Billion Dollar Promises

Savanna thought she had seen the worst part that could happen. But today's revelation would make her wish she was still alive."

"What the bloody hell is this?" "Is this some kind of joke?"

The voice loud enough went across the ballroom cutting through the chatter and music, sharp enough to make Savannah Lane freeze mid-step. The smile on her face faded. Her heart raced at the sudden eyes that fell on her. And then, she turned slowly towards the direction of the intruder.

...Who was no one other than Mr. Devon.

He was already drunk with a red face, his tie loosed but still holding on to his glass of wine. Standing by the donor display, he waved his free hand like he was conducting an orchestra.

"People like you... you Savannah, deserve the most horrible type of life!"

Savannah blinked. He scoffed, staggering back and forth.

His words were striking enough to have drawn the attention of the crowd to himself.

That was the part Savannah hated the most.

Not tonight, her heart raced. This event was her biggest gig in months. One mistake, and her reputation would be ruined in this city. She adjusted her earpiece, whispered a quick "On it" to her team, and crossed the floor. People were watching now to see what happened, some openly, others with sly glances over their wine glasses. She could literally feel the tension everywhere.

"Mr. Devon," she said, keeping her voice low and smooth as she stepped between him and a hovering photographer. She leaned in close enough to smell the liquor on his breath. "Let's get you some water or perhaps some fresh air?"

Devon's blurry eyes narrowed. "You think I'm a drunk fool?" He swayed, jabbing a finger at her. "This display says I gave ten grand. Ten! I wired fifty!"

Savannah kept her smile steady, but her mind raced. Fifty? The ledger showed ten. Great. "I'll sort it out, sir. Let's step over here"

"Don't patronize me!" He lurched forward, knocking her tray of champagne flutes. She stumbled, trying to catch herself, but the tray tipped. Glasses flew, crashing into someone behind her. Liquid splattered, and a sharp curse followed.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry" Savannah spun around, her words dying as she locked eyes with the man she had drenched with champagne. Jaxson Carrington. The keynote speaker. And now, the owner of a wet expensive suit.

Jaxson's eyes narrowed slightly, very irritated he muttered "Seriously? You just spilled champagne all over me?" he asked, his voice low and even.

Her face turned pale being embarrassed, she stood up straight and met his gaze. "I'm so sorry about this. Let me help you clean up," she said, already reaching for a napkin. Are you okay?" she asked, trying to compose herself.

He brushed at his soaked lapel, the fine wool fabric clinging damply to his thighs, being annoyed, he said "This is custom Armani" dryly but edged with irritation. "It's ruined."

Savannah's anxiety spiked as she saw Devon stumbling around, still talking loudly. The photographer was snapping pictures, and she knew this could get ugly. "I'll pay for the dry cleaning," she said, trying to stay calm. "But I need to......"

"Handle him?" You think you can? Jaxson nodded toward Devon, his voice cool but sharp.

Her temper flared. Who does this guy think he is? She whispered to herself. "Look, I'm trying to keep this night from falling apart. " You can either help or step aside."

His brows shot up, and for a second, something like surprise flickered in his eyes. "Bold choice of words" he said.

"True, though." As soon as the words slipped out, Savannah wished she could take them back. She needed to focus. Devon was getting louder now yelling about "incompetent staff" and drawing attention from the crowd. She quickly turned her attention back to him, taking his arm firmly. "Mr. Devon, why don't we step over here and discuss the details?

Devon jerked his arm away, stumbling into a nearby table. A glass fell over, and the crowd murmured in surprise. Savannah's anxiety spiked. This was getting out of hand.

Jaxson stepped forward, his voice firm but controlled. "Mr. Devon, let's get you out of here before things get worse. Walk with her, or I'll have security do it for you."

Devon's expression faltered, and he nodded slowly. "Fine," he said quietly, allowing Savannah to steer him toward the side door. She shot Jaxson a glance that mixed gratitude and irritation. Jaxson gave her a brief nod, his expression neutral.

Just as they were about to exit, a flash went off, then another. The photographer was back, grinning like he had won a lottery. Savannah was disgusted. This is bad.

By morning, her phone buzzed nonstop. Elena, her best friend, had sent a link with a headline that screamed: Billionaire's Mystery Flame Spills More Than Champagne! The photo was everywhere; it showed Savannah mid-argument with Jaxson, her hand on his arm, his face inches from hers. The caption read: "Sparks fly at ballroom showdown!"

Savannah groaned and slumped out of her couch. Mystery Flame? Are you kidding me? She had spent the night smoothing things over with Devon, double-checking the donor ledger (he had given ten grand), and dodging her boss' fury. She rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of it all.

Savannah's phone buzzed on her coffee table, in the quiet of her apartment. She groaned and reached for it, eyes squinting at the screen. Unknown number. She let it go to voicemail, hoping it would leave her alone. But it rang again, persistent. With a sigh, she answered.

"What?" she snapped, not bothering to hide her irritation.

"Ms. Lane?" The voice on the other end sounded.

Savannah's tone softened slightly. "Yes?"

"This is Claire Reid, PR for Jaxson Carrington. We need to meet."

Savannah's mind started racing. What could Jaxson's team want with her? She tried to keep her voice steady. "What's this about?"

There was a pause, brief but noticeable. "Let's discuss that in person, Ms. Lane. Savannah was perplexed. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, and it wasn't good. "What's going on?" she pressed, trying to get more information.

"I'll brief you when we meet, Ms. Lane. See you soon." The line went dead.

Savannah stared at her phone, a sense of unease settling in. What did Jaxson's team want? And why the urgency?

She got up and began pacing around her apartment, her mind racing with possibilities. The more she thought about it, the more her anxiety spiked. She needed to know what was going on. Grabbing her bag and keys, she headed out the door. She'd find out soon enough.

As she hailed a taxi on the street, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from an unknown number: "You might want to prepare yourself."

Savannah's heart sank. What was she walking into?