Chapter 13
The Hand at Her Waist
The gala was held in a glass pavilion above the river.
Mara wore a black dress with a high neckline. Adrian’s hand settled at her waist when they entered.
“If you touch me for the photographers,” she murmured, “you’ll owe me a favor.”
“I thought you disliked debts.”
“I dislike debts I didn’t negotiate.”
Victor waited beneath a chandelier with Naomi beside him.
“You should stay,” he said. “The press wants a family photograph.”
“I’m not part of your family,” Adrian replied.
“Not yet.”
The cameras gathered.
Someone shouted, “Miss Quinn, how much did President Yan pay for you?”
Adrian stepped forward.
Mara caught his sleeve. “Let me answer.”
She faced the press.
“He didn’t pay for me. He bought what my creditors believed they were owed. If you’re interested in prices, ask the banks why they sold.”
Another reporter called, “Are you in love with him?”
Mara looked at Adrian.
“No.”
His hand left her waist.
The orchestra began the first dance.
Adrian held out his hand.
“I don’t dance with people I don’t love.”
“Then this should be easy.”
She placed her hand in his.
His other hand returned to her waist. This time it was not for the cameras.
“You don’t owe me love,” he said.
“That is the first sensible thing you’ve said.”
“You owe me exclusivity.”
“And you call that sensible?”
“I call it written.”
The music rose. Mara looked at his mouth. Adrian noticed.
For one breath, the distance between them vanished.
The emergency alarm exploded through the ballroom.
Smoke rushed from the corridor.
Adrian pulled Mara against him as the crowd surged.
“Stay with me.”
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
Behind them, someone shouted that the archive room was on fire.
Mara stopped.
“What archive room?”
Adrian’s face went cold.
“The room holding Quinn Meridian’s transferred records.”