“Hey,” I said softly to Rhys as I nestled into his side and wrapped an arm around his waist.

He gave me a soft look before sliding his arm around my shoulders to draw me even closer.

His familiar scent, earth and spice, made me wish I could just haul him out of that room and back to the guest bedroom. Butterflies tickled my belly at the thought of finally being with him in all the ways I’d tried (and failed) to convince myself I didn’t want.

The hard heat of him pressed against me wasn’t helping my wayward thoughts.

Forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand, I met Fairchild’s annoyed gaze. “So … what are we watching?”

“It’s a surprise. Come, Rhys, let’s take a seat.” Fairchild cut me a dismissive look. “Why don’t you sit with the others, Ms. Brown?”

Feeling Rhys tense beside me fueled my indignation. Relying on years of practice dealing with unjustifiable snobbery, I kept my voice pleasant. “I’ll sit with Rhys, but thank you.” Before Fairchild could say anything, I pulled away, taking Rhys with me, and led him to two seats in the back.

“Sit up front.” Fairchild stood over us.

“We’re good.” Rhys didn’t even look at him, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he reached for my hand to hold it on his knee.

For a moment, I thought Fairchild would argue because he hovered over us longer than appropriate. Finally, however, he strode away, back toward the bar.

“Fucking psycho,” Rhys muttered under his breath.

I squeezed his hand. “What do you think this is about?”

“One guess.” He cut me a dark look. “We’re about to see a match.”

Understanding dawned and anger rippled through me. “One of yours?”

“I’d place money on it.”

Ugh! That man! My skin was hot with anger as I sat stiff beside Rhys. “I am so sorry.”

I felt a tug and turned to Rhys as he pulled my hand against his chest. “Don’t you apologize. I mean it.”

Seeing the sincerity on his face, I nodded, but that didn’t mean my guilt miraculously disappeared.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fairchild called from the back of the room, “some of you may know that we are in the presence of one of the finest boxing champions of his generation. Rhys Morgan.”

I looked over my shoulder at Fairchild, along with the rest of my colleagues. Rhys stared straight ahead. When Fairchild began to clap, forcing everyone else to join in, I wanted a hole in the floor to open so Rhys and I could disappear from the awkwardness of the moment.

“Jesus fuck,” Rhys murmured.

“I agree,” I whispered. “Jesus is probably asking himself, ‘What the fuck was his Father thinking making this guy a billionaire?’ That is … if you believe in that stuff.”