Intent. That's one way to describe Thrall when he's focused on something.
I glance at my tablet one more time, confirming that everything is stable, then hand it to Kiera.
"You have the floor. If anything goes sideways?—"
"I'll text you immediately. I know." She takes the tablet with an amused smile. "Go. He's waiting."
I navigate through the crowd, nodding at familiar faces and side-stepping conversations with practiced efficiency. The east alcove is one of the quieter spaces in the ballroom, tucked away from the main flow of traffic and designed for more private conversations.
Thrall is already there, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking unexpectedly nervous.
Which is impossible. Thrall doesn't do nervous.
"You asked for me?" I step into the alcove, and he immediately straightens, his entire focus zeroing in on me with that intensity that still makes my breath catch.
"I did." He reaches out, catching my hand and tugging me deeper into the shadowed space, away from the ambient noise of the gala. "How's the event?"
"Perfect. Flawless. Exactly as planned."
"Of course it is. You planned it." His thumb traces the inside of my wrist, that familiar, grounding gesture that he's made a habit of. "You look beautiful, by the way. I meant to tell you earlier, but you were too busy being terrifyingly competent."
I glance down at my grey suit, suddenly self-conscious. "It's just professional attire."
"It's devastating." His voice drops, rough and sincere. "You're devastating. Do you have any idea what it does to me, watching you command an entire ballroom of people who would follow your orders without question?"
"Thrall." My face heats. "We're in public."
"We're in a private alcove. And I'm allowed to appreciate my partner." He steps closer, crowding me back against the wall in a way that's becoming deliciously familiar. "Especially when she's just pulled off the most successful corporate event of the year."
"The year's not over yet."
"It is for Horde Tech. This is our flagship event, and you made it perfect." His free hand comes up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. "Thank you."
My throat tightens. "You don't have to thank me. You hired me. I did my job."
"You did more than your job. You built something extraordinary." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, gentle and possessive. "And I need to ask you something."
My heart kicks against my ribs. "Okay."
He holds my gaze for a long moment, amber eyes searching mine and makes me feel seen in a way that's both thrilling and terrifying. Then, slowly, deliberately, he releases my hand and drops to one knee.
I stop breathing.
"Thrall, what are you?—"
"Let me finish," he interrupts gently, reaching into his jacket pocket. But instead of pulling out a ring box, he withdraws something larger, rectangular, wrapped in sleek black paper.
I peer at it, my brain struggling to process what's happening.
He unwraps it carefully, and I see it in complete, stunned silence as he reveals a clipboard.
But not just any clipboard.
It's solid gold, engraved with intricate, elegant patterns along the edges. My name,Romee Lin, CEO, is etched across the top in flowing script. And embedded along the clip itself, catching the dim light of the alcove, are perfectly cut diamonds.
I can't speak. I can't breathe. I can't do anything except stare at the most absurd, extravagant, perfectlyThrallthing I've ever seen.
"I know this isn't traditional," he says, his voice rough and sincere and impossibly vulnerable. "But you're not traditional. And I'm not interested in doing things the way everyone else does them."
