Black Tie Billionaire. Naima Simone

when she paused, palm pressed to one of the panels.

      Saw when she glanced over her shoulder in his direction.

      Even across the distance of the ballroom, the electric shock of that look whipped through him, sizzled in his veins. Moments later, she disappeared from view. Didn’t matter; his feet were already moving in her direction.

      That glance, that look. It’d sealed her fate.

      Sealed it for both of them.

       Two

      Shay Camille Neal pushed through the doors leading into the huge, industrial kitchen that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Michelin-star restaurant. With a world-famous chef renowned for his temper as well as his magic with food, a sous chef and army of station and line cooks bustling around the stainless steel countertops and range stoves, the area hummed with activity.

      Under ordinary circumstances, she would’ve been enthralled, attempting to soak up whatever knowledge she could from the professionals attending. But the current circumstances were as far from ordinary as chicken nuggets were from coq au vin.

      First, as a member of one of the oldest, wealthiest and most influential families in Chicago, she usually attended the Du Sable City Gala as a guest, not a server. But when her best friend, Bridgette, called her earlier in the afternoon sounding like a foghorn had replaced her voice box, Shay had agreed to take Bridgette’s place as a member of the catering staff. Though her friend owned and ran a fledgling food truck business, she still helped mitigate expenses and pay her personal bills with jobs on the side. The position with this particular catering company was one of her regulars, and Bridgette couldn’t afford to lose the gig.

      Shay had planned on skipping the gala, anyway. Facing a night at home with another binge of House of Cards on Netflix versus actually working in the periphery of a famous chef, the choice had been a no-brainer. Besides, Bridgette had assured Shay that most of her duties as an assistant to the line cooks would keep her in the kitchen.

      Still, she’d donned a wig, dark brown contacts and glasses, as well as Bridgette’s uniform. Because while she’d decided to skip out on the social event of the season, her older brother, Trevor, and his fiancée, Madison Reus—Senator Julian Reus’s only daughter—were attending. Trevor already didn’t approve of Shay’s friendship with Bridgette. If he caught Shay doing anything less-than-becoming of the Neal name, especially because of her best friend, he would lose it. And Shay was pretty certain he would consider prepping vegetables and serving champagne cardinal sins.

      In her defense, though, when the catering supervisor shoved a tray of sparkly wine at her and ordered her to make the rounds of the ballroom, she couldn’t exactly say no.

      Still, everything should’ve been fine—would’ve been fine—if not for one Gideon Knight.

      Smoky desire coiled in her belly. She set the almost empty tray on one of the stations and pressed a fist to her navel. Not that the futile gesture extinguished the glowing embers.

      Swallowing a groan, she strode toward the back of the kitchen and the employee break room. Shutting the door behind her, she entered the bathroom and twisted the faucets, thrusting her palms under the gushing water. Her quick version of a cold shower. Shaking her head at her foolishness, she finished washing her hands, but afterward, instead of returning to the kitchen, she stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. But it wasn’t her image she saw.

      It was Gideon Knight.

       They’re like peacocks, spreading their plumage, desperate to be noticed, and here you are among them, like the moon. Bright, alone, above it all and eclipsing every one of them.

      She exhaled slowly, the words spoken in that all-things-secret-and-sinful voice echoing in her head. In her chest. And lower. With any other man, she would’ve waved off the compliment as insincere flattery that tended to roll off men’s tongues when they came across the heiress to one of the largest financial management conglomerates in the country. The compliments meant nothing, like dandelion fluff on a breeze. No substance and changing with the wind.

      But not with Gideon Knight.

      There had been a ring of truth in the blunt observation. As if his description of her wasn’t an opinion but fact. She’d just met him, but she couldn’t shake the sense that he didn’t dole out flowery compliments often. As he’d stated so flatly, he didn’t play games.

      She believed him. But it only deepened her confusion over why he’d approached her of all people. To most of the attendees in the ballroom, she’d been invisible, inconsequential. Just another staff member there to serve them.

      But not to him.

      Even in a room full of Chicago’s wealthiest and most glamorous people, he stood out. In the way a sleek, silent shark would stand out in a pool of clown fish.

      God, she was officially losing it. And she laid the blame squarely at the feet of Gideon Knight.

      Because, really, how could any woman stare into those midnight eyes and not forget everything but how she could willingly drown in them, even as he submerged her in a pleasure as dark and stunning as his gaze?

      As soon as the illicit thought entered her head an image of him crouched over her, all that midnight-black hair loose from its knot and flowing over his shoulders, tumbling around them, flashed through her mind. Her heart thumped against her chest, and she exhaled an unsteady breath, that flame of unwanted desire dancing low in her belly again. With a mental shove, she thrust the hot image out of her mind, but the vision of how he’d looked just moments ago, when she turned for one last glance, refused to be evicted as easily.

      His tailor, whoever he or she was, must’ve been in love with Gideon because his tuxedo traced his powerful but lean frame. From the wide shoulders and chest that tapered to a slim waist and down to long, muscular legs, he was the picture of urbane elegance and wealth. Strength. Beauty.

       Imperial.

      The word leaped into her head, and though she wanted to scoff at the description, she couldn’t. It fit. With the beautiful eyes, the sharp slant of cheekbones, the arrogant nose, the wide, sensual, almost cruel curve of his mouth and the rock-hard jut of his jaw, he reminded her of a long-ago king from a mysterious Asian country, standing on a wall, an unseen wind teasing his long black hair as he surveyed the land he ruled. Hard, shrewd, somehow removed from the masses.

      He would’ve been completely intimidating if not for the incongruity of all that hair pulled into a knot at the back of his head. Someone so polished, so sophisticated, so rigid in his appearance wearing a...man bun.

      It was the rebellious flouting of the unspoken, constricting rules that governed their social realm that had stirred a curiosity she couldn’t erase. Even now.

      You’re being ridiculous.

      Shaking her head, she emitted a sound of self-directed disgust and yanked a brown paper towel from the dispensary. She quickly dried her hands, tossed the now damp towel in the trash and strode from the bathroom. With at least another three hours of work ahead of her, she couldn’t afford to remain hiding back here any longer. More prep work awaited her, as dinner hadn’t even been served yet—

      The door to the break room swung open, and she barely managed to stifle her startled gasp.

      The tall, imposing figure of Gideon Knight filled the doorway.

      Her heart lodged in her throat. What the hell was he doing back here? But only seconds passed before the answer whispered through her skull.

      You.

      Denial, swift and firm, rose within her. But it couldn’t extinguish the kindling of desire and traitorous, foolish hope.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded, swiping her already-dry palms down the sides of her pants. And when his gaze took in the