I follow along behind, depositing the flowers on a table as we go while he heads for his first target, an older guy I recognize from other fancy-pants events we’ve attended. After Mr. Roth reintroduces himself—I remember this man’s name now, Mr. Schwarz—I take out my phone so I can jot down notes. Instead, though, Mr. Roth tugs me by the arm and brings me in against his side.
“And this is Ms. Kristoff,” he says. “Accompanying me this evening.”
The man’s eyebrows jump. “Oh, you’ve brought a date for once, have you, Mr. Roth? Ididn’t think anyone could pique your interest. I’ve always seen you as a bit of a loner.”
“I suppose it just takes the right person.” Mr. Roth squeezes my side before releasing me. “Then you know you’re caught.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
ROSETTE
I’m not sure what Mr. Roth is thinking. Many of his colleagues from the firm are at this event, too. Surely they’ll catch wind if he’s walking around introducing me to people as his date.
I feel like I’m on a train that’s about to crash.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him as we finally leave our conversation with Mr. Schwarz and head toward the bar. “Human resources is going to have some things to say.”
“I’ll deal with it,” he says with finality. “What would you like to drink?”
I’m surprised that he’s even asking me, whenat any other gala, he’s ordered me a gin and soda with lime.
“Wine,” I say, because I do actually like gin and soda, but I want to assert myself. “White wine, please.”
Mr. Roth nods and gives the bartender our order: one white wine and one dry martini with two olives. Both are produced in short order, and then we return to mingling.
I don’t fight it when Mr. Roth slides his arm around my waist because truthfully… I like it. If I thought I didn’t mean anything to him before the night he burst into Octavio’s, that thought is banished. He’s here telling me—and everyone else around us—that I’m his. He’s saying it loudly and clearly.
I’m still not sure how I feel about that, whether Iwantto be his. But the idea is appealing, standing here on Mr. Roth’s arm as we chat to his society acquaintances, and they politely ask me questions like, “Where did you go to school?” I answer with my backwater state university, but no one bats an eyelash.
“How did you two meet?”
Here it comes.
“She began working as my assistant,” Mr.Roth says smoothly. “But it became something more than that.”
Where I expect the couple we’re talking with to be disgusted, instead, they both nod in understanding.
“We also met at work,” the wife says. “Though more as colleagues.”
The husband arches an eyebrow. “Got up to some extracurricular activities on the job?”
I can feel it when my entire face turns red, because I feel like my head is about to pop off my body from the embarrassment. But Mr. Roth just chuckles, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it, and then he doesn’t let go.
Eventually, we move on, making our way around the room. When the cocktail hour is over, we’re herded to our seats in the massive ballroom, where I find we’ve been seated with others from the firm—including the CEO. Mr. Roth pulls out my chair for me, then takes my hand as I sit. He kisses the back of it before letting go, and my face must turn bright red all over. Not even the light show on the walls or the beautiful, glittering centerpieces can distract me from the fact we’re blatantly ignoring human resources protocol.
“And who is this?” the CEO asks. Naomi Philips is a force to be reckoned with, and I’m squeezing Mr. Roth’s hand so tight under the table that I’m probably biting into his skin with my nails.
He looks unfazed.
“Ms. Kristoff, my assistant. I believe you’ve met before.”
Her brow rises. “Your assistant? From the firm?” She surveys me. “Well, I hope you’re taking good notes.”
I open my mouth, not sure what to say in response when I have my phone nowhere near me, but she simply chuckles.
“And what’s your excuse, Vincent?” Naomi says. “For dating your assistant.”
