My brows go up. “No. You’re my bodyguards. My date is—”
“Let me stop you there,” Roman says as Maddox scowls across the coffee table at me.
“What?” I ask past my mouthful of chicken.
“No dates,” Roman bites as he slashes a hand. “No one who isn’t approved by us. Did I not make that clear before?”
My mouth falls open. “You can’t stop me from bringing someone—”
“I can and will, Siren. No dates.” Roman says as if his word is final.
Did I think this was nice? I was mistaken, because who the fuck does he think he is? “I can bring whoever I want.”
“No, you can’t,” Kairo replies.
“You can’t be serious,” I announce, my eyes glossing over them, but they all look deathly sincere on the subject.
Oh, this makes my original plan even easier. If they want to play, I’ll make the game impossible for them to win.
This is fucking war.
Chapter Thirty
Roman
The crowd of paparazzi and fans is overwhelming as the limo pulls up to The MacArthur. There’s a red carpet that stretches up to the grand entrance, and on either side, cameras flash, and people scream at the chance of meeting someone high-profile.
It’s suffocating.
Charlie puts a hand on my bicep, pulling me back. “Rose goes first. Watch this.”
I scowl at the manager before watching a man dressed in a suit rush to open the door. Rosalie kicks her legs around, her strappy silver heels hitting the carpet as the man takes her hand and helps her stand. I don’t like the contact with a stranger, but I’m too focused on our girl to snap at him.
She’s fucking stunning in figure-wrapped, red satin. Her dress trails behind her, and the stole draped over her arms makes her look like a goddess—a higher being of light and warmth so infectious that I’m left gawking at her. Her hair is pulled up into a braided crown on top of her head, and her lips are painted a fiery red as they pull up into a dazzling smile. The moment she lifts her head, the camera flashes are blinding.
“Now!” Charlie ushers us out of the vehicle, and we fix our suits as we crowd around Rosalie. She keeps up her appearance, waving and blowing kisses as we walk towards the gala doors. As soon as she steps foot inside the building, I release the breath I was holding.
The hard part is over.
“Keep an eye on the back entrances,” I command Kairo.
He nods before separating from us. Maddox is alreadystaking out our table and securing the main floor as I walk with Rosalie. She greets a few high-profile guests, swapping pleasantries and talking animatedly about tour dates and other charities she plans to attend. She’s wrapped up in conversation when a host hands her a chute full of something bubbly. She takes it before turning to look at me over her shoulder. Those siren eyes of hers are like a beacon, and I find myself getting lost in the deep emerald enchantment.
“I don’t drink,” she whispers quietly before handing me the glass. “Get rid of that for me, then hand the glass back to me.”
I don’t think of her request as I do as she asks. I knock back the champagne, grimacing at the taste, before handing the empty glass back to her. Her perfectly manicured hands brush mine, her French tips conjuring a fantasy I can’t get rid of—her hands wrapped around my cock as she strokes me and looks up through her thick lashes with desire. Fuck, I shouldn’t be thinking of that while I work…
But when she smiles sweetly at me, I can’t help it. All I can think of is smearing that fucking lipstick across her mouth and her mascara tracking down her cheeks as I ruin her.
She’s quickly given another glass of champagne before giving me an apologetic look and handing it off to me. My mind is so damned preoccupied that I don’t even realize what the little siren is doing until it’s too late. It isn’t until I see Kairo staggering towards our table that the puzzle pieces click together.
When he plops down beside me, I fight past my inebriation. “How…” I hiccup, blinking a few times. “How many glasses?”
His eyes are glossy and faraway as he slurs. “You too? If I counted correctly…seven.”
Fuck.
Surely, she hasn’t gotten to Maddox. There’s no way.
