Page 31 of Less

More applause.

Carter reaches for my hand again.

Only Less gets there first.

His arm slides lightly around my back, guiding me toward the stairs off the stage while Carter moves ahead of us.

“After you, Mr. Carter,” Less says calmly.

The billionaire chuckles and leads the way.

Meanwhile, I’m standing there smiling like a perfectly trained Broadway doll while every instinct in my body screams for escape.

What I want to do?

What I really want to do?

Is throw myself straight into Less’s arms and ask him to carry me the hell out of here.

But I don’t.

Because I’m a professional.

So instead I paste on my brightest public smile.

And I follow Carter into the crowd.

Shaking hands.

Accepting compliments.

Pretending everything is perfectly fine.

Even though every nerve in my body is screaming that something about this night is very, very wrong.

Chapter 8

Less

This motherfucker.

Money might buy a lot of things, but it sure as hell doesn’t buy the right to put your hands on another person.

Especially not Amanda.

The second Carter wrapped his arms around her on that stage, I saw it.

The way her shoulders locked.

The tension in her spine.

The polite smile she forced onto her face while every muscle in her body screamed get away from me.

Most people probably missed it.

I didn’t.

And even if she hadn’t reacted like that—even if she’d been perfectly fine being manhandled by this silver-haired prick—I still wouldn’t like it.