by Nora Ash
I picked up the laminated press badge that came along with the letter, intent on staring at it until I could think up a helpful answer. Preferably one that didn’t include my painful demise. A small, folded up note was attached to the backside of the clip.
Frowning, I pulled it out and unfolded it. On cheap, blue-lined notepaper, someone had scribbled:
* * *
Bat your eyelashes, kitten, and ask him who caters the ball and how old the chandeliers are. If he believes you’re dumb enough to be of no threat, he won’t waste resources going after you again.
* * *
It was unsigned, but that particular pet name made it plenty obvious who the author was.
Evidently, The Shade had found a way to get me off the mayor’s radar.
I could only hope his plan was well thought through, because if it wasn’t, I would literally be handing myself over to the man who wanted me dead.
But I really didn’t have much of a choice. If I didn’t go, not only would I have to deal with The Shade’s wrath—I’d also pass up my possibly only chance at placating the mayor.
And… a thought occurred to me while I was nervously playing with the edges of the press badge. If I had an invitation, I could enter the mayor’s mansion, and possibly go searching for the evidence poor Peter had been after, before he was killed.
In fact, it would be downright stupid of me not to.
Yes, I needed to go to this ball, make the mayor believe I was nothing but a dimwitted blogger, and then find a way to snoop through his things.
The only thing left for me to do was to pray that my dark protector was as good of a manipulator as his reputation would suggest. And buy a nice dress, of course.
When I climbed out of the taxi and looked up at the impressive estate that framed the mayor’s prestigious ball, it wasn’t just the knowledge that I was quite probably stepping into the lion’s den that had my palms sweaty. All of the city’s elite were there, parading in front of the flashing cameras in their finery, and I felt sorely out of place.
I’d managed to find a blue chiffon dress that, even though it clung a little too tightly to my rounded features, made me feel pretty when I looked in the mirror. But it wasn’t anywhere near the same league as the flashy pieces of couture hanging off the tall, slender women on powerful men’s arms as they walked down the red carpet rolled out for the guests.
It took all my willpower to not hunch my shoulders and try to hide as I climbed the stairs to the mayor’s mansion, clutching the press badge around my neck like a shield.
“Name?”
I jumped and looked up at the burly guard with a clipboard and an earpiece who blocked the door. He was eying my press badge, and then scrutinizing my face, probably wondering why he hadn’t seen me at any of these events before.
“Kathryn Smith,” I managed without a stammer, even as my stomach did an unpleasant flip-flop. If the Shade had miscalculated, then there was every chance I’d get hauled into a private room and beaten to death for the sheer audacity of showing up on the mayor’s doorstep.
But the guard simply scanned his clipboard and then nodded. “Go on in, Miss Smith, and enjoy your evening.”
“Thanks,” I croaked, and then I stepped through the doors to the lion’s den.
As it turned out, the lion’s den was pretty darn swank.
Even though the mansion was fairly modern, the inside of the house had been made up in old European nobility style. I made my way through thickly carpeted hallways lined with expensive paintings and sculptures, wondering where the mayor got all this wealth from while the city was struggling underneath him. I also made a mental note not to ask him that, if I got the chance for an interview. Blonde, airhead bloggers did not ask about financial strains—they complimented the beautiful interior, just like The Shade had instructed.
When I finally stepped into the ballroom, the glamour nearly made me step right back out. Chandeliers glowed from the high ceilings with their thousands of beautiful crystals, the panelings and floors were rich mahogany, and in the vast space the entirety of St. Anthony’s dressed-up elite milled around, chatting and dancing to the live string quartet. Everyone from TV stars to athletes to business moguls and politicians, and—
Blue, glowing eyes met mine just as I realized who the charcoal-and-crimson, skintight suit my gaze had been drawn to belonged to.
The masked hero lit up in a bright, teasing grin, while dread flopped down heavily in my stomach. Oh, God.
“Kittykat!”
Lightning.
My face tightened into a tense smile when the hero broke away from the small cluster of people, heading straight toward me. I hadn’t expected him, or any other superheroes, to be present at this event, and I really, really didn’t want to face this particular superhuman while trying to impersonate a semi-decent spy.
“Well, well, Little Miss Reporter,” Lightning said once he stopped in front of me. Despite the teasing smile, there was sharpness behind his blue gaze, and I realized that he was not at all pleased to see me there. Possibly because he’d told me to keep my nose out of this. He nevertheless managed to give my cleavage a good leer.
“You clean up well. Here on official blogging duty?”
“Yes.” I held up my press badge and craned my neck so I could look him in the eye. “I couldn’t say no to an opportunity to experience the famous Autumn Ball as an insider. Everything here is just so amazing! Like, how old are these chandeliers?”
Lightning narrowed his eyes a touch at my chirpy tone, but he didn’t call me out, either. Instead, his smile turned brighter, and before I knew it he’d wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Well, I don’t know, kittykat, but why don’t we go ask the mayor? I’m sure he’d be happy to answer any questions you have about the ball.”
Short of beating at him to be left alone, I had no choice but to allow Lightning to drag me across the crowded floor to the small group he’d left.
“Kathryn, meet our honorable host, Mayor Wilkins, and Elias Shaw, CEO of Shaw Industries. Gentlemen, this is Kathryn Smith, a journalist I bumped into a few nights ago. I’m sure she would love the chance to ask a few questions.”
I felt the blood drain from my face when I stared up at the man who had likely ordered my kidnapping and torture.
I’d practiced what I’d say to him in front of the mirror until I’d perfected the bubble-headed tone, but I’d planned on choosing the how and when. Getting dragged practically by the scruff of my neck like a sacrificial lamb was not a part of the plan.
The mayor was exactly as tall and imposing as he seemed on TV, and his trademark, somewhat aggressive smile was plastered across his sharp features. His cold, gray eyes bore into mine, nailing me to the spot.
“It’s such an honor, sir,” I managed. I felt a smile of my own, as fake as the mayor’s, stretch my cheeks. “Your house is very beautiful. I’m dying to know, how old are these amazing chandeliers?”
The mayor’s gaze momentarily followed my finger toward the ceiling before returning to me. “They’re French 18th century. Miss Kathryn Smith… aren’t you the young reporter who wrote quite the scathing piece on our hero here?”
Right to the point, then. I did my best not to swallow nervously under his scrutinizing look. There was no warmth behind those cool eyes. But before I managed to produce a reply, Lightning intervened.
His hand slid from my shoulder down to my butt, giving it a firm pinch. “Oh, that’s water under the bridge, Wilkins. The girl was just a bit insulted that I didn’t stick around after the interview. I made up for it later that night.”
Thankfully, I could disguise my outrage at his insinuation behind my instant blush, and I even managed a strangled noise that could be taken for a coy giggle. It seemed to do the trick, because the mayor’s piercing eyes finally moved from me to the hero, his posture relaxing just a fraction of a hair. He’d recognized my name, all right, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just from reaming out Lightning. I suppressed a shudder
at the uninvited memories of being chased through dark alleyways like an animal and pressed closer to Lightning, suddenly happy he was there. His morals might have been somewhat questionable, but he was also the closest thing I had to protection in this wasp’s nest.
“I didn’t mean for it to come across as harsh as it did,” I said, smiling until my cheeks hurt. “I’m just thankful Lightning was kind enough to forgive me.”
Lightning made a rude snicker next to me, and my blush deepened at the obvious insinuation. He was so… unbelievably crude! But at least it was working. The mayor shared a slanted grin with the superhuman and then returned his attention to Elias Shaw, continuing a conversation about the stock market that Lightning had obviously interrupted by dragging me into their midst.
I breathed a silent sigh of relief and glanced up at Lightning to show my appreciation, despite his less than savory way of going about this whole protector role he’d adopted.
The hero spared me a short look, his eyes conveying a silent warning before he returned his attention to the two powerful men. He didn’t have to spell it out—if I wanted to keep under the radar, I needed to continue playing the part.
I pulled my phone out of the matching clutch I’d bought with the dress and cleared my throat, interrupting the mayor and Elias Shaw. “Excuse me, sir, would it be possible to hear your thoughts about the ball?”
The mayor turned to me once more, but this time, his expression resembled nothing but polite indifference. “Certainly, Miss Smith. Ask away.”
I began rambling off mundane questions about the decorations, the guest list, and the origin of his yearly ball, all the while smiling brightly and feigning intrigue at the mayor’s equally mundane answers. It didn’t take long for him to make his excuses, leaving me behind with the superhuman and the CEO.
“Nicely done, Kittykat,” Lightning said as I turned off the audio recording app on my phone. “I can never get a moment without Wilkins stuck to my side at these events. Who knew boring the man to death was the answer?”
Elias made a rude sound. “Please, as if you’d willingly give up the glorious photo ops of you two bonding over ‘the greater good of the city.’ You’re as stuck to him as he is to you, my friend.”
Lightning laughed, his eyes twinkling, and I realized the two men were at the very least on friendly terms. Up until then I’d been too preoccupied to really pay attention to the CEO, but the idea that he and Lightning had some sort of bond sparked my curiosity.
I turned toward him, still with the cheek-torturing smile plastered on my face—and nearly choked on my own tongue.
“Well, some of us don’t have literally billions to lean on. I rely on my charms to further the city’s well-being, while you play Monopoly. We both end up smiling for the cameras, shaking Wilkins’ hand.”
Lightning’s dry tone made Elias smirk in an all-too-familiar gesture, but it wasn’t the way his perfect mouth slanted with amusement that made my mouth dry and my heart pound with recognition. It was… everything about him.
He was big—so very big, though the sleek business suit and tie did much to conceal what was obviously a heavily muscled body. His face was perfect in its masculinity, crowned by a shaved head, and I had a faint memory of seeing him in a few news clippings. Elias Shaw. I had vague knowledge about Shaw industries, but only to the extent of knowing that it was one of the biggest players in town. But that was not why my breathing had turned shallow and my ovaries spasmed. It wasn’t memories of pictures that had my body reeling.
My eyes swept to his, but no eerie blue shine met my gaze. His eyes were a dark gray, though unlike the mayor’s, there was a smoldering heat behind them. He wasn’t a superhuman.
And it wasn’t him.
Maybe it was just his size and the squareness of his jaw, and that perfectly sculptured mouth that threw my body off in a big way. I drew in a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. Unfortunately, Elias picked that moment to turn his head, catching my flustered gaze.
A small smile grazed his lips, and I realized he must have thought I was ogling him. Which I suppose I kind of was. My face heated up further, and I quickly shifted my gaze to Lightning, feigning ignorance.
“Why do you come to these events? I wouldn’t think you needed to lobby for any cause.”
The hero scoffed, his hand slipping down to catch mine so he could bring it to his lips. “We must all put on a good front, Little Miss Reporter. And yours is slipping. You really should ask me about my workout routine—or what color eyes I prefer in women.”
My skin tingled where he had kissed it, and I did my best to ignore my already-flustered body’s heated response. No matter how much of an ass he was being, I couldn’t deny that I still found him attractive. Of course, judging by my reaction to Elias just a moment ago, I was apparently turning into some hormonal time bomb. It was disturbing.
“Green.”
“Hm?” I looked up from my hand to Lightning, whose teasing gaze had gained just a sliver of heat. “I prefer green eyes, with just a hint of blue. They make me think of standing in an endless forest, peeking up at the sky through thousands of leaves.”
For a moment I thought he was still trying to help me keep my cover as a dimwit. Then I realized he’d—albeit somewhat poetically— picked my eye color.
“That’s lovely, Lightning, but maybe you want to save some of that fabled charm for the other journalists? It’s a long night, after all.”
Elias’ dry voice ripped me out of my quiet meltdown. I snagged my hand back, leveling a glare at the hero for messing with my head like that, after how he had manipulated my will the last time we saw each other. He only gave me a wink in return, then turned his attention back to Elias.
“Ah, but do the other journalists blush as prettily? I think not.”
I had to fight back the urge to slap the smirk off his face. As much as I needed to play the part of an airhead, I was still inwardly seething after only half an hour of this charade. The fact that Lightning seemed to get a kick out of it made my palms itch to give him a good whack.
“Maybe not, but they seem to be awaiting your arrival nonetheless.”
Both Lightning and I looked in the direction Elias nodded. A clump of serious-looking reporters had surrounded mayor Wilkins and were now eyeballing the hero.
Lightning sighed. “Seems it’s time for that photo. I shall return later. Elias. Miss Smith.”
I watched Lightning’s retreating back, definitely not staring at his perfectly defined butt flexing with each step. It was near impossible for me to get a good read on that man. It seemed like he had been trying to help me keep my cover, but he also seemed perfectly fine with leaving me to my own devices.
Perhaps he was more of a “protection within reason” sort of hero, rather than the full-time nanny type. Or maybe he had some ulterior motive? The fact that he was playing nice with the mayor like this, while calling him corrupt behind his back, certainly suggested as much.
“Would you care for a dance?”
The unexpected question jolted me out of my contemplations, and I turned around to look at Elias, who was holding out an oversized hand toward me.
“Oh, uh…” During all my fretting, somehow the possibility of this situation had completely escaped my mind. No one ever asked me to dance.
“I… I’m a terrible dancer. I’d just step on your toes.”
His perfect mouth quirked into one of those inexplicably familiar smirks. “I’m a strong lead.”
I would have continued my protests, mainly because I had never danced without consuming a hefty dose of alcohol first—and never the kind of slow, elegant ballroom dancing expected at the mayor’s ball—but Elias grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him, leaving me no choice.
As he led me to the dance floor, my hand securely wrapped in his, I had another sense of déjà vu. Perhaps having unlimited funds behind your name gave a man the same self-confidence as having superpowers. The level of inherent dominance certainly had t
he same effect on my pathetic ovaries, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop my thoughts from turning decidedly unsavory. Apparently, my body wasn’t going to ignore Elias’ resemblance to the man who had claimed it so thoroughly.
Elias put one hand on my waist and positioned me against him as if I was as light and lithe as a ballerina, and my body easily shifted into position in front of him. Huh.
I’d never been a graceful dancer, but with this mountain of a man, moving freely felt easy. Only when I saw his responding smile, warm and completely free from any sarcasm or innuendos, did I notice my own lips were stretched into a grin. For that moment I wasn’t a scared or insecure girl, nor a reporter trying to get to the bottom of a story. I was just a woman in the arms of a sexy man, sharing a dance and a smile. It felt amazing.
“You’re a blogger?”
“Yeah. Mainly about culture and that sort of thing.”
“What made you choose that profession?”
There was no judgment in his voice, just curiosity. The way his eyes scanned my face made me feel like he was genuinely interested—which was puzzling. I couldn’t wrap my mind around why a smoking-hot billionaire would have any interest in me, a chubby girl from at least five steps down the social ladder. The warmth of his closeness made me decide not to care, at least for this one dance.
“It’s a lot of freedom. I like to write, which is why I studied journalism in college. I set my own hours and can choose the articles I want to write.”
“So you value freedom more than the security of a nine-to-five.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but I nodded nonetheless.
“And what about you? What made you decide to be a business entrepreneur, Mr. Shaw?”
His smile slanted. “Money. I like money.”
“And power?” The question just slipped out and I bit my lip, searching his face for any offense taken. There was none.