Darla pushed through the crowd, ignoring the hands that tried to grab her arms. She slipped out of the ballroom and turned into a dimly lit side corridor.
Her chest heaved. Her fingers dug so hard into her silver clutch that her knuckles turned white. She needed to find an exit. She needed to get out before Agnes and the Mosley family cornered her.
She walked faster, her heels sinking into the carpet. She rounded the corner near the VIP elevators without looking.
She slammed face-first into a solid wall of muscle.
The impact knocked the breath out of her. She stumbled backward, her ankle twisting. Before she could hit the floor, a massive, warm hand clamped around her bicep, steadying her with effortless strength.
Darla gasped and looked up.
She met a pair of eyes so dark and cold they looked like black ice.
The man towering over her wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass. He radiated a dangerous, quiet authority.
Darla's eyes darted to his ear. He was wearing a discreet, custom earpiece. A faint, tinny voice buzzed from it.
Security. He had to be the hotel's head of security.
"Darla! Stop right there!"
Agnes's shrill voice echoed down the hallway, followed by the heavy footsteps of her stepbrother, Rudy. They were coming.
Panic seized Darla's throat. She couldn't face them. Not right now. Her brain scrambled for a way out. She looked back at the massive man holding her arm.
Darla reached into her clutch. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out a thick stack of cash-emergency money her father always insisted she carry.
She shoved the money directly against the man's broad chest.
"Take this," Darla said, her words rushing out in a breathless panic. "I need you to be my fiancé. Just for one hour. Please."
The man stared down at the crumpled bills against his suit. One dark eyebrow slowly arched.
In his earpiece, his assistant, Isaac, gasped. Boss, what is she doing? Should I call security?
Anson Prince didn't blink. He lifted his free hand and tapped the earpiece, cutting Isaac's feed dead.
He looked at the woman in front of him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her chin was tilted up in pure defiance. His grandfather had told him to keep an eye on Darla Hammond tonight. He hadn't expected her to throw cash at him.
The corner of Anson's mouth twitched. He took the money from her shaking hand, folded it slowly, and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
"Fine," Anson said. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in Darla's chest.
Darla let out a shaky breath. "My name is Darla. You need to look like you're in love with me."
Anson stepped closer. The scent of cedar and expensive musk washed over her. He reached out, his long fingers brushing against her cheek as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
His skin was incredibly warm. Darla shivered, her stomach doing a strange flip.
The footsteps grew louder. Agnes rounded the corner, her face twisted in rage.
Anson smoothly bent his arm, offering it to her.
Darla swallowed the lump in her throat. She slipped her hand through his arm, pressing her side against his solid frame.
Together, they turned around and walked straight toward the furious Mosley family.
