Page 5 of Choosing Scarlet

Before we can speak again, another man approaches with a woman linked gracefully to his arm. “Mr. Fisher. How wonderful to see you here,” the man says, extending his hand.

Knox accepts it for a moment, then releases it. “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Clarkson. I’m pleased you made the right choice and signed the contract. This marks the beginning of what I’m sure will be a mutually beneficial partnership.” His gaze flickers briefly in my direction, accompanied by the swift gesture of his hand. “This is Scarlet Swan. My date for the evening.”

Both Mr. Clarkson and his companion—presumably his wife, from the way his hand rests protectively over hers—turn to me with polite smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Clarkson says. “I’m Johnathan, and this is my wife, Layla.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I reply, smiling. A strange silence settles between us momentarily, and I sense an underlying tension. Something unspoken lingers in the air, though I cannot quite place what it is. Perhaps it’s between the couple, or maybe something between Mr. Clarkson and Knox himself.

“And what is it that you do, Miss Swan?” Mr. Clarkson asks after a brief pause. Questions like this are routine at events like these, but they always require careful handling.

“Customer service,” I answer smoothly, glancing at Knox for a fraction of a second. His lips curve upward slightly, softening his features and making him look almost impossibly handsome. The sight of it sends a flutter through me that I have to will away.

“That’s how Knox and I met, actually,” I add quickly. His hand rests on the small of my back once more, anchoring me. His touch is subtle and almost protective, and it reminds me once again just how dangerously easy it could be to lose myself in the presence of this man.

Mrs. Clarkson brings her hand to her chest, shaking her head with a polite kind of awe. Her husband, however, looks far less convinced. His expression carries suspicion that I can’t ignore, though I find it oddly amusing.

“Is this your first event like this?” he asks. The question sounds polite, but I easily detect the probing tone beneath his words. Beside me, Knox stiffens slightly. Still, this kind of question is nothing new to me. In my line of work, curiosity often comes disguised as civility.

“Of this scope, yes,” I say. “But I’m no stranger to galas like this one.” It isn’t entirely untrue, though a faint unease tugs at me. The grandeur of this particular event is unlike anything I’ve attended before, yet I refuse to let that discomfort show. My posture remains straight, and my expression is confident.

Mr. Clarkson opens his mouth again, no doubt to ask another question, but before he can get the words out, Knox moves closer. “You’ll have to excuse us,” he says evenly. “There are a few other people I’d like Scarlet to meet tonight.”

Thankfully, the rest of the evening goes much smoother. The people we meet afterward are far friendlier than Mr. Clarkson. Knox explains quietly that most of them are business associates; people he has worked with for years and, in some cases, developed genuine friendships with. From the way they speak of him, it’s clear that he’s earned their respect. They call him dependable, generous, and fair. Some even describe him as one of the kindest men—only outside the boardroom.

They don’t need to tell me that, though, even if Knox himself tries to deny it every time, as if it’s something to be ashamed of, or a praise unjustly given. I’ve already seen the same truth written in his birth chart. The stars rarely lie, and they’ve guided me faithfully so far.

As I glance at him, taking in those piercing blue eyes, I know that the stars are right again.

A soft melody fills the air, drifting through the hall. One by one, couples make their way toward the open space in the center of the room, which has transformed into a dance floor. The chandelier lights shimmer above them as the first pairs begin to sway.

I hadn’t expected dancing to be part of the evening. According to the event’s description, my job was to keep him company. Knox doesn’t strike me as a man who enjoys dancing either. He seems more like the type who prefers to keep to himself, so all of this comes as a surprise.

But as he extends his hand toward me, I don’t hesitate for even a moment. My fingers slip into his, and before I know it, we move onto the dance floor, joining the other couples.

His touch is firm. One of his hands clasps mine, while the other settles against the small of my back with just enough pressure to guide me. His eyes never leave mine. He stands close enough that I can catch his cologne’s faint, warm scent, making it hard to think straight.

It’s not like me to lose focus so easily. I pride myself on staying composed and keeping my walls high and strong, but right now, those walls are slipping, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to fight it. The room echoes with quiet conversation and laughter, the band playing softly in the background, yet none of it seems real. The only thing I can truly feel and focus on is him.

My gaze drifts up to his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the deep blue of his eyes, and the faint curve of his lips that could so easily turn into a smile. My heart beats faster.

My God.

“I hope this isn’t too draining for you,” he says finally, breaking the silence between us. “I know some of my business associates can be a bit much. I suspect they just didn’t expect to see me arrive with company.”

I tilt my head slightly, letting a teasing smile form. “Is that so?” I ask playfully. “Don’t tell me you usually go to events like this alone.”

He pulls me closer in response. The motion is subtle, yet it sends a wave of heat coursing through me, and my every nerve is suddenly alert.

“Usually, yes,” he admits. “The last time I came alone, people wouldn’t stop talking about it. I ended up being dragged through a dozen rumors. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but my assistant insists that bad publicity is bad for business. So this seemed like the best solution.”

Any woman would be lucky to attend a gala on his arm. I doubt he would ever need to pay someone for companionship, yet I find myself oddly grateful that this particular job brought me here, beside him, in this moment.

“In that case,” I say softly, my eyes never leaving his, “I hope I’ve managed to meet your expectations.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, the words slipping effortlessly from his lips. “You’ve exceeded every single one of them.”

KNOX

Ican’t remember the last time I enjoyed an event like this. Usually, nights like these are predictable, dull, and filled with the same recycled conversations, but tonight feels different. It’s not just tolerable; it’s pleasant, even exciting. I know exactly why.