by Harlow James
I lean forward, clenching my teeth to prevent myself from pouncing on her and sucking the air from her lungs with my lips as her back finds the wall near the vanity. Lowering my voice in case there are eavesdroppers in the distance, I grit out between my teeth, “I want you to accept that you are the exception. That my intentions are pure. That regardless of what you think, I’m in uncharted territory trying to show you what you mean to me. This,” I gesture to the side with my hand, pointing to the racks of ball gowns and the station set up for her hair and make-up to be done, “this is so you feel beautiful tonight, so you feel worthy even though I already know that you are—that when your insecurities rear their ugly head about whether you belong in that room tonight with people I associate with, you can maybe have one more ounce of confidence that you do because I want you there beside me and would do anything to help you see that. Because I feel like me just telling you that isn’t enough for you, it isn’t working.”
“Wes—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I need you with me tonight, Shayla. Please.” I pull her hands into mine and then tightly to my chest, closing my eyes as I drown in the feel of her hands in mine, pressed against my rapidly beating heart. “I know you don’t need me. But I need you. I want you on my arm. And I don’t know how else to make you see that.”
I knew that tonight wasn’t going to be easy, that convincing her to trust me through this would prove to be a challenge. I just didn’t think she’d fight me on it before we ever left.
She goes silent before gripping the back of my neck with her hands when she frees them from mine, running her fingernails gently up and down the back of my throat. Her eyes trail all over my face before she bites her lip with worry, a move that both frightens me and makes me lust for her. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I guess… I guess a part of me is terrified about going to this thing tonight.”
Defeat heavy in my tone, I reply, “I know.”
“And you scare me so much.”
“I get that too.”
“I’m not used to someone spoiling me, showing me affection this way. I’m not used to what I look like and what I’m wearing mattering.”
“Well, you need to get used to it, because I want to spoil you. I need to. I don’t want you to question how I feel about you. And that doesn’t mean I’m trying to buy your love. I’m just trying to show you the only way I know how—by taking your stress away and making it mine, by giving you my time and making sure you feel wanted and desired, that you feel cared for.”
“But this,” she gestures down to her body encased in black silk that makes her look like a forbidden present I’m itching to unwrap. “This isn’t me. I feel over done.”
“Believe me, you won’t once you enter that room and see the other women. And I’m telling you right now, it’s all I can do not to strip you naked and fuck you right here. You look stunning, classic yet sassy. It’s the perfect combination of the parts of you that I can’t get enough of.”
The corner of her lips lift so I know she’s starting to relax. She presses her lips gently to mine and it’s all I can do not to devour her right now.
“You don’t need more stress. You’re an old man. You’re only a few years away from a heart attack at this point,” she mocks, bringing some humor to the conversation now, which instantly helps my chest release tension.
I smack her ass as she jolts in my hands, her eyes flaring wide before they darken with need. “Do I need to remind you how this old man can fuck you? How I can pound into you so hard that you forget your own name, sweetheart? So that the only name you’ll ever remember is mine?”
With a hard swallow, her eyes volley between mine before dipping down to my lips. “I may need a reminder.”
“Oh, I promise you that I will remind you later. But right now, we have a limo waiting out front for us and a mountain to tackle together.”
“Okay,” she agrees quietly, far more reserved than she was while she was screaming at me.
“I mean that, Shayla. I want people to know you belong to me, that you’re my… girlfriend,” I choke out, holding her gaze as she processes what I’m asking of her. I never thought I’d use that term again, but Shayla makes me feel like maybe my happiness can be a priority in my life too if I can prioritize a balance.
“Really?” Her face is full of shock as she studies me.
“Yes. People are going to wonder who you are, and I don’t want any room for speculation. You are mine, and I am yours.”
Without warning, she kisses me intently, running her tongue along my lips and comforting me with her need. I tangle my tongue with hers, relishing in her taste and how kissing her provides a comfort I’ve been longing for all week. Holding her in my arms, moving my lips against hers—it’s the most natural feeling in the world.
When we part, she reaches up and wipes the corner of my mouth with her thumb. “Sorry, I got lipstick all over you.” A small chuckle leaves her lips and I can’t help but smile.
“It’s okay. So what do you think? Will you be mine?”
With one more pause, she takes a deep breath and bares her honest truth, which slices me in two and then stitches me back together. “I’ve never belonged to anyone else.”
Chapter 19
Shayla
Wes finds my hand in the dark of the limo, squeezing my fingers reassuringly as we make our way to the Morgan Hotel in downtown Los Angeles where the Hope for Kids Gala is being held.
After listening to him bare his honest truth about how he feels about me, I relinquished the animosity that I was holding on to and vowed not to let my insecurities get to me anymore tonight. As unfair of me as it was to assume that he didn’t harbor any confidence in me, I understand that my insecurities played into my reaction far more than his actual opinions.
The man showed me his vulnerability, something that I’m positive he doesn’t give lightly, and then Grace’s reminder rang true as well—tonight was going to be difficult for both of us in different ways, and we needed to remember to be patient as we navigate this turn in our relationship.
Relationship. I’ve never used that term seriously before, until Wes—until tonight when he asked me to be his girlfriend, staking a claim to me so no one doubted what I mean to him. When a man like Wes declares something that strongly, it’s hard to question his intent anymore.
As I draw my thumb back and forth across the top of his hand, he breaks the silence in the car. “So, did you get all of your homework done?”
A snort comes out of my mouth instantaneously. “Yes, Dad. My homework is done.”
Glaring at me in the dark, he continues. “First, please don’t call me Dad. It’s safe to say the ‘daddy’ kink is not something I’m fond of. And second, I just wanted to make sure that attending tonight wasn’t putting a wrench in your studies. I know that this semester is important to you.”
My smile builds as I glance back at him. “I appreciate that, but yes, I was able to get enough done that I won’t be stressing about my work. Remember, I would actually be working at the club tonight if I weren’t here with you, so it’s not like I’m really losing any time.”
“Yes, I guess you’re right.” He turns to face the window now, watching the white streaks of light pass by us and we continue driving. “So, I wanted you to know what to expect tonight,” he says, and part of me is glad he deems that information important since I’m not exactly sure what I’m walking into.
“I think that’s a good idea.”
He takes a deep breath and then turns slightly in his seat so his body is facing me while still holding my hand. “When we arrive there will be a red carpet that I will walk along with you by my side. If we stop, try your best to face the cameras and offer a natural smile, even though the flashing lights will blind you. As soon as the press sees you, they will start to shout questions about who you are. Do not listen to them, and don’t talk to them. Just hold on to me and I will guide us inside.”
“Okay,” I reply on
a shaky nod.
“Then once we’re inside, I’m sure to be bombarded by people—business associates, people from the community, and the directors of the foundation. Feel free to chime in on the conversation if they address you, but otherwise don’t feel obligated to speak.”
“Would you rather I remain quiet?” I ask as uneasiness builds in my stomach again.
“Not at all,” he says while squeezing my hand again. “But I don’t want you to feel pressured to talk if you don’t feel comfortable.”
“I’m sure once I have a glass of champagne, I’ll loosen up.”
He smirks. “Just don’t get too loose.”
I lean in closer to him so my lips are barely an inch away from his. “Oh, come on, Mr. Billionaire. You know I’m tight where it counts.”
A growl resonates from his chest and coats my body in goosebumps. “Don’t say shit like that, Shayla, when I can’t do anything about it right now.” His hand reaches down to adjust himself in his slacks, causing me to clench my thighs together.
“Well, you’d better plan on testing that theory later then.”
“You can fucking count on it.”
The ringing of Wes’s phone breaks our moment, and as he fetches it from his pocket, the change in his facial expression makes me concerned.
He casts me a glance and then stares back down at the phone as if debating whether to answer it or not. “I’m sorry, but I need to take this really quick,” he explains as his finger swipes across the screen that has the name Lydia written across it.
“No problem.” I watch his face transform as he answers the call, but my mind starts spinning with ideas.
Who’s Lydia? And why is she calling now? If she works for him, wouldn’t she know we’re on the way to an event?
Although with the day he’s had and the fact that he’s the boss, I imagine his phone never truly stops ringing no matter what’s going on in his life. He was still getting calls when we were on the yacht a few weeks ago as well.
“Hi, Lydia,” he says and then goes silent as I imagine her saying something important on the other end. “Yes, I told you I’d be there.” Another bout of silence. “I understand. I don’t want to let him down either, but this is important, so no need to clarify. I’ll see you on Sunday.” One more break in the conversation and then he’s hanging up. “Yes. See you then.”
“Everything okay?”
His face twists in my direction before he puts his phone on silent and then returns it to his pocket. “Fine.”
“Working on a Sunday?”
“Something like that.”
His vague reply doesn’t make my suspicions dissipate any faster, but I don’t have enough time to delve deeper as the car starts to roll to a stop. A few moments later we arrive in a line of other limos, waiting for our turn to step out of the car in front of a building that stretches up toward the sky. Wes explains that it’s customary to wait until we reach the carpet and get out there instead of walking up on our own. And as soon as we coast to the entrance, he grabs my hand again.
“You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply on a shaky breath.
“You’ll do great. Just stay with me and I’ll keep you safe.” He smiles back at me, and I can’t help but get lost in the genuineness of his eyes. “Thank you for being here again.”
“Despite my doubts about this, I know I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”
With one more reassuring squeeze, the door to the limo opens and Wes folds his incredible body out of the opening and onto the sidewalk, buttoning his jacket as camera flashes and shouting increase in volume. The sight of the man in a tux should be illegal, especially because it was difficult to be mad at him when I simultaneously wanted to strip him of his clothes.
I reach for his hand that he offers me and join him in front of the crowd as murmurs filter around us and suddenly screaming replaces them.
“Mr. Morgan, who is your date?”
“What is her name, Wes? Is she your plaything for the night?”
“Is she the latest gold digger trying to claim a piece of the Morgan fortune?”
My defense rises as I hear the insinuations, the false claims, and the questions that no one deserves the answers to, regardless if it’s to refute their assumptions or not. Is this what Wes deals with every time he goes to some high profile event?
“Just breathe and smile,” he whispers in my ear as his comforting palm finds the small of my back and we begin to make our way down the carpet. Wes stops us in front of a white backdrop with the Hope for Kids logo splashed across the back. He pulls me into his side, wrapping his arm around my waist and standing tall beside me, claiming me in front of hundreds of cameras and onlookers. I attempt not to blink every time a flash snaps, but I’ve never seen something like this. Instead, I stare up at him, admiring his stoic face, the lines of his jaw as he stands towering over me and proud, his confidence seeping out of his body and enveloping me in comfort.
For just one moment, he glances down at me staring up at him and winks, and then ushers us further down the carpet and finally through the main doors into a lobby painted in gold and white. Heels click and suitcases roll along the tile floors as people move around the open space, lining up at the receptionist area to check in or race to the bar and restaurant located to our right.
“Holy shit, that was intense,” I sigh.
“Told you, but you did great.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
He chuckles. “Exactly.”
With his hand clasped tightly around mine, he leads me through the lobby and into the main ballroom down a long hallway where several conference rooms are located. As we step through the door, my eyes scour the hundreds of round tables that are set up around the extravagantly open space. Gold table cloths and white candles adorn the tables while a crystal tree sits in the center of each surface. Pops of red roses catch my eye around the room, offering color in an otherwise ostentatious display of money.
“I thought the point of tonight was to raise money for the foundation, not spend it.”
“Believe me, there is plenty of money being donated and each person had to pay a hefty fee for their plate. But when you have people of a certain stature attending events like this, you have to put on the show. My event team has been working tirelessly on making this space shine, and I think they did a remarkable job.”
“I agree.”
“Mr. Morgan.” A deep voice pulls my attention to the right as a man that can’t be much older than Wes marches over to us.
“Caleb, good to see you.” Wes reaches out to shake his hand and then places his back on my hip.
“Likewise. This event looks promising, although anything attached to the Morgan name better be worth its weight in gold.”
“Hence the color choice,” Wes jokes. “Caleb O’Conner, this is my girlfriend, Shayla Mitchel. Shayla, this is Caleb, an investor whose family has worked with the Morgan hotels for years and a golfing companion I like to beat in my spare time.”
Caleb’s eyes drift down my body and then back to my face. “Nice to meet you, Shayla. Wes, I can’t remember the last time you brought a woman to an event, let alone, a girlfriend.”
“Yes, it’s been a while,” he answers simply, which invites an entire list of questions that I anticipate getting answers to eventually.
“So, Miss Mitchel, what is it that you do?”
Remembering Wes’s advice about not needing to speak if I don’t want to, I decide to go with a vague answer that I feel comfortable with. “I’m finishing up my degree at UCSB right now and working a few jobs while doing so. But I graduate in December, so I’m looking forward to figuring out my next steps after that.”
His eyebrows climb up his forehead. “You’re still in college?” he asks, slicing through my confidence.
“Yes. Is that a problem?” I spit out as I feel Wes’s hand grip me tighter. But I can’t help it—I just met this man and am already feeling jud
ged by him.
“Oh, no. Just… interesting is all,” he replies on a smarmy smile and then flicks his eyes to Wes. “A little young for you, don’t you think, Wes?”
“Have a nice night, Caleb.” Wes pushes against my back, encouraging us to move to another part of the room. “I’m sorry about him. He is definitely one of the business relationships that I hate maintaining because personally, I think the man is slime.”
“It’s fine,” I grate out. “Seems he has an unwarranted opinion that he needs shoved down his throat though.”
Wes’s laugh eases my fury a bit. “If we were in a different setting, I’d happily oblige and let you do that to him.”
We weave through a few tables until we arrive at one of the open bars on the edge of the room. Wes rests his forearm on the bar as he addresses the bartender. “Can I get a glass of champagne and a sparkling water with lime, please?”
“Of course, sir.” After a few moments, the bartender hands us our drinks and then Wes throws a hundred dollar bill in the tip jar. Generous and sexy—no wonder I couldn’t resist him for too long. As a bartender myself, he just scored major brownie points with me.
“No drink for you tonight?”
“I don’t like to drink at events like this,” he answers sharply while we walk alongside each other and I take several sips of my champagne, hoping it helps calm my nerves. But then it dawns on me that I don’t think I’ve ever seen Wes have a drink since we’ve been dating. Maybe he’s just one of those people that doesn’t like to drink.
When we arrive at our table up at the front, Wes pulls my chair out for me and I happily take a seat since these stilettos I was coerced into wearing are already making my feet throb. Bending at the waist, Wes hovers over me, cupping my cheek and then planting a featherlight kiss on my lips. “You okay?”
“Yeah. My feet hurt already, but the champagne is helping.”
“Well, just relax for a bit.”
I take another drink just as a familiar voice calls out to Wes behind me.
