Chapter 7 The Reluctant Knight

[Barret]

I signaled to security. "Please escort Ms. Ginger to a different section of the party."

"You can't be serious," she hissed, her pleasant facade cracking.

I didn't bother responding. I'd already wasted enough of my evening on this tedious interaction. Another social butterfly with nothing substantial to offer beyond a pretty face and family connections. Exactly the type of woman I had no patience for.

I spotted Jay across the room and made my way toward him, leaving the wine stain and Marissa's dramatics behind me. I had work to do, and this party had already taken up too much of my time.

"I'm heading home," I told Jay, already moving toward the elevator. "Cancel my remaining appointments for the evening."

"Of course, Mr. Thompson."

The project plans in the folder would make for better company than anyone at this gala. At thirty, I'd built Titan Group from nothing, separate from my family's wealth and influence. While my brothers jockeyed for position in my father's political machine, I'd created my own empire. Let them play their games—I had actual work to do.

I was heading down to the lobby, eager to escape the tedium of the gala and return home, when I heard it. The unmistakable sound of someone being violently ill.

I glanced up to see the girl doubled over, vomiting spectacularly all over the man's expensive shoes and pants.

"You disgusting little bitch!" he snarled, his charming facade instantly vanishing. His hand raised to strike her. "Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost?"

She cowered against the elevator wall, too sick and disoriented to defend herself. Without hesitation, I caught his wrist mid-air, the scotch making my reaction a fraction slower but my grip no less firm.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I said, my voice low and cold, though I could hear a slight edge to it, a roughness the alcohol had dragged out.

The man turned, anger quickly morphing into recognition and then fear as he realized who had intervened.

"Mr. Thompson! I—this isn't what it looks like." His eyes darted nervously. "This girl... she's intoxicated. She vomited all over my shoes. Very expensive Italian leather, you understand."

I tightened my grip on his wrist, the buzz in my head amplifying my irritation. "I understood perfectly. You were about to hit a defenseless young woman over a pair of shoes. Shoes that can be replaced." I leaned closer. "Tell me, Mr...?"

"Richards. Melvyn Richards," he stammered.

"Ah, Richards," I said, recognition dawning. "My memory's a bit hazy. Aren't you one of Dominic's biggest campaign contributors? I almost didn't recognize you without your nose pressed against my brother's ass."

"Mr. Richards. How would the board at Pinnacle Investments react if they learned their CEO assaults intoxicated women in hotel elevators?"

His face paled. "Now, there's no need for—"

"But she's my—" He glanced at the girl, who had slumped further down the wall. "Her father arranged for us to meet. We're on a date. He specifically wanted to introduce her to me and—" He straightened his tie nervously. "She's my future wife, you understand? We have an arrangement."

"Bullshit," the girl suddenly slurred, her eyes barely open but filled with surprising clarity despite her condition. "You and Hector.. got me drunk. On purpose. Kept... bringing drinks."

Something dark twisted in my chest, sharper under the alcohol's haze. "Any explaination"

He backpedaled frantically, his eyes darting between me and the nearest exit as he extracted himself from my grip. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air. "There must be some misunderstanding. She's had too much to drink—she's confused. These... accusations are completely unfounded."

The elevator had reached the lobby, but before Richards could escape, the girl pitched forward suddenly. I caught her reflexively, noticing how delicate she felt in my arms, like a fragile peach. Then, without warning, she vomited again, this time directly onto my custom Armani suit and Italian leather shoes.

Perfect. Just perfect.

"Goddammit," I growled, the stench immediately overwhelming. The sour smell of vomit mixed with the wine Marissa had spilled earlier created a uniquely revolting combination that clung to my expensive suit. I felt like I was marinating in a cloud of my own personal hell.

I looked down at the barely conscious woman in my arms, then at the busy hotel lobby. I couldn't just leave her here—not with people like Richards around, and certainly not in this condition. But I desperately needed to clean up. Every second in these clothes was becoming unbearable. I needed to shower immediately.

I glared at Richards who was now standing rigid with fear. "Don't move. What room did you book for tonight? Give me your key card. Now."

"Right away, Mr. Thompson," Richards replied immediately, his entire demeanor changing to one of exaggerated deference. His hands trembled slightly as he fumbled in his pocket for the key card.

I spotted a hotel staff member nearby. Perfect. I could hand her off to the hotel staff and then head straight to my suite for that desperately needed shower.

"Excuse me," I called to the concierge, "This young lady needs assistance to her room. She's—"

But as the uniformed staff approached, the girl suddenly clung to my jacket with surprising strength for someone in her condition. Her fingers twisted into the fabric as she pressed her face against my chest, mumbling something incoherent but clearly refusing to be handed off.

"No... don't leave..." she slurred, her grip tightening.

I sighed in frustration. The vomit was beginning to dry on my clothes, and my skin crawled with disgust. But she wouldn't let go, and I couldn't just pry her fingers off and abandon her.

"Fine," I muttered, reaching for my phone. I called Jay, who answered on the first ring.

"Jay, I need my suite at the Grand prepared immediately. Have security meet me at the private elevator."

"Right away, Mr. Thompson."

I looked back at Richards with contempt. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. And believe me, you'll regret tonight's activities." I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Now get the hell out of my sight before I change my mind about waiting until tomorrow."