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His eyes slide over to Laney, and I feel her tense again beside me. He looks her up and down like she’s a car he’s thinking of leasing. That same sick smirk spreads across his face.

“So, this is the girlfriend, huh?” he asks, gaze lingering way too long. “Tell me, sweetheart—how much’s he paying you to play the part?”

Laney flinches, just barely, but I feel it.

I step forward, jaw tight. “She’s not playing anything. She’s my girlfriend. For real.”

Gerald taps the side of his nose and winks. “Of course she is. Right.” Then he laughs, like we’re old pals sharing some private joke. “Whatever it is you’re paying her, she should ask for more. With that body? Hell, you’re gettin’ your money’s worth—just don’t embarrass the label again, eh?”

I see red.

It takes every bit of control I have not to smash the champagne flute against his smug face. My hand curls into a fist behind Laney’s back. My jaw aches from how tight I’m clenching it.

I force a smile, cold and hollow. “Excuse us.”

Before he can say another goddamn word, I guide Laney toward the dance floor. She comes willingly, slipping her hand into mine, and I don’t stop until we’re far enough away to drown out the bastard’s voice.

I turn to her, still burning with rage, but she surprises me. She sets her hand on my chest, right over my heart, and then cups my cheek.

“Ignore him,” she says gently. “He’s not worth it.”

I close my eyes for a second, breathing her in, letting the heat ebb just slightly.

The string quartet transitions into something soft and slow, and I pull her into my arms. Her body melts into mine, fitting there like she belongs.

No one else matters right now. Not the cameras, not the label, not that piece of shit executive.

Just her.

Laney.

20.Laney

The momenthe pulls me into his arms, the rest of the room falls away. It’s just us, swaying to the soft melody echoing through the ballroom. I nestle my head against his chest, feeling the slow, steady thump of his heart beneath my cheek.

And then he starts to hum.

Low, warm, his voice blending with the music until he quietly starts to sing along. The sound vibrates through his chest and into me, wrapping around my bones like a lullaby spun in honey and smoke. My breath catches, and I close my eyes, letting myself drown in it.

His scent is everywhere—cologne and leather and something undeniably him. Earthy, warm, a little dangerous. It makes my knees weak. Makes me want to lean in even closer and never let go.

His hand settles against the small of my back, firm and possessive, while the other cradles mine against his chest. Every motion is slow, deliberate, and yet tension coils low in my belly like a drawn bow.

When my hips shift against him, I feel it—the unmistakable press of his arousal against my stomach. My breath hitches, and heat floods my cheeks. But instead of pulling back, I sway withhim, letting the tension build, my pulse hammering behind my ribs.

His fingers flex slightly at my lower back, and I swear he feels it too—the crackling awareness between us, the want that hangs thick in the air like a storm ready to break.

My skin prickles, every nerve alive, attuned only to him. I’ve never felt so wanted. So claimed. And it’s not just the way he holds me—it’s the way he sees me. The way he draws me close like I’m something precious, something he doesn’t want the world to touch.

I lift my gaze, and he’s already watching me. His blue eyes are darker now, burning with something that steals the breath from my lungs.

Desire. Yes. But something more.

I want him. I want this. I want the weight of his body over mine, the heat of his skin against mine, the sound of his voice whispering my name in the dark. The air between us pulses with it, alive and electric.

He leans in, brushing his lips across my temple, and I melt.

I’m in so much trouble.