CHAPTER THREE

Vaughn

Portia Conway’s extravagant shamrock gown and grandeur nearly overpowered her gaudy townhouse in the middle of uptown Dallas.

A double marble staircase greeted her guests behind the thick glass doorway with a gigantic C etched across the front.

The only thing that flowed more freely than the champagne was her voice, boasting about her latest achievements, easily heard through every room on the first floor.

If there was more time, or a different purpose, Vaughn would’ve much rather viewed the priceless paintings on every wall. Aesthetically pleasing, with proper lighting, and decent security cameras watching their every move.

The Conway legacy clearly placed its emphasis on art and sculptures.

The second the woman’s gaze fell on them, her face brightened. “Miss Lake! You grace this event with your brilliance in that dress.” Her stare never left Vaughn.

“Thank you so much.”

“It is I, who must thank you, for your generous donation to our charity. I had no idea you were following our little foundation.”

He nearly snorted.

Translation; she can’t remember from where she knows Cora, or what she donated.

Cora pulled him closer to her side, and he felt a slight hitch in her step. “May I introduce Vaughn Ayers. My associate.”

On cue, he flashed his Knight smile, and took Portia’s hand. “A treasure to meet the famous Ms. Conway.” Vaughn kissed her knuckles. He’d never heard of her before, but that was clearly her weakness. Notability. Or at least a vicious desire for attention, based on her gaudy diamond wreath necklace flaunting an emerald centerpiece.

The woman’s face pinked. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

“Your collection is impressive.” He gestured to the wall. “Superior taste.”

“You have an eye for fine art, Mr. Ayers. Caroline, you have a keeper.”

The knowing wink didn’t fool him.

“Oh, Vaughn and I are purely professional. If Conway Industries decides to do business with us, we will be your account handlers.”

Vaughn kept his smile in place, though it nearly slipped. An outright lie. Not what he’d expected from the opinionated Cora in high school. The days of the vigilant debater and book nerd from adolescence had learned a few deceitful tricks to get ahead in business. Complete with a false identity.

Perhaps she’s been learning from seedy mentors like my father.

“How delightful!” Portia replied. “Well, please, enjoy the hors d’oeuvres. We’ll start the auction in about an hour. Feel free to tour the house.”

More guests poured in, handing their invitations to the security personnel, and getting their coveted introductions to the Conway Empire.

Cora kept a tight hold on Vaughn’s arm as they moved into the parlor off the entryway. “Very well done,” she muttered under her breath.

“You’re an outright fibber, Caroline.”

She shrugged with one shoulder, and took a champagne flute from a passing waiter. More wait-staff strolled around serving desserts, including chocolate covered miniature strawberries, tiramisu truffles, and creme brûlée bites.

Vaughn grabbed a flute as well, trying to stick to the Knight’s rules. Drink whatever the client drinks, but only one. A Knight must never become drunk in public. The champagne was bubbly, and left a bitter taste in his mouth. “You’ve changed since high school, in more ways than one.” He winked .

She hid her blush behind another sip of champagne. “For better or worse?”

“Can’t decide.” He leaned against the arm of an oversized love seat, crossing his ankles. “You’re taller.”

“From the heels.” She kicked up a foot, showing off the shimmer on her four-inch stiletto.

“Stunning.”

“You’re still a lady killer. I’m sure you’re beating women back with a stick. So, that hasn’t changed.”

“I never used sticks. Nothing that leaves a mark.” He winked. “Unlike you.”

Cora raised a perfect brow. “Excuse me?”

Vaughn stood and tilted toward her. “I recall you leaving interesting marks all over Cory Bloomfeld’s mustang. Purple spray paint, right?”

Her smile vanished, and her eyes narrowed. Irritation clearly crawled up her spine at the reminder of her prank.

She was as gorgeous angry as she was smiling.

“He bullied me and three other girls relentlessly sophomore year.”

“The polka dots were a bit much.”

“Bloomfeld needed a lesson in anti-homophobia. Besides, no one knew it was me.”

“Except me.” He’d caught her in the middle of the act, and she’d shown no remorse.

Cora sighed. And didn’t say a word.

“You never thanked me for not turning you in.”

“I didn’t get the chance. You were always surrounded.” She moved away, sipping her flute and studying the artwork on the walls. Probably feigning intrigue, when really she just wanted to put distance between them.

Vaughn recognized the move very well. He followed at a short distance, the paintings nothing compared to the Latin beauty in front of him. “Did it ever occur to you that Bloomfeld’s homophobia stemmed from deep-seated repression?”

She turned, her expression skeptical. “I highly doubt that.”

“It’s true. Everyone on the team knew it.”

Her skepticism slowly faded, and she stared blankly.

“That’s why none of the guys took his comments seriously. We knew he was hiding, too afraid to come out of the closet. Probably because of his old man.”

Cora brought her clutch to her stomach, gripping it tightly. “I just assumed—”

“That he was an asshole?”

Her lips pressed together, and he fought hard not to reach out and touch her mouth.

“He was,” he finished.

“Was what?”

“An asshole.”

She smirked. “I knew that already.”

“You were always so outspoken,” he continued. “Fighting for what you thought was right. An opinion on everything, and too smart for your own good.”

“On the contrary, my intelligence has served me well over the years. Not my fault some jocks found it intimidating.”

Vaughn grinned. “I never found you intimidating,” he whispered in her ear.

Her cheeks went crimson once again, and he loved setting that fire loose in her.

What would she be like behind closed doors?

“I found you fascinating.”

Her chest rose and fell a little faster.

He relished the effect he clearly had on her. The feeling was more than mutual.

“You need to step back,” she whispered.

“What?”

“If you’re supposed to appear available, you can’t flirt with me like this.”

His sigh filtered through his body as heavy as the disappointment. For a moment, he’d actually forgotten his main purpose.

A Knight.

A high-pitched ringing broke their connection. A butler came into the room, shaking a small bell for the attendees’ attention. “Ms. Conway requests everyone’s presence in the ballroom. The auction is about to start.”

The rest of the room emptied, until only the two of them remained.

“You’ve changed in one more way,” Vaughn added, slipping his hands in his pockets.

“Which is?”

“I never expected you to lie to get ahead in business.” He moved away, toward the door.

Cora paled, and her stare followed him across the room. From the expression on her divine face, for a second, she was that sophomore again, caught holding paint cans.

He held out his arm, waiting for her to take it. “Ready for the con?”