Chapter 4
Snorting, she threw her free arm wide, nearly backhanding the director of the hospital, the fundraiser had been put together to raise funds for the new neonatal wing. The man blinked and stumbled back, but Tabitha barely noticed.
“You have hardly spoken to me since we got here,” she said in a tone that sounded suspiciously accusatory, as though Quinton had failed in his duty somehow. “You haven’t even introduced me to your friends.”
Quinton’s eyes narrowed. “I introduced you to the people I have spoken to.”
“As Tabitha Jones, a model.”
He couldn’t see the problem. “Did you change careers since the last time we were in bed together?” he asked. That was hardly possible. They’d been in bed just two nights ago.
Tabitha let out an exasperated huff that captured way more attention than Quinton would have liked. Again, he chastised himself for calling a woman he’d been bedding to accompany him to the event. He should have called Vanessa and spared himself what was bound to be a headache, and a humiliating one at that.
Inwardly cursing, Quinton swept his gaze around the room to see just how much attention this little drama was attracting. That’s when it happened. Like a scene choreographed by a director, the crowd parted in slow motion, and his eyes caught on the last woman he’d expected to see tonight.
The air seemed to stop in his lungs. Neema. In a sea of designer gowns, she was dressed in the wait staff uniform: a black dress with a bronze belt and collar. The hem of the dress ended mid-thigh, giving him the perfect view of long, smooth legs he could so easily imagine wrapped around him. Damn it!
Unsurprisingly, his blood went south, making his pants suddenly tighter than they’d been moments before. Quinton had never seen her like this before. Hell, in the six months she’d been working in his building, he’d hardly seen more than the upper part of her body that showed from the other side of the counter every morning when he got his coffee.
He’d never tried to see more. Hadn’t even stared at her chest when her tops had been a little snug. She was just the woman who made his coffee and chocolate croissant. She was also the fiancée of one of his employees. That was enough to stop his mind from wandering. Except for today, because damn, she looked better than the women wrapped in the finest silk with her face flushed and lip caught between her teeth as she stared back at him wide-eyed, hands clasped around a tray.
Then she blinked and shook her head as though to shake off a trance. In the next heartbeat, she spun on her black canvas and hurried toward the open double doors. Quinton was moving before he registered what he was doing.
“I’m taking my break,” Neema announced as she dashed through the busy kitchen like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Well, she might not have had charred-skinned demons gnashing their teeth after her, but if Hector was to be believed, Quinton Fay was the master of the flames and so more dangerous than a mindless beast.
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that the CEO of Q Clouds would attend a fundraiser that attracted every wealthy person in the city. Even though the purpose of the gathering was to raise money for a good cause, everyone knew they all came to show off and discuss their latest exorbitant expenses, like medals of honor.
Quinton didn’t seem the kind to boast about his latest purchases, but he belonged to that world, so it was natural that he would have been here. Still, Neema had been caught off guard when she spotted him across the hall with a stunning-looking woman by his side. She’d been so shocked, she’d failed to react when the crowd parted, and then there was nothing to disrupt his sight of her.
For a moment, Neema had hoped he wouldn’t recognize her, but the instant his eyes had landed on her, Quinton had looked like a man who’d seen a ghost, and then his eyes had crawled up her body like a physical caress. Her body’s reaction to that look was what had finally released her legs from the floor, and she’d fled.
Now, heart beating at the back of her throat, Neema made her way through the back door into the crisp night air. She sucked in a deep breath and slumped back against the wall. She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn she’d seen Quinton chase after her when she’d peeked over her shoulder just before she stepped out of the hall. Then again, she had to be mistaken. Why would Quinton Fay chase after her? Why did she care?
God, she was exhausted. After a ten-hour shift at the café, the last thing she’d needed was a night on her feet serving hors d’oeuvres to spoiled rich people who didn’t even bother to look at her face as her cheeks hurt from forcing her lips into a smile for so many hours.
But the money was good. With the wedding coming up, Neema felt the need to do her part in contributing to the bills. Her parents had offered, but with her parents’ condition, she didn’t want to burden them.
She’d wanted to do something simple. A civil wedding and dinner with the closest family members after, but Jerome thought they deserved to make it grand for their big day. ‘You only get married once.’ Neema had caved, and now they were planning for a big day with over three hundred guests. They’d found the perfect venue for it, too. Okay, Neema couldn’t deny it, she was looking forward to saying her vows in the beautiful garden surrounded by flowers and fountains. So why was her heart racing when she saw a certain man?
Neema shook her head. It didn’t matter. She had eyes, didn’t she? And she was warm-blooded and not dead. There was nothing wrong with admiring God’s wonderful creation.
Satisfied with her conclusion for the cardiac fluttering, she fished her phone out of her pocket to check the time. She needed to get back to work if she wanted to get paid.
Unlocking the screen, Neema immediately frowned at the notification that she had two missed calls from Jerome. With her phone on silent, she hadn’t heard a thing, and the last call had been less than five minutes ago.
Worry churning in her gut, Neema quickly returned the call. It rang once. Twice. The knot in her gut tightened. Jerome wasn’t one to call her so late in the night, and twice for that matter. He hadn’t known she was working, and usually she was in bed by ten. He would never have called her past eleven unless it was an emergency.
Thankfully, the call connected before Neema’s imagination could conjure up all the worst-case scenarios. She didn’t waste a beat. “Jerome? Baby?”
Silence. And then a low chuckle filled Neema’s ear. It sounded off. Not Jerome’s, and she was ninety percent certain it was female. Neema frowned.
