Page 8 of Wicked God
“There will be eligible women there. Women who have both beauty and brains, the kind you wouldn’t meet if you continue to bury yourself in these files.” Cameron’s grin widens, and I can already sense the trap he’s setting. “Maybe you’ll meet someone who makes you forget about the arranged marriage. Someone you might enjoy spending time with. You know, someone who laughs at your bad jokes.”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “And if I don’t?”
“Then at least you’ll have enjoyed a good meal and some decent conversation. It’s a win-win.”
I sigh. There’s no escaping Cameron once he’s made up his mind. He has a way of wearing me down until I reluctantly agree to his schemes.
“Fine.” I gesture at the invitation on my desk. “But if this turns out to be some elaborate setup, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
“Deal.” Cameron claps his hands together, clearly pleased with himself. “Now, let’s get you out of this office before you morph into one of these filing cabinets.”
“Why do I put up with you?” I glare, but there’s a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. For all his meddling, Cameron is the one person who’s always had my back—even if his methods are questionable.
“Because I’m delightful,” he calls over his shoulder, already striding for the hallway. “See you at nine. Don’t be late.”
I watch him go, pausing at the elevator to flash that infuriating smirk and wave.
A fake fiancée is a ridiculous idea. But so is marrying a stranger for the sake of business. Maybe Cameron’s right. Maybe it’s time I take control of this mess before it gets any worse.
I look at the clock. Two hours until the event. Enough time to wrap up work and figure out how to survive tonight without losing my mind.
Chapter 4
Alexander
“This has to be the worst idea ever,” I mutter under my breath as I step out of the car, adjusting my tie.
The venue screams old money with Renaissance paintings and marble busts watching from every corner like silent judges. Massive crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, casting prismatic light across the polished floor. Despite the museum atmosphere, the hall buzzes with life. Circular tables dot the space, each crowned with towering roses and lilies that perfume the air.
Cameron drags me through the entrance, and I squint against the glare bouncing off crystal and silverware. My lips curl into a practiced smile while my shoulders stiffen, bracing for the onslaught of expensive cologne and meaningless small talk.
This is my personal hell. Give me a dingy office space over a flashy gala any day.
I fidget with my bow tie, resisting the urge to loosen the tight knot around my neck.
Cameron nudges me in the ribs. “Stop looking like you’re about to face a firing squad,” he says and nods at someone across the room. “Relax. You’re here to mingle, not negotiate a hostile takeover.”
“Mingling is a hostile takeover.” I scan the room. Everywhere I look, there are clusters of people laughing, clinking glasses, and exchanging superficial pleasantries. “This is torture.”
“It’s called socializing,” Cameron corrects, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and shoving one into my hand. “And it’s good for you. Now, go make yourself useful.”
I glare at him, but my hand closes around the glass anyway. “Useful how?”
“By talking to people. Preferably someone who isn’t counting down the minutes until they can escape. Like her.”
I follow his gaze and freeze.
Etherealis the first word that comes to mind when I lay eyes on her. Her movements are light, almost floating, and her blonde hair catches the light as she tilts her head to examine the statue in front of her. The red dress she’s wearing is striking, clinging to her curves in all the right places.
There’s a man beside her, trying so hard to capture her attention, but she barely seems to notice him. He leans in, grazing her arm. After a few more attempts at conversation, the man gives up and walks away, leaving her alone.
“Who is she?” My voice is low, almost hoarse.
He smirks. “Not a curvy brunette, huh? Well, you can go up to her and find out. But first, come say hello to Cassandra. You haven’t seen her since you left for college, right?”
It takes effort to look away, but I fall in behind him as he threads through the crowd toward a familiar figure. Cassandra stands near a grand piano, laughing at something the man beside her has just said. The moment she spots Cameron, her face lights up.
“Cameron!” she exclaims, stepping forward to hug him.
