Vivian West had rejected Derek Lowe before.
More than once.
The first time, she had been polite.
The second time, direct.
The third time, she had asked his father whether the Lowe family enjoyed turning business cooperation into public harassment.
Unfortunately, Derek had inherited money before he inherited shame.
He stayed on one knee in the middle of Century Plaza, smiling as if the cameras made him noble.
"Vivian," he said, "I know you think I'm impulsive. But a man should be brave for the woman he loves."
Vivian looked down at him.
"A brave man would learn the word no."
The crowd quieted for a second.
Derek's smile tightened.
"As long as you're single, I have the right to pursue you."
"You have the right to breathe," Vivian said. "Don't abuse it."
Several people in the crowd tried not to laugh.
Derek's eyes hardened, though his smile remained.
He had not come here to be rejected privately.
He had come here to trap her publicly.
If Vivian refused too harshly, people would call her cruel.
If she walked away, the footage would be edited to make him look devoted and her look heartless.
If she accepted even for one dinner, he would turn it into a relationship before sunset.
Vivian's patience thinned.
Her eyes moved through the crowd, looking for an exit.
Then she saw Ethan.
She did not recognize him.
Why would she?
The Ethan Cole she remembered had worn aprons, soft old sweaters, and the invisible posture of a man no one expected to speak.
The man near the escalator wore a black suit like a warning.
His face was clean and striking, his eyes lazy in a way that made the chaos around him seem beneath notice.
For one dangerous second, Vivian simply looked.
Then she made a decision.
She walked toward him.
Ethan saw her coming.
He also saw, with some amusement, that she had no idea who he was.
Vivian slipped her hand around his arm.
Her fingers were cool through the fabric of his sleeve.
She leaned close enough that her perfume brushed his throat.
"Help me," she whispered. "I'll owe you."
Ethan looked down at her hand.
"You usually ask strangers for favors like this?"
"Only handsome ones."
Her answer came without hesitation.
Ethan almost laughed.
Vivian turned back toward Derek with a sweetness so sudden that even her assistant looked startled.
"Derek," she said, "I can't accept."
Derek stood.
"Why?"
Vivian tightened her hold on Ethan's arm.
"Because I have a boyfriend."
The lobby erupted in whispers.
Derek stared at Ethan.
"Him?"
"Yes."
Vivian's expression softened as she looked up at Ethan, acting so naturally that half the crowd probably believed her immediately.
"This is Ryan."
Ethan's eyebrow moved.
Ryan?
Vivian's nails pressed lightly into his sleeve.
Play along.
Derek laughed.
"Ryan who?"
Vivian smiled.
"My Ryan."
The words were sweet enough to rot teeth.
Derek's face darkened.
"Everyone in Northbridge knows you're single. You grabbed a pretty face from the crowd and expect me to believe he's your boyfriend?"
Vivian tilted her head.
"Believe whatever helps you sleep."
"Then prove it."
The challenge was ugly.
The cameras moved closer.
Vivian's hand tightened again.
Ethan expected her to say something sharp and walk away.
Instead, she turned.
Her lips touched his cheek.
Soft.
Cool.
Brief.
But in the middle of the lobby, with cameras flashing and Derek Lowe staring, it landed like a public signature.
The crowd gasped.
Ethan looked at Vivian.
Vivian looked back, calm on the outside, pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
She had meant the kiss as a tactic.
Her body, however, had noticed him more honestly than her strategy had.
Derek's face twisted.
"You."
He pointed at Ethan.
"Do you know who I am?"
Ethan said, "Unfortunately, I've heard enough."
"Then you should know better than to touch what belongs to me."
Vivian's expression turned cold.
"I belong to no one."
Derek ignored her.
His eyes stayed on Ethan.
"Let her go, apologize, and crawl out of here. I might let you keep your face."
Ethan had only planned to help Vivian escape.
He was not interested in Derek Lowe, his roses, or his borrowed audience.
But there were tones of voice Ethan had learned to dislike during three years in the Shaw household.
The tone of people who believed money gave them ownership.
The tone of men who thought a woman's refusal was a negotiation.
The tone of someone who needed to be taught in public because he had chosen a public stage.
Ethan placed one hand at Vivian's waist.
Vivian stiffened.
Only for a heartbeat.
His palm was firm, warm, and entirely too confident.
He drew her closer.
Her silk blouse brushed his jacket.
The clean line of her body settled against him, and for the first time that day, Vivian's perfect composure cracked by the smallest degree.
Ethan looked at Derek over her shoulder.
"What are you going to do about it?"
The lobby went silent.
Derek's pride snapped.
He threw the bouquet aside.
"Do you know I'm a provincial karate champion?"
Ethan looked at the roses scattered across the floor.
"That explains the flowers. You already brought your funeral decorations."
Someone in the crowd choked on a laugh.
Derek lunged.
Vivian's assistant shouted.
"Bodyguards!"
Vivian's fingers grabbed Ethan's lapel.
For a split second, she wanted to push him away, to protect the stranger she had dragged into this mess.
Ethan did not move back.
He shifted one foot.
Still holding Vivian by the waist, he turned his body just enough to avoid Derek's first punch.
Then his leg rose.
Fast.
Clean.
Brutal.
His kick struck Derek in the abdomen.
Derek flew backward as if the air had rejected him.
He hit the hood of the red sports car outside with a metallic crash, rolled once, and collapsed among his own rose petals.
The crowd screamed.
The hired photographers forgot to lower their cameras.
Derek coughed, tried to rise, and failed.
Blood touched the corner of his mouth.
Then his eyes rolled back.
He fainted.
Vivian remained in Ethan's arms.
Her breath was a little uneven now.
Not from fear.
Not entirely.
She looked up at him, really looked this time.
The angle of his jaw.
The calm in his eyes.
The way he held her as if danger, gossip, and the entire Lowe family were minor inconveniences.
"Who are you?" she asked softly.
Ethan released her waist.
The place where his hand had been felt strangely warm after he let go.
He looked at Derek lying against the ruined car.
"Provincial champion?"
He straightened his cuff.
"That's it?"
Then he turned back to Vivian.
"Trash."
Author's Note:
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Thank you for reading.