"Nothing at all," I reply, allowing myself the smallest of smiles. "I'm simply looking forward to the evening ahead."
With you, I don't add.On my arm. In my world. Where you belong.
Where I intend to keep you.
Sophie sits with her hands folded in her lap, the picture of composure except for the white-knuckled grip she has on her clutch purse. The Bentley glides through Evergreen's snow-dusted streets, its engine barely a whisper. I could have my driver take the direct route to the Grand Summit Hotel, but I deliberately instructed him to take the scenic drive along the lake. More time alone with her. More time to establish expectations before we arrive.
"The dress suits you," I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us since leaving her apartment.
She startles slightly, as if lost in thought. "Thank you. It was more than I would have chosen for myself."
"That's why I didn't leave the choice to you." The words come out more possessive than intended, but I don't regret them.
Her eyes narrow a fraction. "Do you always make choices for other people, Christian?"
"For people who matter." I hold her gaze until she looks away, a fresh blush coloring her cheeks. Victory, small but significant.
"So," she says, clearing her throat, "what should I expect tonight? You mentioned something about displaying my work?"
"I've arranged a small table near the entrance to the ballroom. A selection of your finest pieces—which I had my assistant collect from your shop manager this afternoon."
"Lily gave you my ornaments?" Her eyebrows raise in surprise.
"She was quite cooperative once I explained the exposure opportunity." And once I added a generous personal bonus to convince her. "Your work will be displayed with appropriate lighting and signage. Guests will pass it on their way in and out of the main event."
Sophie's shoulders relax fractionally. This is familiar territory for her—business, product placement. "That's very generous. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," I reply, watching how the passing streetlights cast shadows across her face. "These people aren't your typical customers, Sophie. They're sharks. Old money, new money, people who collect businesses the way others collect art. They'll evaluate everything—including you."
Her chin lifts slightly. "I can handle myself."
"Can you?" I lean forward, invading her space deliberately. "These aren't quaint townsfolk buying Christmas presents. These are people who can make or break careers with a single word. People who spend more on a weekend yacht trip than your shop makes in a year."
She flinches slightly but doesn't back down. "I'm not ashamed of what I do or where I come from."
"Good," I say, surprising her. "Confidence is attractive. Remember that when they're circling."
The Bentley turns onto the lakefront drive, moonlight glinting off the frozen surface to our right. Sophie glances out the window, momentarily distracted by the beauty of it. I take theopportunity to study her profile—the delicate slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the pulse visibly beating at her throat.
"I should warn you," I say, my voice dropping lower, "that I have certain expectations for this evening."
Her attention snaps back to me, wariness creeping into her expression. "What kind of expectations?"
"You'll stay close to me."
"At all times?" she asks, eyebrows raised. "What about when I'm at the display table?"
"When necessary, you can attend to your work. Otherwise, you're with me." I make it a statement, not a request. "Some of my associates can be…persistent when they see something they want."
"And you think they'll want…me?" Disbelief colors her tone.
I almost laugh. Her inability to recognize her own appeal is as frustrating as it is endearing.
"Sophie," I say, her name like dark honey on my tongue, "every man in that room will want you the moment you walk through the door. Make no mistake about that."
The blush returns, spreading down her neck toward the neckline of her dress. I find myself wondering how far it goes.
"You're exaggerating," she murmurs.
