finally meet you,” an older man in his mid-fifties approached, holding two glasses of wine with a practiced ease.

“Likewise, Mr. Rocha. This is my assistant, Alexander Kingsley,” Brandon said smoothly, nodding toward me. I accepted the glass and shook Mr. Rocha’s hand.

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

And just like that, more people started arriving—one after another—each eager to greet Brandon. I half-expected them to come for someone else, but no. It was clear: they were here for him. Sure, I knew Brandon was a business powerhouse, practically a legend in the room, that man could make a bankrupted company into a billion dollars in a minute but seeing it first hand was something else entirely.

The crowd around us thickened, a constant rotation of polished smiles, firm handshakes, and champagne flutes. Everyone wanted a moment of Brandon’s time—CEOs, investors, foreign executives with heavy accents and heavier expectations.

I stood beside him, smile politely glued to my face, nodding at people whose names I couldn’t remember thirty seconds later. Brandon barely looked at the glass in his hand, but the drinks kept coming.

At some point, I started accepting them for him. A new one would appear, and I’d quietly intercept it, lifting it in thanks, then setting it aside or taking a sip if I had to.

By the fifth drink, I was buzzing lightly. By the seventh, I was… smiling more. Looser at the shoulders. A little too aware of the way Brandon’s fingers brushed my lower back as he leaned in to whisper a name I forgot the moment he said it.

“You doing okay?” he murmured, not looking at me, but close—his lips brushing the shell of my ear like it was nothing.

I nodded, trying not to lean closer to his touch. “Mm-hmm.”

He was about to say something else—when a hand touched his arm.

A woman. Stunning, confident, effortlessly elegant in a backless emerald dress. She leaned in, laughing softly, and before I could blink, Brandon turned toward her.

Smiled.

Not the polite, neutral press of lips he gave everyone else. Not the business-only curve I’d grown used to. No—he actually smiled. Wide. Sharp. Fucking charming.

And not at me.

Jealousy punched through my chest like a sucker hit. Hot. Irrational. Immediate.

He never smiled at me like that. Never laughed with me like that. I mean, yeah—sure—he occasionally looked at me like I was a puzzle or an annoying but necessary human task… but that? That was the kind of smile people fell in love with. That was the kind of smile I would’ve killed for.

I ground my teeth and looked away fast, heat crawling up my neck. A waiter passed by and I snatched two drinks from the tray, tossing one back with barely a breath between. Then the second.

I glanced again, despite myself. She tilted her head up at him, smiling back like she’d just won the goddamn lottery. And maybe she had.

God, she was gorgeous. Perfect posture, perfect face, perfect everything. Was she an ex?

I grabbed another drink. I didn’t even ask what it was—I just took it from a passing tray and downed it like it was water. Burned going down, but at least it gave me something else to feel besides the boiling frustration rising in my chest.

She was still touching him.

Every time I glanced over, her hand was somewhere new—on his arm, on his chest, on his shoulder as she leaned in to whisper something with a smile that made my stomach twist. She laughed at something he said, tossing her hair back like it was choreographed

What the actual fuck.

Another drink disappeared down my throat. Then another.

Everything was starting to feel a little slower, a little softer around the edges. My cheeks were warm. My thoughts fuzzed.

Everything was starting to blur. Warmth flushed through my face, my steps slightly unsteady. I wasn’t drunk, but I was definitely getting there.

“Jealous?”

A voice came from behind me.

I turned to see a man with slick blond hair and a smug look on his face.

“Are you his new plaything?” he asked, eyes flicking down my body like I was up for auction.

I stiffened. “I’m his assistant.”

He snorted. “Sure. That’s what they all say before he gets bored.” He leaned in slightly. “You won’t last long, pretty boy. None of them do.”

My jaw tightened. “Is there a reason you’re talking to me?”

“Just being friendly.” He smirked. “Name’s Derek, I’m sure it will ring a bell to Brandon. Say hi to him for me”. Then he turned and walked off.

I was about to head out myself when a cute blonde omega guy caught my eye. The moment our eyes met, he dropped his gaze, blushing.

I smirked. Maybe it was time to relieve some tension and get over the silly crush I have on my boss.