Page 45 of Salvaged Hearts

Eyeing the blond man before me, I recognized the smile, then the eyes. He’d shaved off hisGQbeard in favor of defined lines of shadow. We’d hovered around each other at a few dozen events like this over the last couple years, including that trip to Barcelona. Auctions, mostly. I bit back the fact that he hadn’t been pleased to see me until I had a title like ‘future Mrs. Hart’ to care about. Instead, I smiled up at him—all tan skin and fair blue eyes—and extended my hand to take his as my mind rifled through the folders of the who’s who in Emerald Bay.

“Royce! Nice to see you. How’s Miranda?”

Surprise glittered in his eyes for a breath before he smiled. “She’s wonderful! Pregnant with baby number three. She would’ve been here but was afraid she’d be hugging the porcelain throne.”

“Awe,” I cooed, sliding my hand away when he lingered longer than necessary. “Congratulations, you two. I hope she feels better soon.”

“Thank you! Any future Harts we should know about? Cassy is just big enough to be in love with babies.”Cassy. His second-born daughter, I remembered.

Did these people only marry for status or breeding? Royce was the fifth person to ask a question along these lines since theevening started. I was beginning to doubt the words Greyson had left looping in my mind and fought the urge to look down at my stomach to check for a muffin top.

“Not at the moment,” I answered, forcing a laugh. “Though I’m sure Greyson will have plans as soon as things are official.” Was that puke climbing up my throat at the idea of carrying my boss’ babies? Yep. Yep, it was. On second thought, a favorable prenup sounded fantastic. Get enough cash in my wallet to pick up, change my name, reconstruct my face like all of these glamorous, glittering sociopaths, and vanish into the void somewhere they didn’t have social media.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll get right to work,” he said with a wink. “I know I’ve kept Miranda busy.”

This was my idea. This wasmystrategy. The parties, the slow drip of information to prolong the media buzz and keep their eyes where we wanted them. That didn’t mean I didn’t have to remind myself of it in every single conversation I had tonight. Looking past his shoulder, I scanned the space—both irritated and relieved, when I spotted Greyson looking equally miserable across the room, chatting with a couple of day traders.

“Hopefully, those vapid piranhas haven’t been too brutal on you tonight,” he added, glancing down to his hands, where they wrapped around a glass of what I assumed was Greyson’s favorite Macallan. “Miranda was a preacher’s daughter when we met. Did you know that?” When I just shook my head, he smiled softly, nodding as he stared into the single malt like it was a time capsule. Eyes reminiscent, he said, “I was the big bad party boy that corrupted the innocent princess. At least, that’s how her father would tell the tale.”

“I’m sure you were an upstanding young man,” I teased with a smirk. The comment earned a low laugh and a smile that split his stubbled cheeks.

“I was ascoundrel. But…I fell hard and fast for her. Been proving myself to her and her family for seven years now.” He knocked back his drink. “I guess what I’m trying to get to is that this—” He shrugged like he was lost for words as he motioned vaguely around the room, “lifeof ours. It’s an adjustment if you didn’t grow up with the rest of these trust fund babies. Go easy on yourself. You’ll find your way.” Okay, so maybe I’d misjudged Royce a bit. “Welcome to the circus, Ms. Rhodes.”

A throat cleared behind us, and we both straightened, turning to find Greyson, his hands in his pockets in that effortlessly superior stance only the wealthy could pull off. “Getting to know my bride, Ashcroft?”

Royce chuckled, smoothly transferring his glass from one hand to the other in order to shake with Greyson. “She’s lovely, Greyson. Congratulations to you both.”

“Thanks,” Greyson replied, voice uncharacteristically clipped. “How’s the missus?”

“Miranda is pregnant with their third,” I supplied. Reminding Greyson of important names had been a predominant part of my job description. Who knew my weird talent would also equate to job security?

“Congratulations toyou, then,” Greyson said smoothly, sliding an arm around my shoulders to tuck me against his ribs. I forced myself to relax into his warmth, wishing the heat of him and mouthwatering cologne was a sincere comfort in this shark-infested water. “Boy or girl?”

“Surprise this time,” Royce shrugged. “Figure we’ll let the tiebreaker keep us on our toes.”

“Very old fashioned. Patient. I applaud you. I know this one would need to know the moment it was possible,” he declared, giving me what was likely meant as a playful squeeze but felt like a possessive reminder of who I was here with. “She likes to plan all of the details out. Keep control of whatever she can.”

That’s fucking rich coming from you. Instead of vocalizing my sincere thoughts, I amicably agreed, “That’s true.” Because he wasn’t wrong—I would want to know so I could prepare—I just didn’t appreciate his tone.

“Well, Ashcroft, say hi to Miranda. My bride and I are needed elsewhere.”

“Will do. Congratulations again,” Royce repeated, raising his now-empty glass in a symbolic salute. We turned to leave, but he added, “Oh, and Alessandra, do be careful with who you open up to. You’d be shocked how quickly a server will blab confidential information for a few hundred dollars.”

I’d barely nodded when Greyson laughed and pulled me across the room. Royce’s warning was still turning circles in my mind when we slid into the cool limo with its low lighting and lower music. Scooting away the instant the door closed, I glanced out the window, breathing a sigh of relief that our first performance had come to a blessed close. Which, of course, was when Greyson decided to hit me with a one-two punch.

“Cozying up to rivals won’t win us any points with the press.”

Blinking, I jerk my face back to his. “Excuse me?”

“Ashcroft. He’s a buddy on the golf course but a rival outside it. You’ll do well to remember that.”

“He was the first person to treat me with any ounce of dignity, but your opinion has been noted.”

“Trust no one in these circles, Alessandra.”

“Does that include you?” I asked under arched brows.

“Depends on what your objective is. If you intend to see this arrangement through to fruition, then I intend to be the best alliance you can make in your lifetime. But if you’re going to publicly indulge in dalliances that create new media fires for me to extinguish, then I would go with no, Ms. Rhodes. Because I won’t cover for you when they chum the waters if you’re planning to dishonor my name.”

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