Mya is seated at a table not too far away. And right next to her isEthan Chan.
My fists curl under the tablecloth, knuckles straining against the linen. He leans towards her with a smile. My gut twists, territorial anger sparking hot in my veins.
I force myself to ignore it and focus on Sophia.
Except, before I look away, my gaze locks with Mya’s.
She doesn’t cower or lower her eyes. She holds my stare, her chin tilted ever so slightly in defiance.
My cock twitches.
She’s such a brat. And God help me, I’d love nothing more than to bend her over and punish her for it.
I spend the entire dinner with my jaw locked, pretending Mya doesn’t exist. Pretending the sound of her laugh doesn’t slice through the chatter at the executives’ table.
It works—barely—until dessert is cleared and the band shifts into something upbeat.
That’s when I finally let myself glance her way again.
She leans toward Chan, says something I can’t hear, then gets up from the table. A few seconds later, he follows.
Motherfucker.
Are they about to leave together?
Against every shred of better judgment I’ve ever had, I shove back my chair and follow.
Sophia calls out to me, but I ignore her.
Mya slips into the bathroom, while Ethan waits outside the door like some eager puppy. I linger to the side, brushing off a donor who tries to snag my attention, eyes locked on the scene unfolding across the hallway.
When Mya steps out, she startles at the sight of him, her brows pinching before she smooths it over with a polite smile. Interesting. She masks discomfort well, but I see it.
Ethan says something and leans in, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Red floods my vision.
I stalk forward, every step heavy with the fury that’s been simmering for weeks. “If you value your job, Mr. Chan, I suggest you get back to your table. Now,” I seethe, teeth clenched.
He pales, mumbling some apology and scurrying off like the coward he is.
Mya looks at me with wide eyes.
I don’t give either of us time to dwell on it and grab her wrist, pulling her away. I angle us in a shadowed alcove behind a bank of palms, away from any cameras. A couple slips past us toward the dance floor; a server glances over, then away.
Mya jerks slightly, protesting. “Worth, what the hell are you doing?”
“I have a business proposition.”
Her eyes narrow. “A… proposition?”
Watching Ethan crowd her space, something in me went volcanic. That decided it. Not Sophia. Not anyone else. It has to be Mya.For Brianna, but also for me. I need her close, where I can control the story. I need to burn this out of my system, and a temporary arrangement is the cleanest way I can think of.
“Don’t look so nervous.” My mouth twitches, even though this isn’t actually funny. “I need your help with something,” I continue, my expression schooling into something more serious.
“Okay… what can I do?”
I choose my words carefully. “It’s about my ex-wife.”