“But…” I huff, frustrated. “You’re charming and all, but Matty has been filling me in on the hackathons. You’re a massive playboy.”
His face hardens, amusement extinguished. “Lucy, my past is exactly that-the past. Right now, it’s you that I’m here with, it’s you that I respect. All I want is to be a gentleman and give you a night to remember. So can we let that go and enjoy the evening?”
“Fine,” I grumble, “if you insist.”
JP exits the car with the assertive stride of a man who owns every inch of this city. Without missing a beat, he circles the vehicle to open my door. Meanwhile, I’m concentrating on not passing out.
As if on cue, a swarm of paparazzi swoops in, their cameras trained on JP.
He reaches out a hand to help me out, but my rebellious dress doesn’t afford much room for a smooth exit. I stumble out of the car, coming close to an intimate rendezvous with the tarmac before JP’s sturdy hand catches me.
He pulls me in so close that I can feel his body heat through my dress, sparking a thrill of desire. Bad news, considering I had to go commando up top in this dress. As if my nipples needed any further encouragement.
“Thank you,” I mutter, extricating myself from his hold.
I try not to trip over my own feet as he leads me up the grand stairwell. I spot at least three people I think are famous, maybe from one of those trashy reality TV shows.
JP’s hand finds mine, slipping into my palm as if he’s done it a hundred times before. He’s being recognized, I see the nods from corporate high-fliers, the obscenely rich, and the less discreet flirtations of C-list celebrities.
It’s hard not to get swept up in the adrenaline and the magic of it all. The whole place is a sensory circus: lights flash and twinkle from all directions, bouncing off chandeliers, walls, the sparklers in the drinks, and, not to be outdone, the nipple tassels of feisty burlesque dancers.
It’s like being at a modern Great Gatsby party.
“Have you been here before?” JP asks me, a playful smirk dancing across his lips.
I must look like a total tool with all my wide-eyed gawking.
“Nope, not that I recall,” I say with a grin. “Remember, I’m IT? I’m usually locked away in the server room.”
Or that’s the joke, according to the rest of the company.
“Lucy, in that dress, you should never be locked away.”
Oh God. I attempt to thank him but my tongue has swelled to five times its size.
We ascend another stairway, approaching the main ballroom. That’s when the real stares begin.
“Do you come to these events often?” I ask, desperate to ignore the unnerving sensation of eyes boring into us from all corners.
“Only if unavoidable,” he responds smoothly, conjuring up two glittering glasses of champagne. “No escaping it tonight, I’m afraid. Do you want something else non-alcoholic?”
“This is fine.” I accept the flute. “What’s the cause for tonight’s event?”
His demeanor shifts, a shadow flitting across his handsome features. “Bowel cancer. I provide substantial donations, but I tend to steer clear of the events.”
I blink, thrown. “That’s… that’s what my dad died of.”
“I know.” He tightens his grip on my hand, a quiet show of support.
My mind spins. Did I actually tell JP how Dad died?
Seeing my confusion, JP frowns. “Lucy? Did I screw up?”
I plaster a smile on my face. “No! Not at all. It’s nice to attend something like this. So what’s my role here then?”
“You’re here so I don’t have to talk to anyone else.”
“Like a bodyguard? You’re a big guy, I don’t believe you require any rescuing. You seem perfectly capable of handling yourself.”
His playful smirk returns. “Even big guys could use a little saving from time to time.”
His words, though light-hearted, carry a weight that sends a thrill of anticipation coursing through me.
Suddenly jittery, I fiddle with my necklace and swallow a mouthful of champagne, my eyes flitting around the room. I wish everyone would stop eyeballing us. The women are feasting their eyes on JP like he’s the main course and I’m just a side dish they can’t place. I wish I’d worn a sign: Not His Date, Just Staff!
Sensing my discomfort, JP’s hand settles on my hip, drawing me closer. His body radiates warmth, and his breath tickles my ear. “Hey, relax.”
“Sorry, it’s just… This isn’t my comfort zone,” I confess, trying to swallow down my nerves. “I’ve never actually been to a black-tie gala before. I’m more at home with code and pixels, not swanking it up with billionaires.”
“Swanking it up?” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “That’s right, you’re more of a Comic Con girl. Daredevil still your number one, huh?”
The champagne threatens to escape my nose. “God. So you did see the stupid action figure on my desk.”
He shoots me a look, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Something like that.”
“JP,” a sultry voice coos from behind us.
We turn to find a skyscraper of a woman. Her striking blue eyes and dark hair remind me uncomfortably of myself-if I were the 2. 0 version. As if someone downloaded me and then upgraded me with a Pro version in Photoshop.
She brazenly flutters her lashes at JP, completely sidelining me in the process.
“Pamela,” JP responds, his voice rich and gravelly, not unwelcoming. “Nice to see you. This is Lucy.” His arm tightens around my waist, a possessive move that makes my heart do a funny little jig.
I flash her a polite smile, trying to wriggle free from his grasp, but he’s not having it.
Ignoring me, Pamela places a hand on JP’s shoulder. “We haven’t caught up in a while, have we? Since…” Her voice trails off, a sly smirk on her face.
Great. Now it’s clear JP has not only met her before but likely seen her without clothes too.
“Is this your assistant?” she asks, shooting me a look that’s half curious, half dismissive.
“Yes,” I blurt out in unison with JP’s resounding, “No.”
“She’s not an assistant,” he growls, his grip around my waist tightening. “Lucy is… she’s someone very important to the company.”
I wince at the lie. This is getting weirder by the second. Does he really think calling me “important” will make me feel better about being dragged into this?
Pamela gives me a once-over, her calculating smile not slipping. “How nice.”
“Excuse us, Pamela.” JP’s voice carries a finality that brooks no argument.
She saunters away with a nod that tells me this isn’t over yet.
“You can chat with her privately,” I suggest. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. Seriously, I’ll be over at the bar.”
Even if I’ll loathe every goddamn second of it.
“I have zero interest in talking to her. I’m here to exchange pleasantries and move on.”
My brow lifts at his defensiveness. Maybe he’s so used to supermodels now, they’re just routine.
“I guess this isn’t quite as fun as Comic Con?” He smiles.
I scrunch my face in feigned thought. “Well, the costumes at Comic Con are ironically more breathable.” I sneak a hand behind me, trying to subtly wrestle my silk dress from the vice-like grip of my butt cheeks. The perils of gowns like this: fab for photos, shit for maneuverability. “It’s not that it’s not nice here. It’s just… overwhelming. I’ve glimpsed into your bizarre world.”
“This isn’t my world. This is something I have to do every now and then.” He smiles. “Comic Con with you sounds infinitely more fun.”
My brows shoot up my forehead. Is JP hiding a geeky side?
Before I can answer, a deep voice calls out from behind us. “Wolfe.”
As we pivot to confront the interruption, JP’s frame turns to granite, his fingers on my hip hardening. Oh, they clearly have history here.
“Derek,” JP grudgingly acknowledges. “This is Lucy.”
Derek sweeps a smarmy smile over me, the kind that makes me feel like I need a shower, triggering an odd sense of deja vu. It’s a feeling I can’t shake. Have I met him before?
“Going incognito, are we, Wolfe?” Derek drawls with an undercurrent of mockery. “You’ve become a veritable ghost in Manhattan. We miss you.”