Page 77 of His to Love
“Later.” He pressed the tip of his champagne glass to his mouth, signaling to me that he wasn’t going to discuss it further. “For now, let’s enjoy the evening, each other’s company, and do the jobs we’re supposed to be doing.”
His suggestion was more like a warning—one I didn’t fully understand. My brow crinkled in confusion, but then I nodded, because I had no other choice. “Okay,” I whispered, glancing down at my own champagne glass. “I won’t like this conversation we’re going to have later, will I?”
“Do you ever enjoy anything that has to do with your father’s business or your family?”
“I think that’s my answer,” I muttered, lips pulling into a frown.
He chuckled and I felt my own lips twitch. At least he found me humorous.
“I can guarantee you an evening of seeing your work on display, excellent food…” He paused, and I lifted my eyes to see his lips twitching, fighting a smile. “And perhaps, semi-decent company.”
While I didn’t appreciate the warning of what would occur later, I did appreciate his attempts to lighten the mood in the car.
To show him, I raised my champagne glass to his and give him a wink. “To semi-decent company this evening.”
His eyes crinkled at the outer edges as his smile widened. “Cheers.”
—
Dinner was incredibly fabulous. I dined on delicious rack of lamb and roasted vegetables. Waiters appeared on a well-timed schedule changing the courses, from a palate cleanser to a soup, a brief salad, and then the main course, followed by a beautiful dessert mousse that tasted like my favorite, french silk pie, except a thousand times better.
And as we had discussed in the limo, the company was decent. Better than semi-decent, truly. Malik was nothing less than a gentleman at every opportunity, and he kept our physical space appropriate except for when he placed his hand on my back to guide me wherever he wanted to go. And there was a lot of guiding and leading. The number of politicians in the gorgeous dining hall at the Museum of Contemporary Art Detroit was astounding. There were even more wealthy business leaders. There was a smattering of famous athletes and models. A few celebrity musicians also joined together to raise millions of dollars for breast cancer research.
A part of me knew it was all for show. The room was filled with powerful men and women. As they figuratively opened their wallets to donate funds or bid on silent auction items that included expensive jewels and glorious vacations, I could practically see the men’s hard-ons when they realized they had more money than their adversaries.
Despite that, I still appreciated the monetary donations as well as the support for my mom that many people came to give me in hushed tones and whispers. It was not lost on me that people in this crowd loved my mother. Their pain and sincerity when they realized I was her daughter, and that neither of my parents were in attendance at their own benefit, was clear. I was moved to tears several times throughout the evening, and it was always when I began to fear that I would lose control of those emotions that Malik quickly, yet also with sympathy, led me to a private space, slid a glass of champagne into my hands, and gave me the quiet moment I needed to get myself under control.
I was in awe of not only his understanding of me, but also his ability to quickly take control in a kind way.
I wanted to believe that I had been wrong about him, that if I chose to make a life with him, I would become more than a showpiece on his arm at events like this. Yet beneath the kindness, a cunningness lingered in his eyes that made me quickly toss away that notion. It was clear from his mannerisms that he spent the night calculating and planning, regardless of whom he was speaking to. His own conversations in hushed but firm whispers didn’t go unnoticed by me, and several times he walked away from men that he didn’t bother to introduce me to with a muscle jumping in his cheek.
Which was exactly what he was doing now. He left me five minutes ago and stepped outside with a gentleman I had never met. But their meeting seemed urgent, and when Malik told me “I’ll be back. Stay here,” I did exactly what he said.
My eyes had stayed trained on the door across the room that he had gone through, so I wasn’t surprised when he entered the ballroom and prowled across the dance floor toward me, with heads snapping in his direction as he passed them, as if I was the one who had clearly pissed him off.
“We’re leaving,” he snapped as soon as he reached me.
I glanced at the women I’d been speaking with; two of them were the governor’s wife and daughter, the women I had promised I would pass the florist’s name to. The governor’s wife looked at me with wide eyes as I stepped away immediately.
“Okaaay,” I said, drawing out the word.
I set my full glass of champagne down on the nearest table and turned to follow Malik as quickly as I could. As we reached the exit to the ballroom, his hand clasped around my elbow with such force I tried to jerk out of his touch.
“What is it?” I glanced at his hard features and watched another muscle tic.
“That talking I said we’d do later?” His eyes met mine, and I saw nothing but chilling coolness. They turned black as onyx. “I’ve recently received news that means we can no longer wait.”
“I don’t think you need to hurt me,” I said, still refusing to follow him.
He glanced down at his hand on my elbow and loosened his grip.
“My apologies.”
Blood flow began to return to my lower arm, and I brushed my hands down the sides of my dress. “Okay, then.”
I followed Malik out to the waiting limo, hesitating only briefly while he opened the door for me, gesturing to his driver to stay in the car.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
