Iris’s POV
The fundraiser was held at the New-York Historical Society, a gorgeous building made of white stone with a dramatic colonnade at the front. As I stepped out of the car, my gaze was drawn up the wide steps, past the dramatic entrance, and up to the row of windows on the second floor. It was a gorgeous building, and I was in a gorgeous dress, and I couldn’t quite believe this was my life.
Jared’s hand brushed my lower back, and we walked up the steps together. There was something thrilling about being at a beautiful venue, dressed to the nines, with an attractive man as my date. Logically, I knew it was simply my job. I was able to take his arm around my back and explain it away as Jared simply acting the part.
But there was another part of me that took the warmth of his hand on my back and made it mean something more. My cheeks flushed and my heart thumped a little bit harder. I found myself leaning into his touch the slightest bit, my shoulder brushing his, catching a hint of his warm scent whenever he moved.
His face was granite-hard, as if he dreaded walking into the event but knew he had to. It was the same hardness that had sat across from me at the negotiation table earlier in the week. It would be easy to think of him as a heartless, hard man who would do anything to close a deal. But then I thought of that little boy whose parents shipped him off to boarding school, and I wondered…
What if he pursued his business goals so ruthlessly because it was the only thing he had? He’d needed to hire me to be his date to this event, and all the others on the calendar. So he had no significant other, few friends, and a fraught relationship with his family. He was all alone.
I knew how hard that was. I had friends, but even so, I never quite felt like I was understood. Like I belonged.
We were greeted by an usher in a crisp white shirt and black vest who directed us to the event space. Soft music filtered through between the noise of many conversations.
We were accosted within moments of entering. An older woman kissed Jared on both cheeks, then turned to me with a smile.
“And who do we have here? It’s not every day Jared Branson brings a plus-one.”
“I’m only here for the canap?,” I quipped.
The woman laughed, the jewels dangling from her ears glittering in the warm light of the room. She wore a dark-purple dress that fit her like a glove.
“This is Nikita Little,” Jared said. “Nikita, meet Gloria Beck. We worked together on a successful campaign a couple of years ago for her company’s fantastic athleisure division. Gloria is also one of the best poker players you’ll ever meet.”
“Oh, stop it,” the older woman said, swatting at Jared. “Is he always this charming?”
“No,” I replied. “Mostly he scowls.”
She laughed again, shaking her head, then excused herself and floated to another acquaintance. Feeling Jared’s gaze on the side of my face, I turned to meet his gaze.
“Mostly I scowl?”
“You’re doing it right now.”
“No, I’m not.”
I popped open my bow-shaped clutch and pulled out my mirror, flicked it open, and held it up in front of him. Jared didn’t even blink. He didn’t look at the mirror. He just held my gaze for a long moment, until I had to bite my lips to hide my smile.
“I’m regretting this arrangement,” he told me, fingers curling around my elbow.
“You love this arrangement.”
“You’re a pest,” he said softly, but his hand tightened on my elbow, and he pulled me ever so slightly closer.
“I handled that exactly right. She was eating it up.”
“I should never have brought you here.”
I was hard up against him then, my chest brushing his, chin tilted up. Breathless, I said, “I don’t know why you insist on lying to yourself, Branson.”
He opened his mouth to answer, but another voice interrupted us. Another former client stopped by, watching me curiously, and Jared shifted his hand from my elbow to my lower back. I felt unsteady on my heels during that interaction, all my attention focused on the fingers that traced the embroidery on my dress just above the curve of my ass.
I wasn’t sure this was exactly outlined in the company’s code of conduct, and I found that I didn’t care.
A waiter stopped by with a tray full of champagne, and I was glad to have something to do with my hands. I met lots of people that had been in Clara’s briefing document, and many more that weren’t.
Most of them oozed wealth. I felt like I wore a big neon sign proclaiming me an outsider, but all I could do was pretend it didn’t exist and fake it until they thought I belonged. I watched Jared navigate conversations like a shark slicing through water. He closed two business deals almost casually, and I wasn’t sure the other person even realized what had happened.
Then I felt pressure on my back a mere moment before he straightened beside me. “Wilbur,” he intoned, reaching out to shake the older man’s hand.
Wilbur Monk was a tall, broad man who clearly enjoyed the finer things in life, as evidenced by the large paunch hanging over his belt buckle and the wide, genial grin. In one hand, he expertly carried a glass of champagne and a little plate laden with canap?, leaving his other hand free to shake Jared’s. His skin was tan and slightly leathery, as if he enjoyed the sun and didn’t believe in sunblock. He had a wide smile and shrewd eyes that slid over to me the moment he dropped Jared’s hand.
“This is a surprise,” he said. “I’ve never seen Jared with such a beauty on his arm.”
“Or one so fabulously dressed,” his wife added. She walked up to our group, smiling, then put her hand around Monk’s elbow. She wore a simple black sequined dress, cut close to her body, that I suspected was custom. Her neck was adorned with a gigantic diamond pendant, her matching earrings completing the set. Not a hair was out of place, and her makeup was expertly applied. She would have been a beauty in her youth because she was still looking fantastic.
“You must be Roseanne,” I said, smiling. “I’m under strict instructions to make a good impression.”
Beside me, Jared stiffened, but Wilbur and his wife both threw their heads back and laughed.
“Sounds like Jared knows who’s really in charge here,” Wilbur said, winking at me.
“How did you two meet? I can’t believe Jared convinced someone to put up with him.” Roseanne’s lips stretched into a wide smile.
“I’m still on the fence about it, to be honest,” I said, grinning.
More laughter, and Jared relaxed next to me.
“Iris was a contractor for the company,” Jared explained. “We met just before her contract finished up.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.