Chapter Twelve – Recognition & Warnings[Part 2]
1156 Words
The old instinct rises—nod, appease, and stays small.
She swallows it.
“I understand that this is a public event,” she says. “And that it would look strange if I snubbed one of the most influential men in the city who just donated a seven-figure sum to your charity.”
Vince’s eyes flash.
“She’s right,” Riley says breezily. “You want headlines about being ungrateful hosts? Because I can call Page Six right now.”
Vince’s hand curls at his side.
“Watch your mouth,” he tells Riley without looking at her.
Then, to Ava, lower: “He is not welcome in your orbit. I see you within three paces of him again, and we will have a different conversation than this one.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“Smile for the photographers,” he says, then walks away, already lifting his face into a public grin as someone calls his name.
Riley snorts. “He threatening you or auditioning for Bond villain?”
“Both,” Ava says.
“Look at me,” Riley says.
Ava does.
“You don’t owe that man your isolation,” Riley says quietly. “Not after what he’s done. Not to the tenants. Not to you.”
Ava’s throat burns.
“Let’s get some air,” Riley says. “Before I commit p*******e with a salad fork and ruin your nice dress.”
They slip out through a side door onto a balcony overlooking the city. Cool air hits Ava’s cheeks, washing away heat and perfume.
Below, Manhattan glittered. From up here, it almost looks honest.
Riley leans on the railing. “Okay, scale of one to ten. How much do you want to ride the Silicon King like a stolen motorcycle?”
“Riley,” Ava groans, pressing her fingers to her temples.
“I’m just trying to gauge risk,” Riley says. “If it’s a three, I distract you with memes and men who won’t get us shot. If it’s a ten…” She shrugs. “I make sure you hydrate and don’t die.”
Ava laughs despite herself, the sound shaky.
“It’s a bad idea,” she says.
“Obviously,” Riley says. “Most good s*x is.”
Ava turns to look back through the glass doors.
Damian stands alone for a moment, drink in hand, watching Vince work the crowd. Then, his eyes shift to the balcony. To her.
He lifts his glass a fraction in a toast no one else sees.
Her pulse trips.
“It’s not just s*x,” she says quietly.
Riley sobers. “I know.”
They stand there for a few minutes, breathing in the city.
When they go back inside, Riley is snagged by a designer she knows. Ava is left temporarily alone near a table blooming with white orchids.
“Ms. Moretti.”
The voice slides over her like cool metal.
She turns.
Damian stands there, a polite distance away. Up close, the tux fits even better. Or maybe it’s just that she’s finally letting herself look.
“Mr. Kade,” she says. “Enjoying the rooftop garden fundraiser?”
“Immensely,” he says. “I adore events where everyone pretends their money is clean.”
A corner of her mouth lifts. “And yours isn’t?”
“Oh, mine is filthy,” he says easily. “But I don’t insult anyone’s intelligence by pretending otherwise.”
She takes a sip of her drink to hide a smile.
“You were very convincing with the mayor,” he adds. “Almost had me believing Moretti Developments cares about green space.”
“Almost?” she echoes.
His eyes trace her face, lingering a fraction too long on the faint mark near her throat—the one his jaw put there in the dark.
“Your stats were correct,” he says. “Your projections, less so.”
“How generous of you to critique my work uninvited,” she says lightly. “Tell me, do you haunt *all* charity galas just to correct women in pretty dresses?”
“Only the ones who break into underground auctions and try to outbid me,” he says.
Her breath stutters.
She covers it with sarcasm. “You have a very vivid imagination, Mr. Kade.”
“So I’ve been told,” he says. “But I prefer data.”
His gaze holds hers, unflinching.
He’s not saying it out loud.
He doesn’t have to.
He knows.
He reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a slim black card, the kind with no logos and too much power.
“Since we’re both so passionate about the future of the city,” he says, offering it between two fingers, “perhaps we should discuss it somewhere less… noisy.”
Ava stares at the card.
Kade Dynamics.
She doesn’t take it.
“Why?” she asks.
One of his brows lifts the smallest amount. “Excuse me?”
“You have my father’s attention,” she says quietly. “You have this room’s. You have more money than God. Why do you want my time on top of that?”
For a heartbeat, something unguarded flickers across his face.
Then it’s gone.
“Because you see the cracks,” he says. “And you don’t look away. That’s useful.”
“Useful,” she repeats. “Good to know my best feature is my utility.”
He smiles then. Small. Dangerous. Amused.
“Not your best,” he says.
Heat crawls up her throat.
She reaches out and takes the card more to end the moment than anything.
“I’ll think about it,” she says.
“No you won’t,” he says. “You’ll decide. There’s a difference.”
Before she can retort, Vince’s voice cuts in like a blade.
“Ava.”
She turns.
Vince stands a few feet away, expression pleasant, eyes lethal.
“Mr. Kade,” he says with false warmth. “I see you’ve met my daughter properly now.”
“Fortunate for me,” Damian says.
“Unfortunate for her,” Vince replies.
Silence stretches between them, charged.
“Ava, we have donors waiting,” Vince says. “You remember the senator from last year? He asked for you.”
“Of course,” she says.
She pockets Damian’s card.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Kade,” she says.
“Oh, I intend to,” he says. “Sleep well, Ms. Moretti.”
She leaves with her father, feeling Damian’s gaze between her shoulder blades all the way across the room.
At the far edge of the ballroom, Nolan steps closer to Damian, following his line of sight.
“You look at that girl like you’ve already taken her apart piece by piece,” Nolan says quietly.
Damian’s mouth curves, eyes still on Ava.
“Not yet,” he says.
- Writer
