Everything has a price tag. " Nathaniel replied quietly. "And it's just a shoe. She's 6 years old. She apologized. " "I don't care how old she is. " Veronica snapped, the immaculate facade cracking just a fraction. She took another step forward violating Nathaniel's personal space.
The smell of her perfume, heavy, floral, suffocating washed over him. "This is is closed private event, a celebration of a multi-billion dollar acquisition. It is not a daycare for the incompetent staff or whoever let you in the back door. We are guests, Nathaniel corrected, his tone dropping an octave. And you are making a scene over a pastry.
Take a breath, Ms. Hale. It was the wrong thing to say. Veronica Hale did not take orders. She did not tolerate being managed, especially not in her own ballroom surrounded by her peers, by a man who looked like he drove a used Honda.
To her, Nathaniel wasn't a person. He was an obstacle, an embarrassment. Security, Veronica said sharply, not breaking eye contact with Nathaniel. Get this trash out of my ballroom. Two massive men in dark suits materialized from the crowd, moving with grim purpose.
Hazel gripped Nathaniel's leg tightly, burying her face in the cheap fabric of his trousers. Nathaniel could feel her shaking. A cold, heavy anger began to pool in Nathaniel's stomach. It wasn't the hot, flashy anger of youth. It was the glacial, crushing rage of a man who spent his life protecting the only thing he had left.
We are leaving, Nathaniel said, holding a hand up to the approaching guards. Do not touch us. He looked directly at Veronica. You have a beautiful ballroom, Ms. Hale, but you have absolutely no class.
Veronica's eyes flared. The insult bypassed her armor completely. Before the security guards could reach them, before Nathaniel could turn his shoulders to walk away, Veronica raised her right hand. The slap echoed sharply over the low hum of the gala. It was a vicious, open-handed strike.
The sound was like a whip cracking. The force of it snapped Nathaniel's head to the side. A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers. The music seemed to stutter and die. Even the security guards froze, unsure of protocol for when the billionaire hostess assaulted a guest.
Nathaniel stood perfectly still. The side of his face burned, a bright stinging heat spreading from his cheekbone down to his jaw. He could taste a faint metallic tang where his teeth had clipped the inside of his cheek. Blood, rust, and old pennies. He didn't touch his face.
He didn't raise a hand in retaliation. He just slowly turned his head back to look at Veronica. Her chest was heaving slightly. For a split second, a flicker of something resembling regret, or perhaps just the realization of liability, crossed her features. But she quickly smothered it beneath her usual mask of imperious disdain.
"Get them out! " she spat at the guards. Hazel was crying now, silent, terrified sobs against his leg. Nathaniel reached down and picked her up. She buried her wet face into his neck, her small hands clutching his collar. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, projecting absolute safety.