Twenty minutes later, we arrive at our destination. Victor squeezes my hand as James opens the car door.
"Ready?" he asks.
“All set,” I lie.
And with that, I step out into the sleet and the cameras and right into the performance of a lifetime.
24
INVESTOR RELATIONS (THE INAPPROPRIATE KIND)
VICTOR
Thirty minutes after we walk into the ballroom at the St. Regis, I can’t help but watch Harper Beaumont work a room full of investors like she was born to it.
The wet and slushy weather outside is enough to make me grateful for overheated ballrooms and overpriced champagne.
The StreamEats Investor Gala is in full swing, as I do my utmost to prove to my wayward goddamned board that I’m in control, that I’m not a liability.
And I'm succeeding. Mostly.
Because Harper looks absolutely devastating.
She's wearing a dress the color of champagne—gold and shimmering. The dress hugs her waist, her hips, but I’m the only person in this room who knows what lies beneath. The silky garment dips between her small, full breasts, the hemline falling to just above her knees in a way that makes me want to slide my hands up her thighs and?—
I take a drink of scotch, making yet another attempt to focus.
But it’s hard.
In fact, it’s damn near impossible as I watch her now.
Her hair is up in some complicated twist that exposes the line of her neck and makes me think about putting my mouth there. She's wearing the diamond earrings I bought her last week—a gift she initially refused until I pointed out that showing up to a gala in costume jewelry would raise more questions than wearing real diamonds.
And she's charming every single person she talks to.
"Your girlfriend-wife cleans up well," Roman quips, striding towards me with two glasses of scotch. He hands me one. "I mean, she's always gorgeous, but tonight she looks like she actually belongs at one of these things."
"She does belong here."
"I know that. You know that. But does the board know that?"
I glance across the room to where Patricia Franklin is watching Harper talk to a group of venture capitalists. Her expression is unreadable.
"They will by the end of tonight."
"Cocky.”
"Strategic."
Roman takes a sip of his scotch. "Speaking of strategic—have you heard the rumors about CulinaryVision?"
My jaw tightens. "What rumors?"
"That after you blew up the acquisition, Richard Francis went crawling to FoodFirst. Apparently they're in talks to partner on some kind of streaming food content platform. Combining CulinaryVision's production capabilities with FoodFirst's distribution network."
The information hits like a punch to the gut.
"When did this happen?"
