Page 96 of Titus

My heart hammered against my chest as a smile tugged at my lips without my permission, until I saw my hostess leading two gentlemen and three women alongside her.

“How the fuck has that rat been allowed entry into my hotel’s most VIP lounge?” I practically growled each word.

“I swear, Christian Jameston is like a cockroach these days, showing up everywhere,” I heard Jim say.

“Cat mentioned to Ash that she was planning a gala for him and the Manchesters next weekend,” Jake said. “Maybe he’s here with her?”

I couldn’t peel my eyes away from that table if my life depended on it. And just like that, every unfamiliar feeling I’d been struggling to process vanished. In its place was an emotion I knew exactly how to handle—possession.

Right now, all I could see was the woman I wanted, sitting across from a snake, and every instinct in me wanted to walk over to that table, greet the guests in my lounge, and make sure Christian Jameston understood just how lucky he was that I was even allowing his ass back inside my hotel.

“Wait,” Jake said after I stood up. “Isn’t that the dipfuck you’re using her to get inside information from?”

“I’m not using her for anything,” I answered.

“He was using her,” Wyatt corrected. “Until now.”

I didn’t give a shit what any of these men thought of me at the moment. All I cared about was Jameston, and fuck that bastard for daring to get anywhere near Catalina, especially in my lounge.

Dominance, possession, and authority exploded back into my system, returning me to a mindset in which I could actually function.

“Excuse me,” I said to the group. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

I left nothing but smiles on the men’s faces behind me as I strode with an air of power to the table to inquire about the comfort of my unexpected guests this evening. This man was like a fucking cockroach indeed, and I couldn’t wait for the excuse to finally squish him beneath the heel of my shoe.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ever since leasing my office space in Newport Beach from Lowell Jameston, it hadn’t taken long for me to figure out exactly what kind of man his son was.

After Christian introduced himself to me, it was safe to say I did not care for the man. Did I tolerate him? Yes. Respect him? Absolutely not.

The man was attractive enough in that polished, country-club, rich-boy sort of way that women usually lost their minds over, but every conversation with him reminded me of a spoiled child who’d somehow grown into expensive suits without emotionally maturing beyond prep school.

Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that his mother still tucked him into bed every night, reassuring him that he was special. Which made sitting through this dinner particularly exhausting, especially because lately, my tolerance for men mistaking inherited wealth for real power had become dangerously low.

Once seated, Christian lounged across from me in Horizon’s VIP rooftop section while the Los Angeles skyline glowed around us under the night sky.

I’d been here with financial teams and the individuals I was planning exclusive events for a handful of times. All I could say was that everything about this place screamed Titus.

Dark stone. Black glass. Massive fire features flickering between private seating areas. It oozed luxury so expensive that it deserved admiration.

Even the staff moved differently here. They moved quietly, every movement controlled. It was as if the entire rooftop operated under one man’s standards. And knowing that Titus owned this building, it did.

“…the Manchester acquisition announcement needs to feel larger than a standard corporate event,” Christian continued, sipping whiskey beside Zachary Manchester. “This is legacy business.”

I nodded politely while mentally reminding myself that this wasn’t even originally my event. One of the planners I knew had traded me this Southern California acquisition gala in exchange for one of my Italian fashion events in Milan after Amelia’s emergency.

Otherwise, there wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell I would’ve taken on Christian Jameston as a client.

“You seem distracted tonight, Cat,” Christian smirked.

“You’ve repeated the words acquisition, luxury, and legacy enough times tonight that I’m considering charging extra for emotional damages,” I answered calmly, lifting my glass of champagne.

Zachary Manchester laughed loudly beside him. I sat next to their two financial heads, both women scrolling on their phones and taking this all as seriously as I was taking Christian. How did this man run any form of business? I honestly would never know.

Christian grinned. “I’ve always enjoyed being in the company of a woman unafraid of power and wealth.”

Oh, God.