The Sweetest Victory - Intertwined Series

Chapter Nine | Hi, my name is...

They swarmed everywhere, a hive come to life, surging and swelling like bees drawn to the sickly sweet nectar of the rich and famous. Stepping from the town car, Gage braced himself, the seconds ticking away madly once a stray head turned—a surprised voice shouted out his name before they descended upon him.

Even with Roarke and the rest of the gang trying to head them off, somehow they'd latched on to his scent and refused to let go, peppering him with a barrage of questions.

Do you foresee a return to Hollywood?

Is it true you're set to star in a movie alongside Roarke?

Are the rumors surrounding you and Countess Francesca true?

Ryder! Ryder! Ryder

He made it a few steps from the front doors before the walls of press folded in around him, like mounds of earth in a gaping pit, threatening to swallow him alive.

Enough, he thought, and turned to address the seething mob. When they realized he intended to speak, a hush fell—so sudden that the absence of sound was almost as jarring as a scream.

"I just want to make something clear," he said, shifting his eyes face to expectant face. "Tonight isn't about me. This is Victory Clarke's moment. Let's give Soleil and Ms. Clarke, the attention and respect she deserves."

"Well done," Roarke commended, clapping a hand down on his shoulder once they were through the restaurant doors. "Looks like you haven't lost your touch with the vultures."

Adjusting the lapels of his blazer, Gage followed his brother into the heart of a milling crowd that filled the plush lounge, conversation bloomed and hummed as leggy servers carted around trays laden with delicate samples arranged with flair and finesse, appealing to the eye as well as the palette.

When one passed by him, Gage nipped a couple and surveyed the room, forming his first real impressions of the venue as it now pulsed with life. Smart, he thought, and trendy without being too cliché and boring, or predictable. She'd made some bold and admirable design choices, mainly the hostess desk, honed from a single slab of wood, left rough and natural.

Scanning faces, his eyes peeled through the crowd, searching among the servers when he heard a laugh, all steamy sex that caught him low in the belly, and he turned, just in time to catch sight of her as she threw her arms around Niobe for an embrace.

She was a vision in electric blue, hair scooped up and away from her face. And what a face! Standing with Matthias, no less, and a tangle of journalists...

"Oh, look." Roarke slapped his shoulder, jolting him back to present. "Put the hunt for your mystery gal on hold for a sec, there's someone I need to introduce you to." Gage opened his mouth to warn his brother to buzz off, but then followed Roarke's line of sight and realized they were staring at the same woman.

"Sure." He said, thrusting his hands into his pockets, intrigued by the play of events. "By all means, let's go over and say hello."

"Victory," emerging at her side, Roarke swooped in for a greeting kiss, "I hope if you don't mind if I steal you away for a moment?"

"Oh, absolutely—yes, sorry, thank you." Smiling, and a little breathless, Victory turned from the gaggle of journalists, excusing herself with pardons, smiles, turned—and froze. There he was, every bit as enthralling as she remembered, standing with Roarke, dressed in a charcoal blazer and light knit sweater of deepest blue...again with that subtle vee that teased her into wanting to see more, his eyes glinting on the tail end of laughter. When they shifted to her, the blue deepened. The grey sharpened.