HER ONLY EXCEPTION

Chapter 14 - IS THAT HENRY MOORE'S DATE?

It was the day for the gala, Andrea stared at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back.

Mrs Carrie had worked magic. Her hair was styled in loose, elegant waves that cascaded over one shoulder, a few delicate strands framing her face. Her makeup was flawless but natural soft smoky eyes that made her gaze more intense, a subtle blush on her cheeks, lips painted in a deep rose that complemented the emerald dress perfectly.

The dress itself fit like it had been made for her, the bodice hugged her curves, the neckline elegant and sophisticated and the skirt flowed like water when she moved. She looked expensive and polished.

"You look stunning, dear," Carrie said warmly, adjusting one final curl. "Mr. Moore won't be able to take his eyes off you."

Andrea's heart fluttered. "It's just work, Mrs Carrie."

Carrie smiled knowingly but said nothing.

Andrea took a deep breath, grabbed the small clutch Carrie had set out for her, and stepped out of her room.

Henry was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

He stood with one hand in his pocket, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that made him look even more devastating than usual. His bow tie was perfectly knotted, his hair styled just enough to look effortless and when he looked up and saw her

His mouth flew open.

Andrea descended the stairs slowly, her heart pounding, obviously aware of his eyes on her.

Henry didn't move or speak. He just watched her in awe as she descended the stairs

When she reached the bottom step, they stood face to face.

"You look…" Henry said quietly, "incredible " the words simple but honest.

Andrea's cheeks flushed. "Thank you."

Henry extended his arm. "Ready?"

Andrea hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.

His arm was solid beneath her touch, warm through the fabric of his jacket.

"Yeah..ready," she whispered.

The gala was being held at the Grand Belmont Hotel, one of Chicago's most luxurious venues.

When they pulled up to the entrance, Andrea was utterly shocked. The building was stunning; grand stone architecture lit up against the night sky, with a red carpet stretching from the curb to the entrance. Photographers lined on both sides, and cameras flashing as guests arrived in expensive cars.

"Oh my God," Andrea whispered.

Henry glanced at her. "You'll be fine, just stay with me."

The driver opened the door, and Henry stepped out first before extending his hand to help Andrea.

The moment her heels touched the red carpet, the cameras started flashing.

Andrea blinked against the lights, her grip tightening slightly on Henry's arm.

Henry leaned in close, his voice low in her ear. "Breathe. Don't look at the cameras, just walk."

Andrea nodded and focused on moving forward. But she could hear the whispers.

"Who is she?"

"She's stunning."

"Is that Henry Moore's date?"

"I've never seen him bring anyone before."

"Look at that dress”

“OMG, she's gorgeous."

Andrea's heart raced, but she kept her chin up, her expression calm, even as her insides twisted with nerves.

Henry's hand moved to the small of her back, the touch possessive and grounding as they walked through the entrance.

The ballroom was breathtaking.

Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting warm golden light over the space. Round tables draped in white linens were arranged throughout the room, each one set with fine china and fresh flower arrangements. A live orchestra played softly in the background, and the room buzzed with conversation and laughter.

Everyone here was wealthy, powerful and Important which made Andrea feel completely out of her depth.

Henry guided her through the crowd, his hand never leaving her back.

People turned to look as they passed; men in tuxedos, women in designer gowns, all of them watching with curiosity and thinly veiled interest.

"Henry Moore," a man in his fifties called out, approaching with a smile. "Good to see you."

"Richard Hartman," Henry said smoothly, shaking his hand.

“And who is this beautiful lady here?”

"This is Andrea Collins, my assistant. Andrea, this is Richard Hartman, CEO of Hartman Industries."

Andrea smiled politely and extended her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Hartman."

"The pleasure is mine," Richard said, his eyes lingering on her just a bit too long. "Henry, you didn't mention your assistant was so lovely."

Henry's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Yeah, and she's off limits."

Richard chuckled. "I'm sure she is."

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before moving on.

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions–with investors, business associates, wealthy socialites. Everyone was polite, but Andrea could feel their curiosity, their judgment and their speculation.

“Who is she? Where did she come from? Is she sleeping with him?”

But she kept her smile in place, answered questions gracefully, and stayed close to Henry. And through it all, Henry's hand never left her back, guiding her through the crowd like she was something precious that could break.

Eventually, they found a quieter corner near the bar.

Henry handed Andrea a glass of champagne. "You're doing well."

"I'm tired, I feel like I'm going to throw up," Andrea admitted quietly.

Henry smiled briefly. "You hide it well."

Before Andrea could respond, a familiar voice called out.

"Henry!"

They both turned.

It was Marcus Barnes, he approached with an easy grin, dressed in a sharp navy tuxedo. He looked between Henry and Andrea, his eyebrows raising slightly.

"Marcus," Henry said.

Marcus's grin widened. "So this is why you've been dodging my calls." His eyes landed on Andrea. "You must be Andrea Collins, I've heard a lot about you."

Andrea smiled. "All good things, I hope."

"Mostly," Marcus said with a wink. Then he turned to Henry. "Can I borrow you for a minute?"

Henry glanced at Andrea. "Will you be alright?"

"I'll be fine," Andrea said quickly.

Henry hesitated for just a moment before nodding. "I'll be right back."

Marcus led him to a quiet alcove near the edge of the ballroom, away from the crowd and the orchestra.

“Alright, man,” Marcus said, crossing his arms, grin fading into something more serious. “What the f**k is going on?”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You brought her to the gala, you even moved her into your penthouse. You’ve never done that for anyone. Not once. So cut the bullshit and tell me the truth.”

Henry’s jaw flexed. He glanced back toward the bar where Andrea stood alone, looking composed but slightly out of place in that emerald dress.

“I wanted her close,” he said flatly.

Marcus waited.

Henry exhaled through his nose. “She’s been driving me f*****g insane since the day she walked into the company. I can’t stop thinking about her. The way she talks back to me, the way she looks at me like she’d rather slap me than smile… I moved her in because I wanted her under my roof. Simple as that.”

Marcus let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You want to f**k her.”

Henry’s eyes darkened, a dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Among other things.”

“Jesus Christ,” Marcus laughed. “And she agreed to live with you? Just like that?”

“She didn’t have much choice,” Henry said, voice cold. “Her landlord was about to kick her out and I gave her a solution. Now she’s exactly where I want her.”

Marcus studied him for a long beat. “You know this isn’t like you, right? You don’t do the whole ‘keep her close’ thing. You f**k them once, maybe twice, then you’re done. So what’s different about this one?”

Henry’s gaze drifted back to Andrea again. His hand flexed at his side like he was fighting the urge to go back to her right now.

“She’s different,” he said quietly. “She doesn’t flinch when I look at her. She doesn’t simper or try to please me. She challenges me. And every time she does… I want to put her on her knees and remind her exactly who she’s dealing with.”

Marcus raised both eyebrows. “Damn. You’re in deep.”

“I’m not in anything,” Henry snapped. “I just want her. I want her in my space. I want her in my bed. And I’m not letting anyone else get close enough to touch what’s mine.”

Marcus clapped a hand on his shoulder, grin returning. “Well, good luck with that, man. Because from where I’m standing, she doesn’t look like the type who’s going to roll over and let you own her.”

Henry’s smirk was slow and predatory.

“Good,” he said. “I like it when they fight back.”