Page 213 of King of Pain

“Hi,” I reply, smiling into another kiss. Then I rest my forehead against his and whisper, “Thank you.”

He blinks at me. “For what?”

“For… just, everything. For being here. For staying. For loving me. I’m just really fucking grateful and proud that you’ll be by my side tonight.”

His hands move to cradle the back of my head, pulling me in close again.

“I’m the one that’s proud,” he murmurs. “I can’t wait for everyone to see how talented my man is.”

The elevator dings, and we pull apart slowly, fingers still tangled.

The black SUV is waiting at the curb, engine purring, sleek and shining. I step ahead of Ant and open the door with a little flourish.

“After you, Beautiful.”

He climbs in with a dramatic eye roll, and I pinch his ass as he does. He laughs, low and warm, the sound curling down my spine like velvet.

I slide in after him and just as I’m about to shut the door, he leans forward and taps the driver’s seat with two fingers. “Reacher,” he greets.

“Evening,” Deacon replies evenly, without turning around.

Ant furrows his brow and leans further forward, peeking into the front seat. “Wait—” He tilts his head. “That’s a tux. You’re wearing a tux.”

“Nothing gets by you, sir,” Deacon says flatly as he gets us on the road.

Oh boy, here we go.

Ant leans back against the seat, crosses his arms, and mutters, “I’m glad you’re coming in with us, Reach.” Then he slaps the back of the headrest. “And stop calling me sir.”

Deacon meets his eyes in the rearview, and I catch the tiniest twitch of his lip.

“Yes, sir.”

I bark out a laugh. These two, I swear. I’d be jealous if I didn’t know better.

Ant grumbles. “I don’t know why I put up with you two.”

Deacon doesn’t reply. But he does take the next turn just alittletoo sharp.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re pulling up in front of the venue. An upscale office building downtown, completely transformed. Red carpet rolls out from the doors like a runway, velvet ropes flanking either side. There’s already a small crowd taking selfies in front of the oversized exhibit posters—my name plastered on half a dozen windows. It’s a little jarring.

“I’ll park and meet you inside,” Deacon says.

I give him a nod, then turn and step out, offering my hand to Ant. He hops out and straightens his jacket with a little shake of his shoulders. Damn, he’s hot.

“I still don’t understand why you guys chose this place instead of the gallery,” he says, eyes scanning the building.

I just grin, grab his hand, and lead him toward the entrance. “You’ll see.”

At the host station stands a woman in a hot pink tux, pink hair, and a studded nose ring to match. She brightens the second she sees us.

“There’s the man of the hour,” she says, coming out from behind her podium and giving me a tight squeeze.

I hug her back. “Ant, this is Cindy. She’s the head of marketing for the gallery. Cindy’s one of the main reasons this turnout’s gonna be insane.”

Ant smiles and reaches out to shake her hand. “Good to meet you, Cindy. Chance did mention your efforts on filling this event.”

Cindy beams. “Oh, I can’t takeallthe credit. Your boss, Meg? She knows how to bring the star power. PR goddess, that woman.”