The insult lands with surgical intent.
Around us, conversation lulls. People are listening. She didn't just call me working class; she called me hired help. She called me a servant in Brooks's world.
Shame heats up my neck, hot and prickly. I open my mouth to respond, to make a joke, to deflect, to use my 'fixer' charm to de-escalate the situation because that is what I do. I smooth things over. I take the hit.
But Brooks beats me to it.
His hand on my waist tightens, pulling me flush against his side. The air around him drops ten degrees. The polite, social mask he wears so well shatters, revealing the man beneath, the one who blackmailed me, the one who built a fortune on ruthlessness.
"Actually, Penelope," Brooks says. His voice isn't loud, but it projects clearly over the terrace, silencing the nearby tables. "It is helpful. Because while Ivy was saving the event, the rest of us were standing around helpless, watching the ice melt."
Penelope's smile falters. "I just meant?—"
"I know what you meant," Brooks interrupts, his tone cutting. "You meant to imply that she works for a living. And you're right. She does. She built her own company from the ground up. She creates success instead of inheriting it and waiting for a board meeting to validate her existence."
Penelope recoils as if slapped. The color drains from her face.
But Brooks isn't finished. He turns slightly, blocking Penelope from my view, creating a shield with his body. He looks down at me, and the coldness in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a heat that makes my knees weak.
"Frankly," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I find her ambition incredibly attractive. It's refreshing to be with a woman who brings more to the table than a trust fund."
He lifts my hand, the one with the massive diamond, to his lips. He kisses my knuckles, his eyes locked on mine.
"Don't you agree, darling?"
My heart stops. Then it restarts at double speed, thudding against my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage.
He isn't just playing the part. He is defending me. He is claiming me. He just insulted a woman he has known for twenty years to protect my honor.
I look at Penelope. She looks like she just swallowed a lemon whole.
"Thank you, Brooks," I say softly, my voice breathless. I turn to Penelope and flash her my brightest smile. "He's so supportive. It must be why we work so well together. I handle the logistics; he handles the... difficult personalities."
Penelope flushes a blotchy red that clashes horribly with her pale blue dress.
"Well," she stammers, taking a step back. "I... excuse me. I think I see my mother."
She turns and disappears into the crowd with impressive speed.
Silence hangs over our little circle for half a beat, and then the chatter resumes, louder, sharper, feeding on itself. Heads tilt. Glances linger.
We are the main event.
We are the drama.
Brooks watches her go, his jaw tight. Then he looks down at me. The anger fades from his expression, leaving behind concern.
"You okay?" he asks.
I look up at him. I look at the sharp line of his jaw, the dark eyes that are currently looking at me like I'm the only person on this terrace.
"I'm better than okay," I whisper. "That was..."
"Manual labor?" he teases, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"Hot," I admit. The truth slips out before I can stop it. "That was really, really hot."
Brooks grins. It's not the boardroom smile. It's the burger joint smile. Real. Warm. Dangerous.
