Page 14

CHAPTER 14

DALLAS

A nger is an unfamiliar emotion to me. It’s rare I get angry. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been perpetually happy-go-lucky. I’ve never been the kind of guy to let shit bring me down. But right now, as I stand here forced to watch as some asshole in a fucking tuxedo says something to make Emily smile and then takes it a step further and puts his hands on her— my girl —I’m consumed by what I can only assume is rage. I’ve never felt it before. But it’s white. And it’s hot. And it’s fucking debilitating.

Emily smiles. Again.

My hand constricts around my bottle of beer, so tight I’m shocked the thing hasn’t shattered.

Something knocks into me, and I’m pulled from my focus, looking down to see Fran smirking up at me.

“It looks like you’re about to murder someone,” she mutters from the side of her mouth.

“Who the fuck’s this motherfucker?” I lift my hand, indicating the bowtie wearing d-bag.

“Jenn’s brother,” a deep voice says.

I startle, not realizing Robbie was behind me. He stops on the other side of Fran, handing her a fresh glass of champagne and slinging his arm around her shoulders.

“How do you know?” I ask, annoyed even more. So Andy won’t let his employees date clients, but relatives are totally copacetic? Makes perfect fucking sense.

“Jenn introduced me.” Robbie shrugs, sipping his coke. “He’s a pediatric surgeon.”

I scoff. Of course he is. James fucking Bond, over here. I bet he’s also, like, forty, or some other appropriate age. With absolutely no risk of being traded to a hospital on the other side of the country with one phone call and minimal notice. I shake my head.

“Calm down, Dallas.” Fran touches my arm, offering a reassuring smile. “They’re literally just talk—oh, no. Ignore me.” Her eyes widen as she looks down at her drink and takes a sip.

I look up again to see 007 take Emily’s hand, leading her out onto the dance floor, his big life-saving paw resting dangerously low on her waist. My jaw clenches to the point where my molars hurt and I have to place my beer onto a passing waiter’s tray before it really does shatter. Or I hurl it across the room, whatever comes first.

“This is bullshit,” I hiss, forcing myself to turn away before I do something stupid like march right over there and go full beer league brawl on his ass.

I startle from the feel of a hand on my arm, followed by a high pitched, “Dallas Shaw, as I live and breathe.”

Glancing sideways, I notice a brunette with huge tits barely contained in a low-cut dress that’s kind of inappropriate considering this is an event to raise money for kids, but whatever. She’s obviously older. Much older. But she’s had a lot of work done. I can tell by how shiny and tight her forehead is.

“If it isn’t the league’s sexiest goalie.” The woman practically purrs, her grip on my arm tightening.

I decide to entertain her because judging by the diamonds dripping off her overly tanned skin, she looks rich, and tonight’s all about making money.

“The one and only, darlin’.” I lay it on thick with the accent, flexing my biceps beneath her touch.

“I’m such a fan,” the woman says all breathily, looking me up and down like I’m up for auction. “You’re so much… bigger in the flesh.”

With a suggestive wink I say, “You have no idea, ma’am.”

Fran gags, and I glance at her to see she’s choking on her drink. Next to her, Robbie conceals his laughter with a fake cough, gently slapping his girlfriend on her back.

“Naughty boy…” The woman’s eyes drift south, zeroing in on my crotch area.

It’s then that I get an idea.

“Care to dance, little lady?” I hold my arm out, offering her my elbow.

The woman beams, biting down on her over-plumped bottom lip as she links her arm with mine. And, with a smug smile at Robbie and Fran, I lead my new lady friend onto the dance floor, stopping right next to where Emily’s dancing with Rent-a-Tux.

I keep it totally platonic with Mrs. Robinson, forcing my guard up as we dance. She’s literally staring up at me like a fangirl, all heart eyes and fuck-me lips, but I remain casual, making use of my long arms to maintain a respectable amount of distance between us despite her trying to inch closer.

Emily doesn’t notice me at first, still wholeheartedly captivated by the guy who, on closer inspection, totally dyes his hair. His hands have moved lower—definite hip territory—and my anger surges, bubbling just below the surface of my skin. I force my gaze away.

“I didn’t catch your name, darlin’,” I say, my voice much louder than it needs to be, for obvious reasons.

“Melanie. ”

I nod, glancing sideways. Emily is still none the wiser. Dammit.

“And what do you do with yourself, Melanie?”

“I’m recently widowed, so at the moment I’m doing a lot of shopping to help console myself.” She smiles like a woman not at all in mourning.

Regardless, I apologize because it’s the right thing to do. “Aw, I’m sorry to hear that.”

She waves a perfectly manicured hand. “Oh, my husband was an old man.”

You don’t say.

“He was eighty-two when I married him,” she continues with a grating giggle that sounds like nails down a chalkboard. “So it really wasn’t unexpected.”

I smile tightly, trying really hard not to roll my eyes. But when I notice a familiar blonde staring directly at me from my periphery, I force a laugh as if what Melanie just said was the funniest damn thing I’ve ever heard.

“What about you?” Melanie asks, her gaze once again doing a slow assessment of me. “Any lucky lady managed to tie you down?”

“No, ma’am.” I shake my head, smirking. “I am as single as they come.”

“Well, lucky me…” She giggles, stepping into the danger zone, her big breasts practically rubbing against me, but I allow it when I look to my right to find Emily’s gaze laser focused on us. Me.

“I have a suite at the Four Seasons,” Melanie says after an extended period of eye-fucking me. “If you’re not doing anything after this…”

She reaches out and drags one of her long, pointed nails down my chest. And not so long ago, I’d have seriously considered the offer. I’m no ageist. I love all women. Even the ones old enough to be my momma’s best friend. But things have changed. And this is all for show. And, if I’m being honest, the thought kind of grosses me out. The thought of being with any woman who isn’t the blonde less than a few feet away from me gives me the ick.

With a sidelong glance at Emily, I startle when I realize she’s no longer there. I crane my neck in an attempt to see over the heads of those crowding the dance floor, my eyes searching. But she’s gone. And panic settles in my chest at the thought of her not only leaving, but also at the real possibility that she might have left with Jenn’s brother.

“Um, I’m sorry, Melanie,” I say. “Will you excuse me a moment?”

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” She flutters those thick, spidery lashes at me.

I force a smile I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Of course.” Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.

Turning, I snake my way through the throng, gaze darting about, but it’s hopeless. She’s nowhere. I spot Fran talking to some guy from the HMC marketing team, and I touch her shoulder, giving her a pleading look when she turns to me.

“What’s up?” Fran asks, stepping away from her colleague.

“Did you see where Emily went?” I ask lowly, trying so hard not to sound as worried as I really am.

She shakes her head. “What happened?”

I tell her what I did, and she deadpans with an are you fucking serious look.

“I know. I fucked up,” I say under my breath, still searching the space.

“Okay, don’t panic. Let me ask around,” Fran says with a hand in the air to placate me.

I tear my fingers through my hair. How can I not panic? Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll through to my text thread with Emily.

Me: I’m sorry, Goldie. I’m an idiot.