The next week passed in a blur of sex, work, and more sex. When I wasn’t with Isabella, I was busy putting together my campaign strategy. It was a necessary evil, but other than sending personalized Christmas gifts to the voting members, I didn’t have to implement it until after New Year’s. Everyone was too checked out during the holidays.
I did, however, have to fulfill other social obligations. As much as I would’ve liked to spend all my free time with Isabella, the illicit nature of our relationship meant I couldn’t take her to any of the functions I was invited to, including the Saxon Gallery’s big winter exhibition.
I accepted a welcome glass of champagne from the hostess and scanned the exhibition. Usually, the gallery catered to the downtown crowd, but the big names at its winter showcase had pulled in quite a few uptown and international VIPs. I spotted Dante and Vivian walking hand in hand through the exhibit. The supermodel Ayana floated through the room in an ethereal wash of red tulle while Sebastian Laurent held court in the corner.
Even Vuk Markovic made one of his once-in-a-blue-moon appearances, though he didn’t appear inclined to interact with anyone. He stood in the corner, his wintry eyes dissecting the other guests like a scientist examining bugs beneath a microscope.
“Kai, I’m so glad you could make it.” Clarissa appeared next to me, looking elegant but a touch frazzled in a black cocktail dress and headset. She was the gallery’s director of artist relations, and I would’ve skipped the event altogether had she not invited me personally. I hadn’t seen her since the fall gala, but I felt guilty enough about leading her on that night that I’d accepted.
“Of course. The exhibition looks great,” I said. “You and the rest of the team did a wonderful job.”
We made small talk for a while before an awkward silence descended between us.
Our conversations were never as comfortable or thrilling as those with Isabella, but we’d talked easily enough at the gala. However, Clarissa appeared distracted tonight, like her mind was floating a thousand miles from her body.
“I can’t chat too long. I have to make sure the artists have everything they need. Creative types can be quite temperamental.” She smiled, but there was a strange note in her voice. Her gaze roved around the gallery like she was searching for someone before it settled on mine again. A curious resolve hardened her features. “We should get drinks sometime soon. I still owe you a rain check for leaving the Valhalla gala early.”
“Happy to,” I said, though I felt a bit uneasy about agreeing to what she probably thought was a date when I was involved with Isabella. “Let me know when you’re free.”
After she left, still with that distracted expression stamped on her face, I cut a diagonal path toward Dante and Vivian. I only made it halfway before someone bumped into me and nearly knocked the drink from my hand.
“I’m so sorry!” A familiar voice yanked my gaze to my right. “I—Kai?”
“Isabella?”
We stared at each other, our faces mirror images of astonishment. She’d told me she also had an event tonight, but never in a million years had I expected to see her here. A black velvet dress poured over her curves, revealing miles of tanned skin, while black stiletto boots brought her closer to my eye level. She was clearly a guest, albeit one dressed more for an East Village underground party than a Chelsea gallery exhibit.
“What are you doing here?” Isabella recovered first.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“I’m here with my brother. He’s…somewhere.” She waved a hand around the room. “I lost him a while ago, but there’s plenty of wine and snacks to keep me busy.”
“I see that.” Amusement edged out my surprise. Her free hand carried a plate piled so high with hors d’oeuvres it resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “Are you sure you picked up enough food, love?”
A faint wash of pink edged Isabella’s cheeks and the tip of her nose. “As a matter of fact, no. I was just about to get more when someone got in my way.”
“How rude of them.”
“Very. No one has manners these days.”
“A sign of our imminent societal collapse, no doubt.” My mouth curved into a lazy, appreciative smile as I tipped my chin down. “On a less ominous note, you look beautiful. It’s a good thing you didn’t put that on before I left, or neither of us would be standing here right now.”
I’d spent the day at her apartment before going home to change for the event. Now, I wished I’d stayed through the night. I had some ideas for what we could be doing that rivaled any of the artists for creativity.
Isabella’s mock indignation melted beneath a deeper blush. The air thickened with something warm and honeyed before she shook her head. “Shh.” Her eyes darted around the room. “Someone will hear you. Dante and Viv are right there.”
“Dante and Vivian are too busy making moon eyes at each other to notice anything else.”
But Isabella was right. Though we were having an innocent conversation—for now—drawing any additional attention to us would be unwise. Vuk was already suspicious after seeing us leave the piano room together. Luckily, the man never spoke and never involved himself in others’ business unless he had to, but we wouldn’t always be that lucky.
One of the other guests broke free from his companion and arrowed straight toward me. He was the arts and culture reporter from the company’s flagship paper, which meant I had to entertain him.
“There’s an alcove in the back of the gallery, behind the wave sculpture,” I murmured as the reporter closed in. “Meet me there in an hour.”
Isabella didn’t respond. She turned away, but not before I saw the answering gleam in her eyes.
For the next fifty-five minutes, I mingled half-heartedly before I excused myself to use the restroom. Instead of making a right toward the lavatory, I slipped into the back alcove. The exhibition took place in the main room, so this particular area was quiet save for the low hum of the heater. A deconstructed wave sculpture hid the alcove from passersby, making it the perfect spot for a rendezvous.
Isabella was already waiting when I entered.
“I was joking the first two times, but this is no coincidence. You are following me,” she teased.
I closed the distance between us with three long strides. “You have quite a high opinion of yourself, Ms. Valencia.”
Her grin bloomed further, carving beautiful dimples in her cheeks. “But is it unwarranted?”
“Not at all.”
Her answering breath brushed my chest. The scent of rose and vanilla teased my senses, and I was sure even the goddesses of myth had never smelled so divine.
My palms tingled with the desire to wind my fist around those silky dark waves and map every curve and valley of her body—the elegant column of her neck, the smooth curve of her shoulder, the indent of her waist, and the flare of her hips. Velvet and silk, ripe for the taking.
The need pulsed like a living thing inside me, but I kept my arms at my sides, as did she. Sneaking away at an event filled with our peers and journalists was dangerous enough, but trying to stay away from her was like asking the ocean to stop kissing the shore.
Impossible.
My chin tipped down while hers canted up, bringing our eyes together. We didn’t speak. We didn’t touch. And yet this was the highlight of my night.
“I’m tempted to leave before the official artist speeches,” I murmured. “But that would be impolite of me, wouldn’t it?”
“Possibly.” Isabella swallowed when I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I couldn’t help it; I needed some form of contact with her before I went crazy. “But politeness is overrated.”
Good, because there was nothing polite about the thoughts running through my mind right now.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
The oily voice doused our warm intimacy more effectively than a bucket of ice water. My hand dropped, and Isabella and I jerked apart like marionettes yanked in different directions.
“Kai Young and the help canoodling at a public event. I never thought I’d see the day.”
Victor Black stood in the alcove entrance. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight as they roved between me and Isabella. He must’ve just arrived; I hadn’t seen him earlier.
A rope of dread wound tight around my chest.
Technically, Isabella and I weren’t doing anything wrong, but Victor had a talent for spinning innocent situations into tawdry, bestselling bullshit.
“We’re not at Valhalla,” Isabella said coldly. “I’m a guest here. If you’d like someone to direct you to the exit, I recommend checking with one of the staffers wearing clearly marked badges.”
“My mistake. It’s so easy to forget when you’re dressed like a hooker.” Spite slicked Victor’s smile as his attention swiveled toward me. “No wonder you were so upset when you saw me talk—”
I crossed the room quicker than he could react. The rest of his sentence dissolved into a pained grunt when I slammed him against the wall with my forearm pressed against his throat.
“Second mistake of the night, Black,” I said quietly. “Do not disrespect any woman like that when I’m in the room.” Especially not Isabella.
Cold fury wedged jagged shards in my chest and washed the room in crimson. Victor’s features morphed into a map of vulnerable points—the eyes, the nose, the jaw and temples. A well-aimed strike could shatter any and all of them.
Isabella’s presence was the only thing keeping me semi-leashed. An outsized reaction would confirm Victor’s suspicions, and the short-term satisfaction of rearranging his face would pale next to the long-term consequences.
He must’ve come to the same conclusion. Despite the twinge of fear bleeding into his eyes, he didn’t back down.
“Of course.” His voice came out high and reedy thanks to his pinned throat. “You’re right. Surely the great Kai Young is too smart to do something as stupid as fraternize with a Valhalla bartender this close to the CEO vote.” He choked out another pained breath when I pressed my arm tighter against his neck.
“Kai.”
The crimson receded from my vision at the sound of Isabella’s anxious voice.
I dropped my arm and glared at Victor. He straightened and coughed before continuing, “Voting members are real sticklers when it comes to scandal. One of the chief executive candidates for Greentech lost the position a few years ago because of an affair with the nanny. Fifteen years of hard work, down the drain.”
I remembered. The scandal had dominated the news for months.
The difference was, I wasn’t married. I could date whoever I wanted.
Tell that to Valhalla and the board, an insidious voice whispered.
I gritted my teeth. Triumph slowly replaced the apprehension on Victor’s face. He’d hit his target, and he knew it.
“You’re a CEO,” Isabella said, coming up beside me. “So obviously, corporate boards don’t care that much about scandals. Didn’t your car get blown up earlier this year?”
Victor’s face flushed scarlet. The fiery destruction of his Porsche had made headlines in the spring. He never found the person responsible, but his list of enemies was miles long. It could’ve been anyone.
Normally, I abhorred the senseless destruction of property, but I found it hard to summon sympathy for him. No one died. The only things hurt were his ego, his car, and his reputation, not that the latter had been great to begin with.
“Isa!” A man in a linen shirt and pants entered the room, cutting off Victor’s response. “There you are. I was looking for you.”
I recognized him immediately as Oscar, one of the gallery’s featured artists. Tall and lean, with shoulder-length black hair tied in a ponytail and a string of puka shells adorning his neck, he looked like he should be hanging ten in Hawaii instead of headlining an exclusive art exhibit in Chelsea.
He brushed past a surprised-looking Victor and draped an arm over Isabella’s shoulders. My spine pulled taut.
“I’m giving my speech soon. Thought I’d bring you up there with me, considering you inspired one of the pieces.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks. I hate speeches, and this is your night.”
The brewing violence from earlier had dissipated, replaced with another type of tension.
“Isabella, I wasn’t aware you knew Oscar,” I said with a tight smile, fighting the urge to yank his arm off her.
“We more than know each other. He’s one of my favorite people on the planet.” She beamed up at him.
A muscle ticked in my jaw. “How lovely.”
And what am I? Chopped liver?
I didn’t like the jealous, territorial caveman I became whenever I saw her smiling at another man, but nothing about my attraction to her had ever been rational.
Isabella blinked at my curt tone before amusement crept into her eyes. “Oscar is—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” A beautiful Asian woman came to an abrupt halt next to the wave sculpture. Victor had disappeared. I hadn’t noticed him leave, but good riddance. “We didn’t mean to interrupt. We weren’t, um, expecting anyone to be back here.” A delicate rose colored her cheeks.
Next to her, a familiar-looking man with brown hair and icy green eyes surveyed us like it was our fault for interrupting them even though we were here first.
Typical Volkov.
“Alex, Ava, good to see you.” I masked my irritation over Oscar and Isabella with a smile. Why is his arm still around her shoulders? “I didn’t know you were in the city.”
“Ava wanted to see the exhibit, so here we are.” Other than a touch of softness on his wife’s name, Alex Volkov’s voice was cold enough to send the temperature of the room plummeting.
The notoriously aloof real estate billionaire possessed the warmth of an Arctic ice cave, but he’d mellowed considerably since he started dating Ava a few years ago.
We were friendly, if not friends. He owned the skyscraper housing Young Corporation’s New York headquarters as well as half the street where I lived. I regarded him the same way I did Christian Harper, but at least with Alex, I knew what I was getting. Christian was a wolf dressed in custom-tailored sheep’s clothing. Dante had offered several more times to have him dig up dirt on Rohan Mishra and the other CEO candidates, and I’d declined every time.
Dante was comfortable pushing ethical boundaries, but I refused to win by cheating. There was no glory in false victories.
Speak of the devil.
“There’s a secret party back here and no one invited us? I’m offended.” Dante’s deep drawl preceded his appearance around the corner with Vivian by his side. “I was wondering where everyone went.”
“I believe the vast majority of guests are still in the main exhibition area,” I said dryly, wondering how my intimate meeting with Isabella had devolved into this circus.
Then, as if the room wasn’t crowded enough, Clarissa swept in like a storm, her expression severe.
“Uh-oh.” Oscar finally dropped his arm from around Isabella’s shoulders. “I think I’m in trouble.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned.
“There you are,” she said in a clipped voice. “Your speech is in three minutes. You have to come with me. Now.”
I’d never heard Clarissa sound so irritated, though to be fair, I hadn’t talked to her in years before she moved to New York.
“I’ll be there.” Oscar didn’t move. She didn’t budge.
After a moment of silence, he sighed and followed her out. The rest of the room trickled out after them.
I fell back so I could walk next to Isabella.
“You two seemed friendly,” I said. “How do you know each other again?”
Her eyes danced with renewed laughter. “Kai, Oscar is my brother. His real name is Felix, but he used our father’s name as his artist pseudonym. It’s his way of paying homage.”
Her brother?
A wave of shock rippled through me. I glanced at the back of Oscar’s—Felix’s—head. “How…”
Despite his dark coloring, Oscar/Felix was obviously white. Isabella was Filipino.
“His parents died when he was a baby,” she said. “My parents were his godparents before they legally adopted him. He’s been part of the family since before I was born.” Her dimples popped up again. “See? No reason to be jealous.”
Heat touched my skin. “I wasn’t jealous.”
“Of course not. You look at every man like you want to rip them to shreds and barbecue them.”
“If we weren’t in public,” I said, my voice low and calm, “I’d put you over my knee and punish you for your insolence alone.”
Isabella’s breath audibly hitched. “You wish.”
A smile edged my lips, but it was a Pyrrhic victory because not being able to follow through on my threat was as torturous for me as it was for her.
We poured into the main exhibition room, where Oscar/Felix had already commenced his speech.
I slid a hand into my pocket and tried to focus on his words instead of the woman standing next to me. A cool rush of surprise flooded me when my fingers brushed against what felt like a scrap of paper.
I discreetly retrieved and unfolded it. The other guests were too busy listening to the artists’ speeches to notice the way I stiffened when I read the note.
No name, no signature, only two simple sentences.
Be careful. Not everyone is who they seem.
