CHAPTER THREE
Dorian
Dorian grinned at his client, Alicia, dressed in a violet cocktail dress at the entrance to the five-star hotel.
When she spotted him, her breath of relief transferred to the rest of her body language. “Thank you for coming tonight.”
He kissed her the cheek. “You look fabulous.”
She blushed, the same color as her strawberry blonde hair. Her hem furled when she walked, reminiscent of fifties poodle skirts, and the neckline accentuated her cleavage nicely, but in a tasteful way. Work function, after all. Alicia brushed back her hair with a nervous smile.
“Do your colleagues think I’m your boyfriend this evening, or do you prefer me as a friend?”
She bit her lip, as if expecting him to decline. “Do you mind using the boyfriend image?”
Dorian took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“There’re a lot of wealthy people in there, and very important business contacts. I didn’t want to do this alone.”
“Wealthy people at a fundraiser are exactly what you want.” He tucked her hand in his arm and walked her through the hotel lobby.
The event was on the ground floor ballroom, where the orchestra music wafted through the open doors. Several people guarded the entrance to check guest invitations. Tonight, he was a plus one.
“Very quickly, tell me what you do.”
“I’m an admin for a high-end realtor company. My boss is the CFO, and one of the Board Members on this charity. She’s going to introduce me to several people here that may help me reach the next level.”
They stopped just outside the ballroom entrance, and out of earshot from others. “How long have we been dating?” he asked.
“A month. Given your stellar physique, let’s say we met at the gym. Zumba class.”
He cast her a sideways look. “Uh, no.” Dorian chuckled. “You tried the weight bench, and I came over to spot you.”
She nodded. “What job will we make up for you?”
He smirked. “You mean I can’t be a Knight?”
His client stuttered, and glanced at the attendant guarding the doors.
“I’m kidding.” He flipped through the mental catalog of options, and landed on one of his friend’s former roles. “I’m a personal bodyguard. For executives and celebrities.”
“Impressive. You’ve used that one before?”
Dorian smiled and gestured to the doors. “Shall we?”
Inside, the room buzzed with people and conversation. Half a dozen casino tables scattered around the space, surrounded by a crowd of energized players. Craps, roulette, black jack, and more. Servers roamed with trays of champagne flutes, hor d’oeuvres, and something that looked like raffle tickets. The mini-bars in the corners were packed with guests, along with the two dozen counter-height tables draped with floor-length, black and silver table cloths.
Alicia took a deep breath and scanned the room. “What first? Squeeze into a game?”
“A drink.” His response was almost automatic. “Always a drink first. Then introduce me to your boss.”
“I like that plan.”
Dorian made sure to follow his strict regimen when on appointments. A single drink in the beginning to calm any nerves—the woman’s nerves, not his—followed by water the rest of the night.
He led her to the bar, and they mingled with the folks ahead of them in line.
Alicia didn’t need any guidance in small talk, so he let her take the lead. When only two people were left in front of them, Dorian pulled out his wallet to pay for drinks.
The songs changed to a more upbeat tempo, and he glanced up at the musicians. A few guests who’d already had more than a few drinks started to dance. On the other side of the dance floor, his gaze stopped on a curvy woman with cocoa brown hair on the raised platform, giving instructions to a few people about the lighting.
Everything else in his head stopped.
His heart hammered, and everyone around him could have been speaking in Aramaic.
Grace Evans.
His mouth went dry. Her black cocktail dress literally made his jaw drop. A shimmery top revealing a teasing hint of cleavage draped down her torso and gathered at her waist. In a unique twist of fabric, the dress hugged the rest of her body in ebony leather to her knees. Combined with pewter, two-inch heels, Grace was the executive-dominance-fantasy come to life.
“Sir?”
Dorian blinked and looked at the bartender. “Yes?”
“Your order?”
Alicia cut in for him. “Dry martini for me.” She glanced at Dorian. “You prefer bourbon, right?”
His mind flustered. Normally that was what he preferred, but during events he drank whatever the client ordered. Rule number four. “I’ll have a martini, too.”
He glanced at Grace, who was shaking hands with more guests on the other side of the platform.
What the hell is she doing here?
A waiter came by and offered some finger foods, which she declined.
She’s nervous.
When the bartender handed him the martini, he forced himself to concentrate. On Alicia, his client. He smiled, and toasted. “To the next step up.”
Her eyes widened. “Let’s hope so.” She took a large sip.
Dorian downed half of his in one gulp. It was a struggle not to suck the entire thing dry. No matter that it was important not to appear a lush at these things. Rule number three, a Knight conveys control in everything at all times.
Alicia’s cheeks pinked with the alcohol, and she smiled. “My boss is over here.”
“Lead the way.”
She gripped his hand and moved across the room toward the bombshell in black leather.
Of course.
There was no way for Dorian to hide the heat in his cheeks, but at least his internal stuttering was silent.
“Grace,” Alicia called, and pulled the woman’s attention away from a trio of men in tuxedos.
Two of them were nearly drooling over his downstairs neighbor.
Grace smiled at Alicia.
Her genuine joy knocked the breath from his lungs. He’d never seen her smile before. With her pearly whites, and the way her eyes glimmered, he wished she’d do it more often.
“This is a stunning room,” Alicia continued. “I cannot wait for the auction to start.”
Auction? Crap, I didn’t bring enough cash.
“Thank you, Alicia. I appreciate you coming. There’s a medical distributor here looking for an account manager I think you’d—” Her gaze met Dorian’s, and her mouth fell open.
His client grinned. “Grace, this is my boyfriend, Dorian.”
Dorian’s stomach turned to molten lead. He’d left his charming suave at the bar. Oh shit. Grace knows this is all a lie. Rule number five was a bust. A Knight makes the client look good at all times.
He held his breath, and extended his hand. Forced himself to smile, praying she’d play along. “Nice to meet you, Grace.”
In the span of three seconds, her gawk transformed into disgust, then to a polite, yet undoubtedly fake smile. She shook his hand with a weak grip and ice-cold eyes. “Grace Evans.” She pursed her lips and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. After a sip, she took a deep breath. “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. Tell me,” she addressed to Alicia. “How long have you two been dating?”
His client ran down their quickly choreographed response, and all the while Grace’s disapproving stare shifted back to Dorian.
At least she’s playing along. For the sake of her employee.
He downed the rest of the martini in a single gulp.
“Well, please…” Grace could’ve burned the ozone layer into oblivion with her piercing stare. “Enjoy yourselves this evening. Excuse me.”
She high-tailed it to the other side, where several technicians flagged her down to discuss something with the computer and projector equipment.
“That was weird.” Alicia scratched at her ear. “She must be nervous. She’s never been that curt before.”
Curt. Sure, let’s go with that. Sounded better than revolted.
They mingled with a few more people. He glanced through the brochure they’d given him at the entrance, and froze at most of the auction items listed. A week-long vacation to the Bahamas, a golfing weekend to a top-ranked PGA tour course, a name dedication to a hospital’s new wing, even an invitation to dinner at the governor’s mansion and a private tour.
Nothing like a basket of wine or NFL tickets. Which were more in line with Dorian’s budget.
Definitely not enough cash.
On the back of the brochure, an advertisement for raffle tickets, one hundred dollars each for a chance to win a custom Harley Davidson motorcycle.
I think I can afford a ticket.
All proceeds benefited pediatric transplant services.
The pieces from earlier in the evening fit into the final puzzle. This was Grace’s fundraiser. One she’d been coordinating over the last several months. Her c-suite position was CFO at Alicia’s work, and a chairing board member of this charity.
Any future coffee date with Grace is probably out.
Dorian glanced at her from across the room. She was clearly about to climb the platform to start a presentation. Her hair was pinned to one side of her head, the curls draping over her shoulder. Everything about her conveyed humble confidence. Not just standing on her own two feet, but thriving.
What in the world did Tom mean by he’d thought ‘it’ would never happen? Couldn’t possibly be a date. That woman was beating men off with a red-hot poker.
He needed a date with this woman. Even if it was just coffee. Stabbing scars from a red-hot poker were more than worth it.
Grace Evans was the entire enchilada rolled into one delectable package, more than deserving of awe from an entourage of man-slaves.
But that chip on her shoulder, not to mention prejudices regarding his profession, made that possibility seem dimmer with every caress from Alicia’s hand at the table.
His client waved to another colleague and grabbed two champagnes from a passing waiter. She handed one to Dorian.
He smiled, and took it.
When Grace climbed the platform and grabbed the microphone, her melodious voice welcomed all the guests, he downed the champagne.
Time to suspend his one-drink rule.