Seducing The Heir

Eight

A massive lump formed inside my throat. I looked at his arm and thought of the many ways I could dismember it and tear it off his body. I could pull--

"Are you really going to embarrass me in front of these people? I'm waiting, Miss Harper."

His voice was suddenly cold that I stared at the people in front of us almost without my volition.

The women were dressed in white gowns and capes of varying embroidery. Their faces are all delicately different with hints of emotions in their eyes. Why are they staring at me?

They were all dressed to the nines. I could see their expensive jewelry and flashy dresses. They walked with the confidence of queens and princesses, with the bearing of wealthy business executives.

I looked at Rye. He looked so handsome with his dark brown hair slicked back and his face clean-shaven. He looked like he was born to be a charitable billionaire.

I averted my eyes again. I felt like I was going to faint in front of him. Ugh!

"I said, are you going to take my arm or what, Emily?"

I felt my cheeks burning. I felt tears. I bit my bottom lip and shook my head.

"You're embarrassing me in front of all these people, Emily," he said. He then took my hand and wrapped it around his arm. He led me to the entrance of the hotel. "Let's go inside, shall we?"

I tried to grip a firm hold on my emotions. What the hell was wrong with me?

The hotel was prepared for the McMillan Charity Gala Night. It has a giant ballroom, done in shades of gold. The floors were polished marble and glinted under the bright light. The walls were white and the curtains were purple velvet.

It was like a palace, a grand white building with crystal chandeliers and lots of gold and jewels. The warm lighting is delicious. The room is lush with lotus and birds of paradise, jasmine and blossoming flowers. It's a bit brutal for a ballroom, but the decorations will make up for it.

The red carpet where we walked on was glittering under the light of the crystal chandeliers. Gold and black streamers and ribbons were covering the walls and hallways.

My ears rang with the sound of everything around us. The door opening and closing, the clinking of glass, beautiful music and the words being spoken.

The sound of rich, mature voices filled the ballroom, it sounded like they didn't care they were in a ballroom. There was also a soft-spoken background music playing.

Everywhere, people dressed in expensive suits and gowns stood talking to each other with hushed and high pitched voices. Lights flashed every other second as there were countless photographers to document the event. There were news channel reporters, too.

"It wouldn't hurt if you smile a little, Miss Harper," whispered Rye.

I felt my cheeks heat up. . I looked down. "I'm not a celebrity, Mr. McMillan."

"No, but you're my inspiration. I want to show you off, my muse." He looked me right in the eyes. "Don't you want to be the center of attention for me, Emily?"

My cheeks were burning. "I think you've done that already, Mr. McMillan. My cheeks blushing is all you get tonight."

He laughed. "I don't think you're blushing." He pulled me closer to him. "I think you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," I said.

"You're acting like you're mad at me. You're acting like you don't want to be here with me."

"I'm not acting like that."

"You are. You think you can lie to me? I know you're mad," he said.

"I'm not mad."

"You're too mad to smile."

"I'm not mad!" I said, exasperated.

He smirked. "That's what I thought."

"Arrogant asshole."

"I know," he said.

"I'm not mad."

"I know."

"Stop knowing."

He smiled. "I know."

"Stop saying that!" I said.

"I know."

I glared at him. "You really are an arrogant asshole."

"I know."

"And you're too smug."

"Yes, I am," he said.

"You're just trying to make me mad."

"I'm not making you mad. You're mad because you're mad."

"You're a dick."

"Yes, a big d**k. You like it big, don't you?"

At that, I felt myself blush. Dirty thoughts came running inside my head. All of a sudden, I remembered that night after the month-end party. Rye did have a very big--

"Mr. McMillan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," a voice had said, snapping me out of my head. I was too engrossed in my thoughts that I didn't notice that a couple had approached us. For a weird moment, I wondered if they overheard our conversation.

"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Strongheart," answered Rye, the playfulness in his tone suddenly gone as he took the gentleman's hand and shook it. It was as though he became another person in an instant, all the sudden serious and professional. "I hope you and your lovely wife are enjoying the gala."

"We are," said Mr. Strongheart. He then set his hazel green eyes on me. He looked young to be married already. Though I could not blame him, he was ridiculously handsome with his stubborn jaw and high cheekbones. "I don't believe I have had the pleasure of your company, Miss...?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat and took the man's offered hand. "Harper," I said. "Emily Harper." I forced a half-smile and wished that I did not look like a choking racoon.

He took my hand and kissed it. My eyes went wide as I thought that he was with his wife, but when I looked at her, she was smiling. Apparently, this way of greeting was normal for ultra rich people. He straightened up and pointed his partner. "This is my wife, Kaylene."

My gaze darted to Mrs. Strongheart. Damn, she was hot as hell. Her eyes were grey and her was dark shade of brown, almost black. She looked fierce, but gentle at the same time. She's probably the most beautiful woman I have met. She had the looks of someone other girls would get would jealous over, but for some reason, I did not feel that way towards her. She came nearer and cheek-kissed with me. Her scent oddly reminded me of the early rains of June. "It's nice to meet you, Emily," she said, smiling.

"Well, I reckon you still have a lot of guests to attend to, Mr. McMillan. We don't want to take too much of your time, so we shall take our leave," said Mr. Strongheart as he ushered himself and his wife away.

"Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Strongheart. Enjoy the night."

When I was sure that the couple were out of earshot, I turned to Rye. "Who are they?" I asked.

"I believe they are heirs of some sort. Aside from that, they run a company called SD Holdings down on 4th Avenue. They have been donating massive amounts to the Gala every year."

I turned to look at them again, but they were already gone, lost in the crowd of guests. The night went on smoothly, despite my slight annoyance at Rye because of his earlier behavior. The interviews went better than I thought it would — well, I believed they did, at least. People have asked me all sorts of questions, but none of them were inappropriate or rude. They were mostly about the charity and their goals. Some people even asked me to sign their programs.

Everything was so beautiful. It seemed as though the night would not end. For the first time in a while, I was having fun without having to worry about anything. Normally, I would be thinking of ways how I would make this better, but right now I was just here, with Rye, not thinking of anything.

When the speeches were done and the lists of donors were presented, the event was considered over. The lights were immediately turned off and the music had stopped. The celebration was at an end.

"I hope you had fun tonight, Emily," said Rye. He led us out of the ballroom, through the lobby and out to the parking lot. He directed us toward a black limousine. The driver was standing in front of the door, waiting for us.

"Well, it was okay. For work, I mean," I answered.

"So, you did not enjoy yourself?"

I shrugged. "Well, I did, but I'm not used to this kind of life, Mr. McMillan. I would rather be back in my apartment, eating a slice of pizza and watching TV."

He laughed. "That's your idea of fun, huh?"

"Yes. Don't laugh at me, Mr. McMillan. Besides, I shouldn't have to be here in the first place," I said.

"I won't if you won't call me Mr. McMillan."

"What should I call you?"

"I prefer Rye. You called me that before."

"Why? It's weird."

"Fine. Call me whatever you want."

I frowned. What was wrong with him? "Tell me, Rye. Why did you bother? Why did you bother taking me to the gala?"

He shrugged. "I wanted to."

"I know that, but that's too simple of an answer."

"Is it? I just did. I just wanted to do something nice for you, so I did. So what? It's not like I'm the only one who does that. Do you really think I have motives for everything I do?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I just don't understand why you care about me so much."

He stopped and turned to me. He looked at me as though he was trying to see past my eyes. I could feel his gaze, but I could not read what he was thinking. What was he trying to find? And why was he all of a sudden staring at me like this?

"You're overthinking everything," he said.

I did not answer him and looked out the window. Maybe. Maybe I am just overthinking things, I thought to myself as the limo drove away.