Chapter 4 - The Anatomy of a Secret
The silence returned, but this time it was laden with awe and dread. The high-society guests who had moments ago laughed at Bianca’s cruelty were now furiously texting their brokers, burying their faces in their programs, or pretending they had just arrived.
Nicholas didn't care about their stares. He turned Iris around, his hands coming up to cradle her face. The roughness of his thumbs brushed against the pale skin beneath her eyes. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"I'm fine, Nick," she whispered, her voice dropping into the intimate cadence of nine years of private history. "Just my pride. And my favorite silk camisole."
"I'll buy you the mill in Lyon that weaves it," he murmured, his forehead resting lightly against hers for a fleeting second. "Why the hell were you serving canapés in the Bellevue Ballroom, Iris? You promised me you would stay on the advisory committee."
"I had to see it for myself," Iris said softly. "The hospitality workers were complaining about wage theft and abuse from the regional management. Your executive reports said employee satisfaction was ninety-eight percent. If I hadn't spent six weeks on the ground, I would never have seen how Miller and Miles were running this place."
Nicholas sighed, a sound worn down by endless boardrooms and long flights. "You always were the better investigator."
Behind them, Miles was still hovering, clutching his hands together in a posture of desperate supplication. "Mr. Vance... Mrs. Vance... please. Our firm has an exclusive underwriting agreement for your maritime expansion. If you pull out now, the firm will go under by Friday."
Nicholas turned slowly, his eyes sweeping over Miles with clinical detachment. "Then I suggest you spend your Thursday updating your resume, Mr. Corrigan. Because by Friday morning, my legal team will ensure you aren't permitted within five hundred feet of a financial institution."
Without waiting for a response, Nicholas wrapped his arm firmly around Iris's waist, guiding her through the parted crowd toward the private VIP elevators. No one dared make a sound. No one dared raise a glass.
As the elevator doors slid shut, sealing them off from the glittering room of sycophants, Iris leaned back against the mirrored wall and let out a long, ragged exhale. The sheer adrenaline that had sustained her throughout the confrontation began to drain from her limbs.
Nicholas pulled her against his chest, tucking her head under his chin. His heartbeat was fast, pounding against his ribcage. "You scared me," he whispered into her hair. "When my security team in Seattle flagged the ballroom's live surveillance feed, I almost broke the pilot's neck to get the jet off the runway."
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"You shouldn't have left the hospital," she chided gently, though her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, clinging to the warmth of his body. "Your cardiac evaluation wasn't finished."
"My heart is fine," Nicholas said, kissing the crown of her head. "It only stops when someone touches you."
