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Even still, that possessiveness had been in relation to things. Never had it crept over to another person—a woman. Only to himself could he admit the slight fear his possessiveness had the tendency to instill. He and Vectra had struck up a friendship that had stemmed from a casual acquaintance while he’d advised Oscar Bauer on diversifying his stock portfolio. The more money he’d made the respected land developer, the more work it’d brought Qasim and the more opportunity he had to “run into” the man’s exquisite daughter.
Conversation and laughter had flowed freely between them. They’d never actually dated, but often wound up together when they found themselves at the same event. In the process of what he’d been sure had been politeness on Vectra’s part, possessiveness had reared its head for him. Those tendencies had settled in hard and fast.
He’d come to expect her company at the functions they attended. He’d keep her on his arm or within reaching distance for the duration of the event. She never seemed to mind. She was the sweetest, loveliest thing he had ever seen, but she saw him as only a friend—one of many.
She had been confused by his behavior. It was best since he obviously couldn’t rein in the stupid actions his sense of entitlement had driven him to. The way he’d behaved with Lewis Olin was proof enough of that.
Qasim muttered something foul, wishing he could kick his own ass for threatening the poor guy for simply picking up the phone to call her. She deserved an explanation, but he had no idea how to give her one now.
Oliver had been concerned when they’d gotten together for drinks several months prior. Vectra wasn’t of a mind to totally abandon her shell, and Oliver couldn’t gauge why after so long. He’d come to discuss it with Qasim. The two of them had become fast friends while Qasim had been reorganizing Oscar Bauer’s financial portfolio.
The two bottles of whiskey they’d gone through that night had loosened tongues and pickled their brains, but not so much that Qasim forgot the pain he heard in the other man’s voice as he shared his concern for his sister. Oliver was concerned that Vectra was still not venturing out on the dating scene.
Clearly, she wanted to enjoy herself, given the number of invitations she accepted. Despite the parties she’d attended and traveling she’d done, Oliver and his father could tell she was hiding, and she was too special to lock herself away.
Qasim fully agreed. He’d resisted the urge to ask out the heiress, not wanting his interest in her to complicate his business relationship with her father. The time he’d spent getting to know Vectra, however, was making that less and less of a repellant.
Then, Oliver’s loose tongue let slip an enraged curse upon the man who had “done that” to her. Qasim remembered both thanking and cursing his high tolerance for alcohol that night. Had he been more intoxicated, he may have forgotten Oliver telling him that his sister’s last relationship had damn near destroyed her. The man she’d given her heart to had chosen to reciprocate her love with his abuse.
Whatever buzz he may’ve had from the whiskey had ceased and was then absorbed by the wave of rage. He’d only gotten a last name out of Oliver before the man passed out. Thankfully, it wasn’t a last name Qasim recognized.
He knew enough, though. Not subjecting Vectra to his possessiveness became even more important after that revelation. He never wanted her to be afraid of him. He knew how much more of a possibility that could be if he let her see how little control he had over it.
He’d already blown it enough by threatening Lew. She was sure to shun him if he were to break some guy’s nose just for shaking her hand. Besides, he’d heard the stories of how a man’s possessiveness could be mistaken for love and the results it could bring. He wouldn’t subject Vectra to that.
A calmer, more rational part of his soul called out that he wasn’t that kind of man. Qasim discarded that as rubbish when he felt heat rush the back of his neck. Austin Sharpe, his arm still too snug about Vectra’s waist, was escorting her from the dining room.
* * *
“Image is everything. You know that.”
Vectra laughed while Austin relayed his lofty plans for her Miami gallery in collaboration with the event he wanted to hold.
“I’ve already had a thing on a yacht, but a gallery event would give me a chance to show off a different kind of style.”
“Is that the same thing as image?” she teased.
Austin spread his hands accommodatingly. “Of course.”
Vectra laughed, bracing a hand to his chest to steady herself.
“Vectra,” Qasim called, voice flat and deep across the lobby, drawing her and Austin’s attention.
