Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(44)

There it is. I turn to her, my gaze every bit as bright as hers. “I tend to succeed at whatever I put my hand to.”

She stares daggers at me. My blood runs thick with lust, and there’s a strange energy in my chest. Everything feels too bright. The room feels hot.

“Do you still play?” Ryan inquires from somewhere out on the nowhere fringes.

“No,” she says, and then she turns to him. “Blade, did you play an instrument?”

“Blade?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.

“Yes, that’s my nickname for him.” She grabs his arm. “Blade,” she says it kind of badass, like they have a dirty inside joke.

What? She calls him Blade? Why would a woman call a man Blade? Why would a woman call this man Blade? It’s like calling a Chihuahua Killer or something. But he seems to be in on it. Does he carry a blade? Is he thuggish in bed?

An unpleasant heat prickles over my skin. “Interesting,” I bite out.

“We’re both Blade Runner fans,” he explains.

“Mmm,” I say, still not liking it.

She glares back at me. “Yes, he has one of my favorite stills from the movie up on his office wall.” She turns to him. “We share a passion for that movie. It’s good to have genuine passions.”

“That still is your favorite?” Ryan says to her. “I would’ve guessed the street walk scene. That’s usually people’s favorite.”

“But isn’t that one so obvious?” she says. “A lot of steam is coming up from grates.”

“Steam coming up from grates is awesome!” he says.

I gaze over at her and she itches her nose with her middle finger. FU. Everything in me swells.

“Is everything okay?” Ryan says. “This isn’t…” He motions between them. “This isn’t against policy, is it?”

“Of course not,” I say. “You can bring whoever you want outside of the company.”

“Don’t pay any attention to Max,” Mia says, giving me a challenging stare. “He’s just crabby because we’re discontinuing cheesy puffs. I’m sad to say that there will be no more.”

“Oh, I’ve heard that before,” I tease.

She sets her jaw and straightens up, a posture I came to understand, over long hours of watching her, as her strong-against-the-world posture. The stance she takes when she means business “This time it’s true.”

“They really are my favorite.” I lower my voice. “Nothing else compares.”

Her cheeks go pink.

“I have to admit, cheesy puffs are good,” Ryan says.

“Well, you can’t have any,” I say to Ryan, though I’m still looking at Mia.

“I don’t know, I might scrounge some up somewhere.”

“Uh, that’s okay, there’s plenty of food here,” Ryan says.

Mia sniffs. “You know what this stupid conversation needs? A nice liquor cart stocked with pure-grain alcohol, because it’s making me want to kill all my brain cells.”

I want to drag her off. I want to kiss that smart mouth and peel off that gown and worship every sassy inch of her. Never have I felt such absolute, primal desire for a woman. My gut twists with the force of it.

And then my phone buzzes. Again and again. It’s here I realize the band’s stopped. When did it stop? Parker would be the one buzzing. I have a speech to make, but I’m feeling crazy. Mia can’t be with Ryan.

I look over at Ryan, who gives me a faltering smile, and I smile back. This isn’t about him and I can’t blame him for wanting her. Just don’t fucking touch her again, I think like a man possessed.

“Speech time.” I head up toward the stage on autopilot, doing the Max Hilton walk, cool as a cucumber in my designer tux.

I grab a glass of champagne from an assistant and climb the three steps, sauntering over to the podium like I own the place, which I do. I smile, holding my glass in two careless fingers, trying to find her in the crowd, but the lights are dimming.

I gaze out at the crowd, like, what the hell are you all still talking for? Some people laugh. More look up at me.

Eventually everyone’s with me without my saying a word. Because people want to be with me. I’m the playboy with a glass in his hand and a sparkle in his eyes, the man who makes them feel like they’re part of the glamorous, carefree, lux life that exists in the lifestyle ads we pump out like useless dreams.

I start the speech, forcing my mind to timing, delivery. I feel the lift of the audience coalescing around me. Performing arts high school wasn’t a total waste.

Parker comes up and we give each other shit like we do every year, and then we talk about the charity. “Give a bit to a cause,” I say. “Who cares, it’s only money. What’s the use of money when there’s a champagne fountain?”

Parker gives me perfectly scripted shit about that. I loop an arm around him and we clink glasses and wish each other a happy new year.

I thank the caterers and the band. Fifteen minutes to hunt time. I remind people of the rules.

The quartet strikes back up.

Parker hops down.

I move to the edge of the stage and hand the mic back to the audio guy. I ask him a question about the acoustics of the place, knowing he’ll spin on it for a bit.