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Trent snags a champagne flute from a waiter, knocking the tray off-kilter in the startled man’s hands. Somehow, the poor guy recovers, edging out of Trent’s reach.

“Fuuuuck,” I hiss.

“Is that…?” Lacey has followed my gaze, jaw dropping.

“Yup.” The room’s chatter diminishes as more people take in the newest arrivals. The slap-able smirk spreading on Trent’s face spreads as all attention turns to him. I hand Lacey my glass. “Fuck me, I’ve got to shut down whatever bullshit this is.”

I’m still fifteen feet away when Trent pushes the crooked sunglasses up on his head to better sling a bitter glare like a barbed mace. “Where the fuck are my sponsors PR bitch? Apparently, you forgot my invitation to this little shindig of yours.”

He gestures to the room, sloshing half the glass’s contents onto The Vortex’s blue and red carpet. Taking a step back, I sneak a glance at Ellie. She’s still focusing on the spot behind me where I know Dalton is standing. I maneuver to block her view, then force my focus back to Trent.

One asshole at a time.

“You made it pretty clear you didn’t want my help, Trent. If you’ve changed your mind, we can meet in the morning. For now, go home and sleep it off.”

“Fuck you, don’t you tell me what to do!

” Trent lurches forward a step, teeth baring as he snarls.

The remaining contents of his glass hit my bare leg this time, the fizzing liquid pooling into the toes of my black pumps.

It’s then I notice the fist clutched at his side, and realization dawns. Fuck, he might take a swing at me.

On cue, Trent tilts into my space. I jolt back straight into a muscular chest, a hand catching my hip to steady me. Even without the spark of possession in Ellie’s eyes, I know who it is.

“Go home, Belanger.” Dalton’s voice is harsh. His fingers curling on my hip bone like he’s ready to yank me out of the way.

“Fuck you, old man.” Trent spits, but takes a step back.

It’s only as the other voices speak up that I understand why the prick is backing off.

“Show some respect, dude.”

“Should kick your ass off the damn team.”

“Dude, you’re making us look bad, Belanger.”

“Grade-A piece of shit.”

“Grow the fuck up, Trent.”

My heart hiccups. Not only is Dalton standing behind me, but the entire team.

Every one of them. Coming not only to salvage their team’s image for the night’s event, but also to my defense.

Despite the harsh words, each man speaks in a defusing manner.

Guess my training is paying off. I shift back against Dalton’s body, letting him ground me.

Ellie hones in on the movement, and for the first time, she looks at me, studying my face with a squirm-worthy intensity.

I straighten, and Dalton’s hand drops back to his side.

Her blue eyes narrow.

I try to glance around the room to do some damage reconnaissance, but the guys have made a wall of well-dressed muscle, blocking the unfolding scene from the prying eyes of potential sponsors.

On cue, I hear Peter’s voice come over the speakers, calling the sponsors’ attention for the pitch presentation.

It’s thirty minutes early, and I am supposed to kick it off, but the timing is a perfect distraction. Thank you, Ramona.

As Peter rattles off some joke to a round of laughter, the mass of muscled bodies around me shifts to let two men push through.

The coaches step between a seething Trent and his teammates.

Ramona is close behind, but unlike the new arrivals, who are focused on their youngest player, Ramona only has eyes for Ellie.

“Time to go home, son.” The Coach Terrence "The Tank" Bell’s voice carries the ultimatum I couldn’t muster.

His assistant coach adds, “Not worth throwing your career away, is it?”

Trent glares at his teammates, slams what’s left in the champagne flute, then shoves the glass at his coach.

“Totally not worth my time.” He mutters, before turning to Ellie, who is still staring at me like I’m a puzzle she can’t solve. I resist the urge to glare back. Trent teeters, making a grab for Ellie’s arm and missing. “Fuck this place. We’ve got better places to be.”

Ellie hardly spares her date a glance.

“Babe? You coming?” Trent’s jaw flexes, his glare landing first on me like I’m the reason he’s getting booted and not because he showed up drunk, then lingers on Dalton. I cringe at the sharp, jealous hate radiating from the young man.

“Nancy, hold my bag!” Ellie calls, thrusting her clutch out with a limp wrist. A young woman comes racing up from God knows where, taking Ellie’s handbag before retreating a few steps.

Trailing a finger over Trent’s jawline, nail scraping against his five o’clock shadow, Ellie shakes her head with a mock pout.

“Why don’t you head home without me? I’m going to stay and woo some of these sponsors for you.

No one can win over people like I can, baby. ”

She plants a lingering kiss on his lips that has all the passion of a wet noodle, but Trent’s eyes glaze with a drunken nod. Disgust roils in my stomach at the thought of her lips on Dalton’s, of this woman anywhere near his bed.

Ellie pats him on the cheek like an obedient dog, then leans in, pressing pink lips to Trent’s ear. As her eyes slide to the man just over my shoulder, there’s no doubt her next words are meant for Dalton. “Wait up for me, lover. I can’t stop thinking about how good you feel inside me.”

For the first time in my life, I contemplate slapping another woman.

Coach Bell clears his throat, flapping a hand toward his assistant coach. “Brad, see Trent gets home.”

Aside from jerking his arm away from Brad’s grip, Trent goes quietly, flinging up two middle fingers in silent protest.

“Dick bag,” Caderwall mutters to my left, asking if I’m okay before peeling off to join the presentation still going on behind us. The other guys follow suit until it’s just Ramona, Coach Bell, Dalton, me, a metric-fuck-ton of award-winning tension, and Ellie.

Ellie looks at Dalton like she’s expecting him to offer her his arm.

Fortunately, ever the opportunist, Ramona jumps in, stealing the starlet’s attention.

“Of course, you’re more than welcome to join us, Miss Edwards.

I’m sure some sponsors here would love to meet you.

I heard you were interested in purchasing a private box for the season. ”

I stop breathing as every inch of Dalton goes rigid. Of course, she’s interested in getting a box, and of course, the owners would let her, despite knowing her obsession with Dalton. Ellie would sell tickets. She would put people in seats while Dalton paid the price.

“I was, ummm…” Ellie’s smile is meant to be disarming as she turns to my boss, fishing for a name. But now that I’m looking for the bullshit, the facade falls flat—ever the actress. How had I thought her Oscar worthy?

“Ramona Jenkins, Momentum Marketing & PR.” Ramona offers Ellie a hand, which she takes, shaking it as if testing the lifeline before yanking. Understanding smooths the starlet’s features, her smile turning that shade past genuine into maniacal as the pieces of the puzzle click into place.

“Momentum,” Ellie purrs, her grip tightening on Ramona’s hand. “You’re the host for the city’s most exquisite charity bachelor auctions.”

Ramona’s chest puffs, her smile going mega watt. “We were honored you attended this year.”

“And this must be your little assistant.” Ellie’s lips push out in an appraising pout.

“Junior Publicist. Jenna here is one of the best in the industry.” Ramona beams, oblivious to the precarious line we’re toeing because I fucked up at the auction.

Dalton’s hand flexes at his side.

“Attending was my pleasure. Quite the event you throw. Sorry for the cloak and dagger, but it’s nice to keep a low profile sometimes, right Jenna? Sometimes a girl needs to have a few secrets.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Ramona’s smile falters in confusion for a heartbeat before she can school it.

I try not to flinch as Ellie continues. “I hear our captain here brought in the highest bid this year. Too high for even my blood. Hard to believe the young girl who won could afford it. Almost like the bidding was rigged.”

I pale. She knows I’m the person who outbid her.

Despite being obliterated that night, guess my face is one of the few things she remembers.

Or maybe the drinking didn’t start until she lost. Either way, she’s right, I couldn’t afford it.

Dalton’s arms fold over his chest, and I lock my jaw to keep from glancing at him.

Ramona lets out a boisterous laugh, “Good thing it’s not. We wouldn’t want to sully our reputation.”

“What am I saying? How silly of me,” Ellie titters, patting Ramona’s hand. “Of course not. You’d never do such a thing. Forgive me for bringing it up. A nasty rumor like that could irreparably damage such a noble event. Not to mention tank one’s career. How scandalous of me to even joke.”

But she’s not joking. She is making a direct threat, and she’s not done yet.

“Quite the date they had, according to the pictures. Still, I’m surprised she didn’t want to show her face? Must be kind of homely.” The urge to slap Ellie resurrects as she once-overs me with a sneer.

“She’s gorgeous. Inside and out, unlike most women I’ve dated recently.” Dalton’s voice is steel, and the blow hits Ellie full force, her mouth pulling into a tight line. “Best date of my life. I ended up with the right person that night.”

If not for my racing heart and the looming fear that Ellie is about to out me in a room of professionals, I would swoon. As it is, I’m trying not to puke.

“So, you’re still dating her?” Ellie asks through clenched teeth.

“None of your business,” Dalton snaps back.

Sensing the tension, Ramona cuts in. “She asked for anonymity, and we agreed. Even Dalton is under a strict NDA to ensure her privacy.”