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I internally chastise myself. I might not be better than her if I’m judging her, but as the two women speak of Cain, degrading him down to merely a handsome face to look at, I realize I understand why Cane is so closed off. If everyone looked at me like I was merely a good face despite my genius, I, too, would be closed off.
“Do you think there’s anything we could do to keep him here?”
“Besides getting on our knees?”
“I bet that’s what he likes. For a woman to crawl to him.”
“I have crawled to him,” the brunette says, her lips sucked into a coy, flirtatious smile.
The idea of either of these women being with Cain sets my blood on fire. I feel like I’m practically sizzling with anger.
I take a deep breath, plastering a fake smile on my face, and then I excuse myself.
Without another word, I head off.
I start to take a loop around the space, glancing at the faces surrounding me, listening to their conversations.
This event is for the donors, the people who invested in The Elysian. I can hear them talking, and apparently, if this is a success, they will have Cain build properties like this all over the world.
A part of me is excited for him, but another part feels it’s wasted on people like this.
I continue to walk the space, and then from across the room, I see Cain. He doesn’t see me at first, and I watch him. He’s talking to a group of gentlemen.
His face is stoic as per usual, and then he catches my eye.
His head tilts to the side, and our gaze’s lock. The way he looks at me is different than how he looks at them. He takes a deep breath, and it’s like he can breathe for the first time tonight.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe I’m seeing things that aren’t really there, but it feels like when he sees me, he’s different.
God, I hope so. I truly hope so because I want to be different for him.
I want to be more.
15
Cain
There is nothing I hate more than this dog and pony bullshit. I despise every moment of these types of events. Every aspect of it is worse than the next. Plaster on a fake smile. Pretend to laugh at their jokes. Seem engaged.
It is a test of my will to be here.
Granted, I have trained for this my whole life. Faking a smile and pretending to care have been my constant companions.
They’re the shadows that follow me everywhere I go.
Until her. She’s like the sunlight after a long storm. The darkness that has surrounded me for thirty-five years breaks open when Layla is nearby.
From the first moment I saw her, I could feel the warmth she exudes. I continued to put myself in her orbit to see if the light would fade. But if anything, it’s flourished. Why is she different? Why do I want to hear what she says? Why do I care to hear the answers? Is it just that she’s the first person to make me genuinely laugh?
She’s special.
Unlike the women before her, it’s not about Layla’s looks.
It’s about the way she looked at me.
Most people shy away and back down, but she looked me right in the eye when she met me, and I could tell she wanted to know the real me. She challenges me. Understands me.
That’s it, and here, now, it’s more pronounced as I listen to the men. All they talk about is money and finance.
Their wives are worse. They are staring at me like I’m fresh meat. I’m just a quick, noteworthy fuck to these women. I’m an orgasm. That’s it. A novelty.
My gaze finds her. She’s surrounded by women, and by the look on her face and the way her brows are pinched in, she doesn’t like what they have to say.
As I watch her, she turns in my direction, and I catch her eyes. They’re now narrowed, not angry. No, now they remind me of the look she gives when she is concerned. And that’s why she is special. The concern is for me.
“Excuse me, gentlemen. If you don’t mind, I have a pressing matter to attend to.”
I make my way across the room, trying to find her. But as I walk toward where I last saw her, more people stop me. My back goes ramrod straight as a woman slithers up beside me, her hand touching the shoulder of my tuxedo.
“Mr. Archer,” she draws out, her tongue jutting out to lick her lips.
If this were any other event, I would remove her hand from my shoulder, but I remind myself that this is part of the game. The bigger goal.
I can’t be shortsighted. I am trying to change the world.
I lower my head to meet her eyes. She is not unattractive. A typical man might find himself lucky to have a roll in the sheets with her.
