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“Nope. I’m only allergic to social gatherings. What about you?”
Jackson laughs at my self-deprecating comment. “None for me, though, like Bastien Laurent, I have an awful reaction to bullshit.”
“Great. We should turn around now, then. You do realize all the ass-kissing and posturing you’ll have to do tonight, right?”
“Not me. You,” he says with a tap on my nose. “I get to go as myself. You’re the heiress who saddled herself with a roughneck.”
Assuming my best hostess face and voice, I cup Jackson’s cheek. “Aww, honey. I’m sure you have some worthwhile qualities buried somewhere deep down.”
Jackson’s eyes turn feral. He leans into my hand and whispers, “Yeah, I know a good woman when I see one.”
Jackson
Chelsea drops her head and turns to look out the window. Maybe I said too much. At that point, I couldn’t help it. Spending the day with her, talking and touching, pushed me to my breaking point.
We’re both quiet for the rest of the ride. I reach out and touch Chelsea’s shoulder near the venue’s entrance. “Ready?”
The stunning woman turns, and I come face-to-face with the chameleon. “Of course, darling.”
The limo stops, and the driver opens the back door. Second nature has me scanning our surroundings before I climb out and offer Chelsea my hand. Once she’s out and upright, I place a hand on her lower back and steer us toward the door.
Chelsea’s pale dress glows in the moonlight. I glance down at her face, mesmerized by the stars sparkling in her dark-blue eyes.
My phone rings, so I stop to check, answering immediately when I see Admiral Jameson’s name on the screen. I show Chelsea and step away from the river of finely dressed people to take the call in private. As I walk away, someone calls out for my partner.
“Chelsea?”
I freeze mid-step but answer the Admiral. “Bennett, here.”
The old salt gruffs, “I’ll be late. We’re caught behind a wreck. I don’t want you loitering outside, but I don’t want you mingling yet, either.”
A suavely dressed man approaches Chelsea. I answer the admiral curtly, wanting to get back to her. “We’ll lurk at the edges until you arrive.”
“Carry on, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.”
The man who called out to Chelsea reaches her and stands close despite her stiff posture. Chelsea’s behavior triggers alarm bells in my head, and I rush back to where she’s waiting. I come up behind her in time for the man to say, “Chelsea, I thought that was you.”
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be kissing ass in California?” she asks sweetly.
This guy seems to be bothering Chelsea, which means our cover is at risk. More than just protecting our objective, I bristle, ready to defend my friend.
“No, actually. I’m vice president of legal for the Denton Corporation. Our company supports this organization, and our CEO couldn’t attend the gala, so I’m here.” The prick shamelessly looks Chelsea up and down. “You look fantastic. You know, we would be married if you had put in this kind of work in college.”
The fuck? Chelsea tenses, shame keeping her frozen. That’s it_time for this jackass to go. I slither up to Chelsea’s back, ignoring the asshole. After pressing against her, I glide my ringed hand across Chelsea’s middle while leaning in to kiss her neck. “Sorry, my love. That was the admiral.” Standing upright and pretending to notice the man for the first time, I ask, “Who’s your friend?”
Chelsea takes a deep breath and answers with one tightly spoken word. “Trace.”
I experience a rush of thoughts at hearing the name, mostly torture, murder, and vengeance. My instinct is to attack. I’ve never wanted to more.
Despite his expensive suit and flashy watch, the man before me is less than impressive. Trace Newel ignores me completely and leers at the woman he once destroyed. The longer he stares, the more Chelsea shrinks.
“Oh. The limp dick from college.”
Newel fights to remain poised, and seethes. “And you are?”
“I’m Chelsea’s husband, and you’re leaving.”