All the Feels (Spoiler Alert #2)(30)

“So here’s what’s in it for you.” He flicked a finger, indicating everyone in the room. “With the money you donate tonight, you can feel like a hero too. Even better, you can be a hero to someone who desperately needs one.”

His next words were slow, paced so every single one of them sank in. “And I may be a self-absorbed Hollywood brat, but even I understand the most important part: With the money you donate tonight, you can help an abused woman be her own hero.”

He let them sit with that for a few seconds before speaking again.

“Thank you for coming tonight, and remember: I know how much you made on your most recent films, and I know what you spent on those sharp-looking suits and shiny dresses, so I expect some damn big bids tonight. Lookin’ at you, Carah Brown. You owe me for that ‘delightful asshole’ jab.” As Carah laughed and the crowd tittered, he turned on his heel to face the charity’s director. “Now please welcome Mariela Medellín.”

When the audience applauded, Lauren sat back in her chair and stared at him.

She’d thought she’d figured him out. Maybe not all the details, but at least the basic contours of who he was and what she could expect from him.

She hadn’t. She didn’t know him at all, and he certainly didn’t know her.

But that could change, if she wanted.

And she did want. Entirely too much.





10


AFTER THE LIVE AUCTION ENDED, ALEX HAD TO WADE HIS way through crowds of attendees who wanted to chat, praise his speech, brag about the size of their donations, and/or take selfies. In the end, over an hour passed before he could make his way back to his table.

He’d missed the dinner, but he didn’t give a shit about that. His thudding skull and thundering heart took precedence over his empty stomach.

Alex greeted his friends with curt apologies and a promise to chat later in the evening. Then he immediately turned to Lauren, seated in her upholstered chair and picking at the remains of her cherry cheesecake as she listened to Carah swear loudly about something.

He should wait until they got home.

This wasn’t the sort of conversation to have in public, but he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Not after hours spent biting back the words that needed to be said in favor of smiling and making idiotic small talk and persuading people to empty their wallets.

Once Desiree had assured him that Lauren really was fine, his fury toward his minder had ballooned, and it hadn’t shrunk since. Instead, it had only expanded as he’d watched her walk into the ballroom and study her surroundings with that sharp gaze; as he’d watched her quietly take her seat, black lace teasing the pale skin of her collarbones; and especially as he’d watched her watch him during his speech, her attention rapt and … proud, almost.

It had caught at his throat, that look. It had made speaking difficult.

At one of his stupid jokes, a rare laugh had turned her beautiful eyes bright, and—

All of that, all of who she was, could have been gone, all because she didn’t give a damn about herself.

It was intolerable.

Bending at the waist, he spoke into her ear, quietly enough that no one else could hear. “How badly are you injured?”

“I’m fine.” She flicked a hand in dismissal, her voice as low as his. “Just a little bruised.”

Lauren would say that if someone had lopped off one of her limbs, but since Desiree had told him the same, he chose to believe both of them. “Good.”

Without further ado, he gently clasped her arm and raised her to her feet, and guided her out of the ballroom and down a random hall, then another and another, until they were lost somewhere in the depths of the hotel.

Her forehead creased as she looked up at him, but she didn’t resist, and she didn’t ask where they were going. She trusted him, evidently. Somehow that only stoked his rage further.

In a deserted, dimly lit alcove, long after they’d last seen another human being, he released her arm and his faltering grasp on his temper.

“Never do that again.” When he rounded on her, her eyes widened, but she didn’t shy away. “If some motherfucker comes rushing at me, you get out of the fucking way.”

Her brow furrowed.

How the fuck was she confused? Hadn’t he made himself perfectly fucking clear?

She gave her head a little shake. “But it was your event. You were the host, and all those cameras and journalists were—”

“I don’t fucking care where we were or what we were doing, Lauren.” He flung his hands wide, so frustrated his skull was throbbing in time with each furious heartbeat. “You didn’t know if that asshole had a gun or a fucking knife or—”

“But he didn’t,” she said soothingly. “I’m fine.”

He was definitively not soothed.

“You didn’t know that when you shoved me aside and used yourself as a fucking shield, and let me be clear, Lauren. I would rather die than watch you get killed on my behalf, so if you care about what I want at all, you’ll keep yourself safe and run if this ever happens again.” He gripped his hair with both hands, pulling hard enough that his scalp stung. “Jesus Christ, woman. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I …” She was still staring at him, apparently dumbfounded by the novel notion that she should care about her own safety. As always, she was the worst. “I didn’t think, really. I just reacted.”