Naomi barely glanced up, deep in conversation with Cameron about the silent auction list. Max gave me a once-over with a rare soft smile. “You look beautiful, Samantha,” he said, voice warm and low. “Thanks, Max.”
Theo didn’t say a word. But his eyes dragged overme for just a second too long. And that was more than enough. My father stood beneath the grand chandelier, a glass raised, his voice calm and commanding as ever. “Thank you all for being here tonight. The Hayes Foundation was built not just on business, but on belief, belief in change, in legacy, and in the future. Tonight is about that future.”
He continued on, gracious, proud, practiced, mentioning the foundation’s work, the family company’s evolution, and how honored he was to be surrounded by those helping to shape its next chapter. Naomi gave a perfectly polished follow-up. Cameron charmed the crowd. And somewhere in there, I smiled and nodded and let flashes of cameras wash over me. We were the picture of power, composure, and carefully chosen designer outfits.
And then there was Theo. He stood with that calm intensity only he could pull off, his hand briefly brushing the small of my back as we took a group photo. I didn’t dare move, not when I could still feel the imprint of his fingers, the heat of that touch in the hollow of my spine.
“Smile,” Harper whispered from behind the camera, and I did.
But I felt him step closer. “You look amazing in that dress,” he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. I turned my head slightly, lips still fixed in a smile. “Careful, someone might hear you flirting with your strategist.” His lips were right at my earnow. “It’s my company, no one can tell me what to do or say,” I swallowed. Hard.
“I can’t wait to take it off,” he added. My blush was immediate. I laughed, soft and controlled for the cameras, and whispered back, “No need. It’s got easy access.” His breath caught, just a little, and I felt that tiny, delicious shift in the air between us.
“You are a dangerous woman, Samantha,” he said under his breath.
“A strategic woman,” I corrected, still smiling. “Who knows how to pick her battles… and her underwear, which is nonexistent today.” Theo straightened just as the cameras clicked again. Naomi gave me a suspicious side glance but didn’t say anything.
I stayed perfectly composed, the picture of corporate daughter charm, while my pulse raced like I’d just sprinted through midtown.
The night blurred into a parade of perfectly polite conversations and backhanded compliments wrapped in satin and ego. I sipped my champagne like it was armor, smiling on cue, listening to industry types tell me how proud my father must be, while silently wondering if any of them would recognize me outside of this silk dress and borrowed legacy.
Theo and I moved through the crowd like magnets repelling, always circling, always aware. At some point, Harper whispered something to Theo, and I took the opportunity to slip away past executives, socialites, and people who liked to call themselves ‘old family friends’, but couldn’t name a birthday. I found my way back to the one place that didn’t feel like a performance, our little corner of chaos. Elena, Rose, and Nico posted up near the bar like it was their private island.
“There she is!” Nico announced, raising a flute like I’d just walked into my own party. “We were about to send a search party.” I rolled my eyes. “I was being corporate.” Rose handed me a tequila shot. “Now be feral.” We clinked glasses and downed them, laughing as we scrunched our faces through the burn. Elena topped off our flutes while Nico reached for another round.
Theo reappeared, with a smile on his face that was enough to make me forget how to blink. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed a shot and joined the circle like he belonged there, like he always had. We did another round, and there was more laughter and more glances that lingered.
And then, of course, Naomi. She materialized like a thundercloud in Louboutin heels, lips pursed tighter than her updo. “Samantha,” she said in that voice she used when she was pretending not to judge me. “It’s not great optics, taking shots with the CEO and… whoever these people are.”
I blinked at her. Then turned around and shouted over the music, “Cameron! Come take a shot with us!” He looked surprised, then amused, and shrugged before making his way over. Naomi sighed so hard I could feel the air shift. Rose leaned over and whispered, “Is she always like this?”
“Only when she’s breathing,” I muttered. Nico watched Naomi retreat into the crowd, as if she had somewhere important to be. “Who was that?” he asked, brows raised. “Because she just gave me a very specific urge to behave badly.” I pointed at him with my half-empty glass. “Nope. Don’t think about it.”
“But—”
“Nope,” I said again. He grinned, completely unbothered. “I love a woman with an attitude.” We all laughed again, and for a moment, it didn’t feel like legacy or pressure or corporate optics. It just felt like life. Chaotic, tipsy, and weirdly… good.
Theo caught my eye from across the circle, and even with the noise and the music and the people, I felt it, but I looked away. Harper’s hand was barely on my arm when she leaned in, voice low against the hum of the gala. “Right stairs. Don’t use the elevator. Room 389.” She slipped a key into my palm like it was an invitation and a warning all at once. I turned to ask, but she was gone.
I blinked once, twice, heart thudding as I scanned the room again. He wasn’t with Max. Not with Elena. Not even pretending to listen to Cameron wax poetics about next quarter's projections. Just… vanished. Like smoke. My fingers closed around the key. Cool metal, warm pulse.
Shit.
“Cover for me,” I said to Rose, who immediately narrowed her eyes. “Oh, okay.” I slipped away before I could change my mind.
The stairs were quieter than I expected, carpeted in rich navy and lined with antique sconces. Room 389 was three flights up and to the left, tucked just out of sight, just like him. The key turned smoothly. My heart did not.
The door clicked open to low lights, soft music, and something that looked suspiciously like romance. A bottle of Dom chilled in a bucket of ice. Two long-stemmed glasses. French doors open to a small garden terrace where a fire pit crackles softly. And there, back to me, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t deliberately unraveling my entire life, was Theodore Jones.
He turned at the sound of the door, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight. But those eyes, they knew exactly why I was here. “Took you long enough,” he said, voice low and steady. I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. “You didn’t even say please.”
“I didn’t think I had to.” He paused.
I kicked off my heels by the door, letting them fall with soft thuds against the carpet. “Would’ve been polite. But then again, you’re not exactly known for playing fair.” He moved then, slowly, crossing the room until we were toe-to-toe. He took the key frommy hand without breaking eye contact, then set it on the table beside the Dom.
“I didn’t ask you up here to be polite.” My breath caught. I should say something witty. Tease him or something, but his hand was already grazing the small of my back, and I melted like I’d been waiting for that touch all night.
“You really had Harper do your dirty work?” I asked, barely above a whisper. He smiled, close now. “She believes in efficiency.” I snorted.
