“That was so much better.” I’m being sarcastic, obviously. “I don’t have a date for tonight since I’m on duty and your mother would prefer that I avoid distractions that aren’t you and Armstrong.
“Oh. Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”
“It didn’t seem relevant. Also it annoys me to have to say that out loud.” I roll my eyes. “I need to get back to Gwendolyn. She was rather insistent you have a date.” My stomach twists at the thought of another woman on Lincoln’s arm tonight, even if it’s just for appearances.
“Screw that. I’m not bringing a date to appease my mother. I’m going with you. End of story. I’ll call her and tell her myself if you think she’s going to give you a hard time about it. It’s not like either of you can force me to bring someone.”
“First of all, we’ve already established that what’s going on between us has to stay between us. You bringing me as your date is the exact opposite of keeping it a secret, so I can’t be your plus-one. Bringing someone else will actually be helpful.” I choke out the last part.
Lincoln plants his fists on the counter. “Helpful how?”
“Have you seen the pictures people have taken of us lately? They’re intimate. It would help if people thought you were dating.”
“How would that be helpful? And who cares if I’m dating?”
“It’s good for your public image.” I lean against the edge of the counter.
Lincoln’s expression is pinched. “So you’re encouraging me to take the former cheerleader with the natural breasts to this event? Is that it?”
I avoid a direct answer. “You need to have a date.”
“And you’re okay with me bringing some woman my mother approved because her family has a decent bankroll so we can boost my fucking likes or whatever?”
“It makes you relatable.”
He rounds the counter until he’s right in my personal space. “You’re not answering my question. Tell me you’re okay with me bringing someone else to this event.”
My voice wavers with my reply. “I understand why Gwendolyn is so insistent about it. It’s a logical strategy.”
“I don’t care about strategy, Wren. I want you to tell me you’ll be fine with my arm wrapped around someone else. Because that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Photo ops with someone who looks good on my arm.”
“I—” I grit my teeth as the image of that brunette pops into my head.
Lincoln’s dark expression lights up with a menacing smile. “Tell me you’ll hate every minute of it.”
“Of course I’ll hate every minute of it, but Gwendolyn wants you to have a date, and if you don’t pick one, I’m sure she’ll line someone up for you, whether you like it or not.”
“No, she won’t because I won’t let her. If you can’t be my date, I’m not bringing one. I’ll tell her I don’t need the distraction since I already have enough of those as it is.”
“But—”
“Stop arguing with me.” Lincoln’s mouth covers mine, ending the conversation.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved that he’s refusing a date, even if it would look better for us if he had one.
Surprisingly, Gwendolyn is not nearly as upset about Lincoln’s lack of date as I anticipated. She says something about it probably being for the best, all things considered. Whatever that means.
Despite my protest that we should arrive separately at the event, Lincoln insists we take one car. That way he can review his speech again on the way. When he stumbles on a word, he lifts a hand to his hair, and I have to smack it away before he can mess it up since it’s been styled with product.
“I really hope I don’t mess this up tonight.” he says, then starts the whole thing from the beginning again.
“You’ll be fantastic,” I assure him. “It’s only five minutes. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“I know.” He taps his fingers on the armrest. “This whole event is just … not really my thing. I don’t do tuxedos and five hundred dollar a plate dinners.”
“It’s not for nothing, Linc. It’s a fundraiser for a brand new wing in the NICU, and support for families who need it. I know you’re used to projects with more tangible, visible results, but you’re still supporting something that’s going to help a lot of people. Even though you believe your family is hosting it for the wrong reasons, your intentions are pure.” I put a hand on his knee and squeeze. “You need to approach it from your own moral standpoint, Lincoln. You would do this for the right reasons, so stand behind those.”
He slips his fingers between mine. “Is your lipstick the kind that rubs off?”
“What?” I thought I’d done a great job at giving him a pep talk, and he’s asking about my lipstick again. “Are you seriously still on this? It’s not red.”
“Is it or isn’t it the kind that rubs off?”
“It doesn’t rub off, but I have to eat dinner and pose for pictures. I can’t—”
His mouth covers mine, tongue sweeping inside, softly, tenderly. After a few long seconds he pulls back and trails gentle fingers along my cheek. “I don’t know how every man who crosses your path doesn’t fall in love with you. Everything about you is incredible.”
I laugh, embarrassed. “I don’t know about that.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t dismiss the compliment, Wren. I have a lot of words I want to say, but I’m pretty sure none of them are appropriate at this very moment, so I’m going to leave it at you being incredible and me being lucky enough to have captured your attention. Also, you look stunning tonight. And if you don’t have plans, I’d like it if you spent the weekend with me.”
“You’re kind of all over the place right now, aren’t you?” I smooth out his lapels, even though they don’t need it.
“Yes, I am, but I meant what I said, and I’d really like it if you said yes to spending the weekend. It would make the rest of this night a lot easier to manage.”
“This seems an awful lot like coercion.”
“You can call it that if you want. I’m sure it will give us something to argue about later.”
I chuckle. “I’d love to spend the weekend with you. We’ll have to stop by my place at some point, though, since this isn’t exactly casual wear.” I motion to my simple black dress.
“Or you could spend the weekend naked.”
“What if I get chilly?”
“You can wear one of my T-shirts.”
“What if someone happened to catch me getting out of your car on Sunday wearing this dress?”
“Hmm. You make a good point.” He taps his lip. “I guess it would be nice to see your place. We could spend a night there if you want. We can make that fantasy you have about me screwing you senseless on your kitchen counter a reality.”
“I don’t have a kitchen-counter fantasy.” Although, it’s not a half-bad idea.
“You do now.” He winks.
Our conversation is put on hold when the car pulls up in front of the hotel. Media already line the entryway, which of course, makes sense. Lincoln’s easy mood quickly fades. “That’s a lot of cameras.”
“You’ll be fine. Just smile and be your charming self.”
“I think I’m only charming when I’m making you come.”
“You’re far more charismatic than you give yourself credit for, although you are particularly enchanting when you’re giving me an orgasm.” I pat his cheek.
The driver opens the door, and Lincoln exits the vehicle first. Cameras flash, and Lincoln looks like he’s debating whether or not he wants to get right back in the car and go home. I slide over, and he offers his hand. He attempts to pull me in when there are photo ops, but I give him a warning smile and tell him I need to take a few pictures. I’m mindful not to fuss over him, considering how the tabloids have been spinning those kinds of images lately.
He keeps reaching for me as we make our way into the hotel, and I have to elbow him more than once and remind him to keep it f
riendly and professional. He shoots me a purse-lipped, displeased smile but backs off.
Despite his nerves, he’s charming and articulate. People express their sympathy over the loss of his father, and while I can sense his tension, no one else seems to pick up on it. I introduce him to my parents, who are chatting with a group of local politicians. As expected, Lincoln is eloquent, and my father is his charismatic self, asking Lincoln all about his pursuits in Guatemala.
Photographers request pictures, as is typical at these events. My father insists that Lincoln join us for a few of them. They’ll be great for social media, both Lincoln’s and my father’s, so I make sure to take a few of my own so I can post them during speeches.
My parents are pulled into another discussion, and Lincoln bends to speak against my ear. I’m hyperaware every time he gets too close, worried about all the cameras and the attention he’s getting tonight. I feel transparent, as if it’s written all over my face that I’ve slept with him. I’m about to remind him, again, of how we need to be careful how we appear in photos, when Lincoln turns to address a huge man with dark hair and the same icy blue eyes as Lincoln. “Hey, cousin! It’s good to see you under better circumstances.”
Now, Lincoln is a gorgeous man. He has the kind of features that take your breath away. The man he’s currently talking to looks like he was carved out of marble and brought to life. I remember seeing him at the funeral, but I’d been too busy keeping tabs on Armstrong at the time to be able to pay much attention.
Beside him is a woman who looks like a human Barbie doll, but not in the sense that she’s plastic. She’s incredibly elegant and poised with long, wavy blond hair and a flawless face I recognize.
The human Adonis grins and pulls Lincoln in for one of those manly hugs with a hearty back pat. I can definitely see the family resemblance between Lincoln and his cousin.
“Wren, this is my cousin Lexington and Amalie.” Now I know the name. She’s Armstrong’s ex-wife, or ex-whatever since their marriage lasted only a handful of hours. “Lex, Amalie, this is Wren, she’s my—”
I cut in, before Lincoln says something that could cause more problems than good. “I manage Lincoln’s PR and make sure he doesn’t wear ripped jeans to fundraising galas,” I say with a smile.
“And here I thought Linc actually had a date.” Lexington takes my hand in his. They’re huge, like the rest of him.
“Going solo, tonight,” Lincoln says tightly, but I can feel his eyes on me, and Lexington gives him a questioning look.
A small dark-haired woman pushes her way between Amalie and Lexington. “You two need at least six inches between you at all times, otherwise you’re at risk of spontaneous humping.” She hands Amalie a glass of champagne and then finally notices Lincoln and I.
We go through another round of introductions, and I meet Ruby, the petite brunette, and her husband, Bancroft, who is the youngest of the Mills brothers, but amazingly is bigger than Lexington.
While Lincoln catches up with his cousins, I chat with the women. Amalie works for Williams Media and Ruby performs on Broadway. They’re fun women, the kind I wouldn’t mind sharing a table with. Unfortunately, we have assigned seating, and they’re two tables over from us.
Based on the place cards, Lincoln and I are seated with his mother, a couple who are huge contributors to the foundation we’re raising money for tonight, Armstrong, and someone named Jordan Cromwell. I don’t know why that name is familiar. Maybe it’s an associate of some kind. Armstrong is already seated and based on the place cards, I’m supposed to sit between them, Lincoln switches mine with Jordan’s, who maybe isn’t here yet, pulls out my chair, and takes the seat beside me, leaving the one between him and his brother empty.
Armstrong gives him the eye, but doesn’t comment. Although he does start muttering about Lex and Amalie and how he can’t believe they’re attending the event. Lincoln gives him an incredulous look. “They own the hotel, and Amalie does charity work for the hospital. Of course they’re going to be here. If you don’t like it, you know where the door is, and if I find out you so much as breathed in Amalie’s direction, I’ll be the one holding your arms behind your back while Lex gives you another black eye and a broken nose.”
“Boys, no fighting,” Gwendolyn says sternly as she slips into the seat across the table. “You’re the center of everyone’s attention. People are watching and they’ll notice dissension.”
I squeeze Lincoln’s thigh under the table. He leans in and whispers, “If I survive tonight without committing a crime, it’ll be a miracle.”
I turn my head until my lips are at his ear. “As long as it’s not an indecent exposure charge, we can get you off.”
He chuckles and says quietly, “Give me a few hours and I’ll be getting off all right.”
Gwendolyn smiles tightly, although that’s pretty much the only way she can smile. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Nothing I care to share,” Lincoln says with a smile.
I kick him in the shin. “I was telling Lincoln about the time my dad took me to my first gala event like this. My mother couldn’t go, so I attended instead. I was only fourteen, and I felt like a total princess.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” Gwendolyn continues to smile. “Unfortunately, Lincoln didn’t have much of an opportunity to attend these kinds of events in his youth. He was very focused on his studies from a young age. Penelope thought a private boarding school would be best for him, so he would be challenged. At least now you’re doing something of value with all of that education, isn’t that right, Lincoln?”
“I was doing something of value before I came back to New York,” Lincoln says coldly.
“I’ve been doing something of value for years, but apparently it’s not enough,” Armstrong gripes.
“Sticking your dick in everything that moves is not something of value,” Lincoln snaps.
“Lincoln!” Gwendolyn looks like her eyeballs are about to pop out of her head and roll onto her bread plate.
“Do I need to sit between the two of you?” I cut in.
“No!” Lincoln and Armstrong say at the same time.
I grace them with my don’t-push-me smile. “Then let’s practice what we learned in kindergarten. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
The bickering stops, thankfully, since a woman approaches the table. And suddenly I know why the name is familiar. She’s the vetted interior designer from the profiles Gwendolyn provided for Lincoln.
She’s wearing a very pretty, formfitting green dress that matches her eyes and complements her hair. “Hi.” She waves at the table. “It looks like I’m supposed to be sitting at this table tonight. I hope that’s okay.” She eyes the empty seat between Lincoln and Armstrong.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lincoln mumbles so only I can hear.
She rounds the table. “Oh yes! Here I am. Jordan.” She has a bubbly personality, and I’m sure she’s quite nice, but considering it’s obvious Gwendolyn took matters into her own hands where Lincoln’s date is concerned, I’ve decided I hate her.
Lincoln and Armstrong both push back their chairs and stand. Armstrong, being the lecherous vulture he is, is quicker, which for once doesn’t bother me in the least. If Gwendolyn is going to pull this kind of thing, she can deal with her youngest son and his smarminess. I have more important issues to manage tonight. Like this beast called jealousy.
“Jordan, your dress is exquisite, as are you. Armstrong Moorehead, Junior CEO at Moorehead Media. It’s a pleasure.” Armstrong kisses the back of her hand, and I suppress a shudder and a snarky comment about his new, self-imposed title.
Jordan looks taken aback, her gaze flitting to Gwendolyn, who appears unimpressed, possibly because her plan isn’t working the way she expected.
Once she’s seated, Armstrong does the honors of introducing Jordan to the table. She seems to perk up when Armstrong grudgingly introduces Lincoln. He’s polite, but not o
verly friendly, and Armstrong quickly dominates her attention.
When he finds out she used to be a college cheerleader, he turns into his smarmy, disgusting self. “That must mean you’re flexible. Did you travel with the team often?”
Jordan falls right into it. “Oh yes! To both. I still practice yoga at least five times a week, and I can do the splits. We used to travel to state championships all the time. Did you play football in college?”
While Armstrong butters up his next victim, Lincoln spends a good part of dinner whispering things in my ear. I elbow him in the side, intent on getting him to stop because he’s drawing his mother’s attention with how focused he is on me.
Once dinner has been served and cleared—it was delicious and horrifyingly expensive, I’m sure—speeches begin. Lincoln is the first to take the stage, which is both a blessing and a curse because there’s no buffer before him.
The MC takes the podium, and Lincoln turns to me with a ridiculous grin. “Do I have anything in my teeth?”
I bite back a giggle so I don’t interrupt the speaker. “Nothing in your teeth.” I smooth out his lapels and adjust his tie, but avoid the compulsion to touch his hair, aware Gwendolyn is watching. “You’ll be fabulous. You know this inside and out. Five minutes, then you can relax.”
For a moment I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me. Thankfully, the MC calls his name, and he pushes back his chair, making his way through the crowd to the podium.
I get my phone ready and adjust my chair, which is situated in such a way that I don’t even have to get up to be able to record him.
Lincoln takes the podium and holds up his cue cards. “I feel like it’s seventh grade again and I’m giving a speech in front of the whole school. Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to picture you all naked.” He scans the crowd, eyes landing on me for a split second. “I’ll picture you all in tighty-whities instead.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the room.
He clears his throat, and the crowd falls silent. Then he shows everyone who he really is, including me. He’s eloquent, charismatic, and commanding. He’s expressive and giving and emotive. He pauses a couple of times to collect himself when he speaks about the legacy his father left behind, about how difficult it is to fill his shoes. No one but me understands the real reason he struggles through this part. It doesn’t matter that they misread his emotional response; it gives them what they need, a leader they can relate to and empathize with.
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