"There you are. The photographer wants a few more shots before we leave, and Father wants us to make an appearance at the after-party."
She's giving me an out. Or maybe she's protecting herself by making sure the carefully constructed narrative doesn't crumble.
I step back from Ivy reluctantly. "I'll be right there."
Evangeline's eyes assess Ivy. "Dr. Chandler, isn't it? I heard about your research earlier."
"Thank you," Ivy says in a steady voice. All traces of our argument have vanished behind her professional mask.
"Declan, darling."
Evangeline holds out her hand, the endearment dripping with false affection. The cameras flash from inside the ballroom, catching the three of us. I play my part and leave, Evangeline's arm through mine.
The photos hit gossip sites before midnight.
“Declan Hawthorne and Evangeline Ashford spotted at charity gala. Sources say the chemistry was undeniable.”
There's a picture of Evangeline laughing at something I said. My hand is on her back and my eyes are trained on her, like she's the only thing that matters in my world.
It's complete bullshit.
But buried in the third paragraph of one article, there's a little line that warms my blood:
However, photographers also captured what appeared to be a heated conversation between Hawthorne and Dr. Ivy Chandler on the hotel balcony. The nature of their relationship remains unclear.
My phone rings a few minutes later.
It's Gregory.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he asks in an icy tone. "I arrange the perfect setup, and you jeopardize it by cornering Marcus's Chandler's sister on a balcony?"
"It wasn't..."
"I don't care what it was. Do you know what favors I had to trade and threats I had to make to ensure the photos don't leak? Stay away from her."
"You don't control my personal life."
His voice drops dangerously low. "I control your career, endorsements, and public image. You're under contract, Declan. You agreed to maintain a certain standard of behavior. That includes not screwing around with your teammate's sister at a public event."
"She's a colleague. We were talking about her research."
"The photos suggest otherwise." There are several notification sounds. "The Evangeline arrangement is working. Don't sabotage it because you can't keep it in your pants."
Rage floods through me. "Watch your mouth."
"Or what? You'll fire me?" His sharp and cold laugh comes through the phone. "We both know you won't. You need me, Declan. You always have."
The line goes dead.
Several beeping sounds come from my phone. They're messages of photos sent by Gregory.
I sit in my penthouse, staring at them. In one, Evangeline is looking perfect. The other photographs show a happy, celebrity couple.
What a lie!
Then I see the shots of Ivy and me on the balcony. She's almost invisible in the first photo, except for her legs showing under my spread-apart legs. The damning picture makes it look like we were kissing. I didn't even get to suck those lips. In another, I've shifted slightly to the side and her face is tilted up toward mine.
I should text Ivy and explain or apologize. Instead, I text her as King.
