CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grace
What the hell did I agree to?
The single question swirled in Grace’s mind during the drive to their high-rise. When they pulled into the private parking garage, a dozen cameras blinded her. There was no point in hiding now. No point for the cowboy hat and wig lying in the back seat. The question still wrapped around her brain, squeezing out her common sense.
“This’ll work, Grace.” Dorian’s confidence came through in his smile, as if he sensed her doubt.
“You’ll have to remind me of that tomorrow. When all these pictures are published with false headlines.”
Behind the safety gates away from the paparazzi, he parked and stepped out of the car. By the time he rounded the hood to open her door, she’d already climbed out.
She was perfectly capable of opening her own door. Thirty-five years old, living on her own for the last four years, and forcing herself out of bed every morning had taught her that much.
Amazing I could keep breathing, when my heart didn’t exist anymore.
“This isn’t going to work if you have that scowl all the time.” Dorian smiled with the sarcastic remark, but the point was serious.
“I have a stipulation.”
His waited.
“This should go without saying, but I’ll do it anyway. No more clients. You can’t be an escort—even a Knight—while you and I are dating.” Grace used her fingers as rabbit ear quotes.
He smirked. “But how will I manage satisfying only one woman?”
“Seriously. Do you have enough in savings for a few weeks?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to my boss and clear my schedule. When’s your next event?”
She sighed, and forced her brain to remember. Pulling out her cellphone to check her calendar, it buzzed again with another missed call. It’d been ringing all day, but none from the one person she wanted to talk to. Pax. She brought it with her just in case he’d call. He wasn’t answering her all day. Her heart panged every time it went to voicemail. “Friday. The benefit’s check unveiling to the hospital.”
“Will Ruben Wilde be going?”
“He was, but now…”
Dorian checked his phone. “If his publicist is any good, she’ll make sure he attends, with his wife. You and I need to be seen having dinner together at some point beforehand. As well as immediately after the event.”
“Why?”
The corner of his mouth lifted. He moved toward her, one slow step after another. “Do you want the media to withdraw the rumors, or not?”
Her heart hopscotched, watching Dorian glide toward her like a panther. So confident, sure of his plans, and aware of his appeal to other women. A combination that she’d grown to despise in other men over the last few years. For some reason, around Dorian, her inner concrete wall guarding her heart was crumbling. That, and the man had a crazy way of stealing the words from her mind.
By the time he was only two feet from her, she’d grown breathless. His smirk molded into a half-smile. The corner of his mouth tilted in a manner proving he knew he’d thrown her for a loop. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”
She licked her bottom lip. “Pacific Kitchen.”
His smile widened. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Chinese foodie.”
“They have great sushi.”
“Yes, they do.” He stopped in front of her, only a foot away. Dorian moved a strand of hair out of her face.
Her pounding heart may have been loud enough for him to hear through her chest.
“But I’m more of a steak and lobster guy. The juicier the better.”
Grace’s mouth watered, and she couldn’t rip her gaze from his lips. “I enjoy a good steak every now and then.” She dared to look in his honey-brown eyes. They darkened to a cognac hue, with a shadow that made her gut turn fuzzy and flush with heat.
“Pick a night.”
“A night?” she breathed.
“We’ll have dinner at Pacific Kitchen. Then on Friday after the unveiling…” He grazed his lips against hers. Hauntingly slow, sweet, and addicting. “We’ll have that steak,” he finished on a whisper.
Dorian
“Tell me you didn’t interrupt my one night off for this charity case,” Dorian’s boss barked from the other end of the phone. Duane’s British accent turned more cockney when he was pissed.
“Knock it off. I just need some time off for this.”
“And to break some of the rules as a Knight while you’re at it.”
“Which rules?”
“No photos, for one. No personal life interfering with the job. Not to mention appearing single for the sake of the client. Those rules.”
He pulled out a highball from his wet bar, and a bottle of Woodford Reserve bourbon, knowing full well this wouldn’t be a short call. Let alone pleasant. Especially since he heard Duane’s car door shut on the other end to give this berating in private.
“I’m allowed personal time off. How I choose to spend it is my business.”
“At the expense of your job?”
Dorian paused mid-pour, and held back a curse. “That’s where you want to take this, Duane?”
His boss sighed. “No, I don’t. But you understand the serious problem you’ve made? You’re my highest earner, Dorian. Women eat up that dark, tattooed shite. This’ll put a massive dent in the business if clients see you parading across the news with a new babs. We’re talking major fallout here.”
He rolled his eyes. “And because I’m your highest earner, you’ll let me do this. I’ll handle the image fallout, as you call it. Not a problem.”
“Bollocks. Fine.” From the silence on the other end, Dorian guessed Duane was grinding his teeth. “One last thing…”
“Shoot.”
“You like this woman, right?”
“Obviously.”
“After this whole thing, what’s the world going to think of her dating an escort?”
He sucked in a breath. “You mean a Knight, right? You were always the one to stress on us to correct the title when it came up.”
“Whatever. Because it’ll come out, Dorian. It always does. When that happens, what’s her charity going to think of its founder having a serious relationship like that?”
He opened his mouth to refute the questions, but the words wouldn’t leave his throat.
“It’s not a serious relationship, is it?”
Dorian hesitated for half a heart beat. “We’d be having a different discussion if it were.”
“Damn straight. So, go have your fun, fool the world for a few weeks, and return to work fast. Got it?”
He didn’t answer. He hit the End button, and stood there holding his bourbon. A numbing trickle filtered down into chest, and his stomach filled with lead.
Joy kill.