Page 49 of Mister St. James

Outside, the city resumes. The traffic, the pulse of people moving at angles, the faint echo of a subway rumbling below. I pause on the sidewalk, the bag’s weight on my wrist a physical reminder. For a long moment, I just stand there, the glass door reflecting a dozen versions of myself. The high heels, hair up, mouth set and determined. I wonder which one Aiden will see at the gala, and which one I’ll let him keep.

For most of my adult life, I’ve been addicted to the feeling of being watched. Not always in the good way. I learned early that if you were the loudest, the brightest, the sharpest thing in the room, people would keep their distance even as they stared. That was the game, be wanted, never be owned. Be admired, never be understood. Always know when you’re the prize and when you’re the weapon.

But in that fitting room, surrounded by so much curated luxury, I realized I didn’t want to be looked at. I wanted to be seen. Really seen, in the way that strips away all your careful staging and leaves something raw and honest behind.

It’s a dangerous and terrifying thing, wanting that. It’s the kind of want that breaks you, if you’re not careful.

I walk to the curb, call my car, and watch the city lights flash off the boutique’s glass. The ride back is silent except for the sound of my pulse, thumping steady in my throat.

I carry the bag into my building and up the stairs, letting the weight of it drag my shoulder a little. The extravagant dress waits on its hanger, quiet and sure, already knowing what it will do to the next room I walk into.

I hang it on the back of my closet door, pour myself a glass of tap water, and sit on the floor to untangle my thoughts. They don’t untangle. Instead, they weave tighter, about Aiden, about power, about what it means to belong to yourself even when someone else holds all the cards.

Tomorrow, I will show up to the gala in a dress that cost more than some people’s cars, and I will do it with my head high and my eyes forward. Not as an ornament, not as a decoy. As myself, fully and finally.

And if he’s watching, really watching, maybe he’ll see what’s underneath.

Maybe, I’ll finally be comfortable enough not to run.

Chapter twenty-three

The Gala

Aiden

The Meridian Grand’s ballroom is a study in the worship of money. That’s not cynicism, it’s admiration, pure and simple. You don’t spend four million on black marble flooring and imported crystal chandeliers unless you intend for people to feel, even in the soles of their feet, that they are unassailably, shamefully important.

I like the message. It makes everyone here predictable. And when you’re predictable, I own you.

I clock the high-profile guests as soon as I step in, military brass, bank CEOs, a handful of senators who think their faces aren’t public enough to risk a night out with the likes of us, their future donors and tech overlords. The women have done the updo thing, power hair scraped and shellacked to feminine architectural perfection.

But Cat… Catalina is a fucking supernova.

She’s already three strides ahead, emerald silk drifting behind her like a nuclear wake. The gown is perfect for her. Exposed skin without being indecent. Professional and dead fucking sexy at the same time. And somehow she pulls it off with a confidence that I have always found so alluring.

She glides toward the CFO of First State, intercepts his trajectory with the same grace as an airstrike, and dials her smile up three notches. “Arturo. Is your daughter surviving her first semester at Stanford or are you already plotting the rescue mission?”

Arturo’s face splits open in relief. “Barely. Her roommate is a vegan and she says she’s wasting away.”

“Remind her what her tuition costs, and then offer to sneak a ham sandwich into her next care package. I’ll help with the caper,” Cat says. She leans in, hand on his elbow, and the man is ruined. The wife at his side tries to keep her eyes neutral but fails because she’s charmed, too.

I pace two meters behind, eyes on the rest of the floor. The point is not to be seen with her but to watch her be seen. The ripple of attention she generates is visible, like the jetstream distortion over a desert highway. Men straighten ties, women shift handbags from left to right, minor satellites adjusting for maximum exposure.

I study Cat’s back, exposed from the base of her neck to the slope above her ass. I know what her skin tastes like. I know the birthmark everyone can see on her neck, but also the one under her right breast. She’s spent the last five years honing herself into a weapon that needs no introduction, but tonight she’s on overdrive.

Cat’s hand brushing mine as we pivot into the guarded space between two rival tech directors. Both men stand arms crossed, waiting for the other to flinch. Cat doesn’t hesitate. She steps forward, winks at me, and in a heartbeat they’re both leaning in.

“It’s amazing you could carve out time for us tonight,” she calls, voice low enough for us but loud enough for anyone within earshot. I stay a half-step behind her, casually adjusting my cufflink. “We’ve both gotten updates on the Post Quantum rollout, no consensus yet. How’s the real-world deployment?”

The directors freeze. They weren’t expecting Cat or me to know their working group existed. For a beat they exchange panicked looks, hers to me, his to his colleague, then settle on caution.

“We’re ahead of schedule,” the taller one blurts, eyes flicking my way.

“Yes. Benchmarks look promising,” the shorter adds, sweat beading at his hairline.

Cat’s grin widens. “Promising is my favorite flavor of benchmark. Let’s compare notes next week, unless you’d prefer we join your all-hands tomorrow?” She drops her voice to a purr, and I slip in beside her, handing them both my business card with a flourish. Their shoulders sag. By the time they register defeat, we’ve already drifted on, leaving two new prospects in our wake.

We make our way to the edge of the marble dance floor, me angling myself so I can see every entrance and exit. Seven surveillance cameras and two bored guards can’t replace vigilance. Cat takes her place beside me, scanning the room with that practiced cool. Our first public appearance as a couple is more than symbolism, it’s our new frontier.