The simple truth of this statement hits me with unexpected force. She is an exception—to my rules about business and pleasure remaining separate, about keeping emotional distance, about maintaining control in all things. Since the moment she walked into my home with flour on her nose and determination in her spine, Clara has been systematically dismantling defenses I spent years perfecting.
And the most disturbing part? I'm letting her.
As we move deeper into the room, I find myself watching her more than the crowd, captivated by her genuine wonder at the opulence around us. She doesn't belong in my world of calculated charity and strategic social connections. Yet somehow, she makes this world better simply by being in it.
I intend to ensure she stays there—safe, protected, and mine in every way that matters.
Clara adapts to the gala with surprising ease, her initial nervousness giving way to genuine curiosity about the event andits purpose. I guide her through the crowd with a hand at the small of her back, introducing her to hospital board members and key donors. Her warmth and authenticity stand out in this room of practiced smiles and calculated conversations. When she speaks about her passion for baking, her entire face lights up in a way that draws people in—something I've observed in her bakery but is even more striking in this setting. I'm about to introduce her to the hospital's chief of pediatric oncology when I spot Sophia Winters approaching, her predatory smile familiar from a brief but intense affair last year.
"Alex, darling," Sophia purrs, air-kissing near my cheek. "It's been ages."
Four months, to be exact—the last charity function where she attempted to reignite what had been extinguished long before. Sophia is a classic beauty with the calculating mind of a chess grandmaster. Every move serves a purpose. Tonight, she wears a black gown cut low enough to border on inappropriate, strategically revealing the diamond necklace I foolishly gave her during our two-month entanglement.
"Sophia," I acknowledge, keeping my tone pleasant but distant. "You remember Dr. Reynolds?"
The doctor nods politely, then excuses himself to speak with another guest, leaving us in the precise configuration Sophia wanted—her, me, and my date, ripe for assessment.
"Aren't you going to introduce me to your…friend?" She examines Clara with the practiced eye of a jeweler appraising a questionable stone.
"Clara Benson," I say, moving slightly closer to Clara. "Clara owns Sweet Haven Bakery. Sophia Winters runs the Winters Gallery downtown."
Clara offers her hand with genuine politeness. "Lovely to meet you."
Sophia takes it briefly, her smile never reaching her eyes. "Sweet Haven? I don't believe I'm familiar with it."
"It's not in your neighborhood," I say before Clara can respond. "But it will be catering future foundation events. Clara's work is exceptional."
"How…quaint," Sophia says, the slight pause an expertly placed barb. "I'm sure it's charming."
Clara's spine stiffens beside me, but her expression remains pleasant. "We aim for exceptional rather than charming, but I appreciate the sentiment."
I suppress a smile at her perfectly delivered response. Sophia's eyes narrow slightly, reassessing.
"Alex, I've been meaning to call you about the charity auction for the gallery next month," Sophia says, shifting her attention fully to me, effectively dismissing Clara. "Perhaps we could discuss it…privately? I'm sure your friend wouldn't mind getting herself a drink while we catch up."
Her implication hangs in the air between us. Once, I might have taken the opportunity for a strategic reconnection. Sophia's family connections have been useful in the past. But the thought of leaving Clara's side, even briefly, feels unthinkable.
"Clara is my date for the evening, Sophia," I say, my tone cooling considerably. "Any business matters can be directed through my office. Jennifer handles my schedule."
Sophia's perfect features harden momentarily before she forces a laugh. "Always so serious, Alex. It's what I miss most about you." She touches my arm, her fingers lingering deliberately. "Think about the auction. For old times' sake."
She glides away, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume and unfinished business in her wake.
"Ex-girlfriend?" Clara asks, her voice carefully neutral.
"Briefly," I confirm. "Nothing significant."
"She seemed to think otherwise."
"Sophia sees relationships as strategic alliances. She's reevaluating her portfolio."
Clara's lips twitch. "And am I a new acquisition in your portfolio, Mr. Devereux?"
"No," I say simply. "You're something else entirely."
Before she can ask what I mean, the hospital director approaches to discuss the dessert catering opportunity. Clara engages immediately, her knowledge of large-scale production and food safety protocols clearly impressing him. I watch with undisguised pride as she handles his questions with professional confidence, occasionally glancing at me to gauge my reaction. I nod encouragingly, letting her take the lead.
We make our way toward the bar after finalizing preliminary details about the catering contract. I notice with some amusement that Clara has collected several business cards already, tucking them carefully into her small clutch.
