Chapter 4
1081 Words
If there was one thing I knew about Ethan Blackwell, it was that he hated being bored. Which was exactly why, two days later, I was standing in my office with a stack of glossy invitations, grinning like a villain.
“Tell me you’re not actually doing this,” Riley muttered, peering over my shoulder.
“Oh, I’m doing this.” I waved the ivory cardstock like a victory flag. “Charity gala. Black tie. Cameras everywhere. He won’t dare humiliate me in front of an entire ballroom of donors and CEOs.”
Riley snorted. “You’ve met him, right?”
“Yes. Which is why I’m stacking the odds. His date will be perfectgorgeous, intelligent, polished. No way he can ruin this.”
“You’re underestimating the sheer talent that man has for chaos.”
I ignored him and texted Ethan the details. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed with his reply.
You want me in a penguin suit? Cute.
I grit my teeth.
Two minutes later, another text.
Fine. I’ll play along. But if I die of boredom, I’m haunting you.
The night of the gala, my nerves were on fire. Everything had to go perfectly. I’d chosen his date myselfAmelia Hart, socialite, philanthropist, basically the kind of woman his family would kill for him to marry. Poised, elegant, scandal-free.
When Ethan finally arrived, I almost forgot how to breathe.
The tuxedo fit him like it was tailored for sin. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, the kind of dangerous confidence that made half the room pause and stare.
He smirked when he spotted me. “What? No applause?”
“Just don’t ruin this,” I hissed.
He leaned closer, lips brushing my ear. “No promises.”
The evening started well enough. He danced with Amelia, smiled for the cameras, even shook hands with board members. I let myself relax, just a little.
Then, halfway through the night, I caught sight of him at the champagne table.
Flirting.
Not with Amelia.
With the hostess’s daughter.
I nearly choked on my drink.
He looked over, caught my glare, and raised his glass in a silent toast.
I wanted to kill him.I excused myself from a conversation with a pair of donors and marched toward him, heels clicking against marble like the warning shots they were.
“Ethan,” I hissed, plastering on a smile for the crowd. “Your date is two feet away, and you’re chatting up the hostess’s teenage daughter?”
“She’s twenty-one,” he corrected smoothly, sipping his champagne. “And studying architecture. Fascinating girl.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You are supposed to be charming Amelia, not”
He cut me off with that infuriating grin. “Relax, Matchmaker. I’m charming everyone. Isn’t that the point?”
Before I could strangle him with my clutch, Amelia appeared at his side. Elegant, poised, smiling like nothing was amiss. “Ethan, they’re auctioning off the yachts in ten minutes. Shall we?”
“Of course,” he said, offering her his arm. Then, with his free hand, he winked at me over her shoulder.
The man was trying to kill me.
The auction started smoothly, thank God. Ethan raised his paddle, played the part, even looked vaguely interested. But then the bidding for a weekend in Capri began, and suddenly his hand shot up.
“Fifty thousand.”
My head whipped toward him. “What are you”
“Sixty,” a man across the room countered.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on me, smirk tugging at his mouth. “One hundred thousand.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Amelia blinked, clearly caught off guard.
I mouthed at him: Stop it.
He ignored me. “Two hundred.”
By the time the gavel fell, he’d won a weekend getaway he clearly didn’t wantfor four hundred thousand dollars.
The room erupted in applause. Amelia politely clapped. And Ethan? He tipped his head toward me like he’d just scored a personal victory.
Later, when I cornered him by the bar, I finally snapped.
“What the hell was that? You just turned a charity auction into a pissing contest!”
He shrugged. “Relax. It’s for a good cause.”
“You embarrassed your date, you embarrassed me, and you”
He cut me off, voice low, silk over steel. “No, sweetheart. I embarrassed you. And I think that’s what’s really driving you insane.”
I froze, because the worst part washe wasn’t wrong.
By the time the gala ended, I was a bundle of nerves barely held together by a sequined dress and a forced smile. Amelia left with polite excuses, clearly unimpressed. And me? I wanted to crawl into a hole.
Of course, Ethan wasn’t about to let me escape that easily.
He caught me just outside the ballroom, blocking my path with one perfectly tailored shoulder against the wall. “You’re welcome,” he said casually.
I blinked. “You’re insane.”
“You said I needed to make an impression. I’d say dropping nearly half a million in front of half the city qualifies.”
“That’s not an impression, that’s a stunt!”
He leaned closer, voice dropping so low it brushed against my skin. “Funny. The papers won’t call it that. Tomorrow’s headline will read: Billionaire Heir Donates Big at Charity Gala. Suddenly I’m not the reckless playboy, I’m the generous benefactor. Doesn’t that make your job easier?”
I hated him. Hated him more for being right.
“You humiliated me,” I whispered.
He studied me for a beat, his smirk softeningjust for a secondbefore it was back, sharper than ever. “Maybe you should stop making this about you, sweetheart.”
My chest burned. “It is about me. My name, my business, my credibility. Every time you pull one of your little games, it chips away at everything I’ve built.”
“And yet…” His gaze swept over me, deliberate and unnerving. “…you’re still here. Still trying to fix me.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it, because I didn’t have an answer.
He straightened, giving me space, but his words lingered like smoke. “Face it, Matchmaker you’re not here to fix me. You’re here because you can’t stand losing.”
And with that, he walked off into the night, leaving me staring after him, furious, humiliated, andif I was honest with myselfmore determined than ever.
- Writer
