Page 83 of Scandal
I’ve never been a possessive man.
I’ve never had any reason to be.
But tonight, I find myself acting like a damn caveman the second we arrive at the premiere, and it’s all because of one man.
Graham Sinclair.
Film premieres are generally not the kind of events my family attends. It’s beneath us. I’m sure my mother would put it more pragmatically, but the truth is, there are celebrities, and then there is the aristocracy. We rarely coexist. There are a few exceptions, like Grace Kelly and Meghan Markle, but for the most part, we stay in our own circles.
So to say I was surprised when my mother suggested that Mercury and I attend this premiere was an understatement. But the countess is a savvy woman, and right now the press is obsessed with the rock star heir and his new love.
So she’s taking advantage wherever she can, even if it means we have to mingle with flashy celebrities.
Personally, I was fine with the idea—looking forward to it, actually. A night away from stuffy ballrooms and boring estate talk? It sounded like a bloody holiday.
But I did not anticipatehim.
You’d think Graham Sinclair would have better things to do, since almost everyone here is vying for his attention—he’s the star of the film, after all. But ever since Mercury and I bumped into him after walking the red carpet, his sole focus seems to be only on her.
It’s been over twenty minutes since we met, and he won’t stop staring at her. The way his eyes linger on her breasts is fucking predatory, like he’s already picturing her naked. He laughs at something she says, running a hand through his perfectly styled brown hair. I half expect a team of stylists to come rushing out to fix it.
His team eyes me nervously as they try to butt in to remind him of his interview obligations and photo ops he still needs to complete before the film begins, but he ignores them all.
He even ignores the way I stare him down in his tailored black tuxedo, like I want to bury him alive in it for even breathing the same air as her.
I’ve never wanted to punch a snobby Henry Cavill wannabe so badly in my life.
“Have you ever done any modeling, Mercury? Or acting?” Graham asks in a Scottish brogue that hasn’t been watered down by thirteen years abroad. Seeing how he watches her, knowing her cheeks are still flushed from the orgasms I just gave her, makes me want to act insanely childish. “You are very attractive. You could easily do both.”
What are you going to do, Ash? Tattoo the word “mine” on her body.
I swallow, suddenly picturing my fingers gliding over the smooth skin of her inner thigh or just above her pubic bone, and seeing that one word in dark black script.
Well, that’s not helping…
“Uh, no,” Mercury answers, sliding her hand into mine. “My job is quite boring in comparison, I’m afraid. My brother, Myles Creed, is the actor in the family.”
Graham’s gaze zeros in on our joined hands. “Mmm. Never heard of him.”
“He’s incredibly talented,” I chime in. “Mercury is, too. She’s helped produce a dozen albums in the short time since she graduated from university.”
His eyes seem to glaze over everything except the last bit. “University? Ah, yes. I do remember reading somewhere that you were quite young. Twenty-two, is it?” he says with a smirk.
Mercury moves closer to me, lifting her chin as she answers. “Twenty-three.”
He looks at the two of us with a certain curiosity I don’t appreciate. “So is dating older men a thing for you? I’m thirty-five, you know?”
“What the fuck?” I say at the same time Mercury blurts out a more polite version, “I beg your pardon?”
The smug fuck just grins, shrugging casually. “It’s just that there’s a rumor going around that this whole love-at-first-sight thing between you is fake—something your PR team cooked up. I’m not judging. We all do what we have to in this industry, but if that’s the case, I’d love to know when you plan to call it so I can get in line.”
It takes all my patience and years of media training to control myself, but I manage not to hit the little shite in front of everyone.
Instead, I take a menacing step forward. “You will apologize,” I growl under my breath, faking a smile to make it look like we’re sharing an inside joke or sage advice. “You will apologize, and you will mean it. She is not a ride at fucking Disneyland, you asshole. She’s a person who deserves your respect.”
He starts to roll his eyes again and turns to walk away. “Whatever,” he mutters in a mocking tone.
I grab his arm and squeeze. Hard. A few people glance over.Oops.
