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twenty-nine

CAROLINE

“Dick, dance with me.”

Mick chokes on his drink, turning away from the brunette he’s chatting with. “Excuse me?”

I know Rhett has to be approaching by now. I toss my head back in a laugh and pluck Mick’s drink from his hand, setting it down on the nearest table.

I hold my hand out to him. “Take it.”

When he doesn’t move, I add, “Now.”

He looks at me like I’ve officially lost it. But something in my voice must strike the right nerve, because after a beat, he takes my hand.

“Great,” I say, looping my arm through his and dragging him toward the dance floor. “Now let’s dance.”

“Um, I don’t really want to right now?—”

“But you will anyway, right?” I ask.

“Why should I?”

“Because I asked you nicely.”

“By cock-blocking me and calling me ‘Dick’?”

I purse my lips. “Okay, then maybe because you and I recently came to a truce. And now you’d like to prove to me that you meant it.”

Mick blinks at me, weighing the situation, then finally exhales and gives in. I don’t waste a second. One arm hooks around his neck, my other hand pulls his to my waist, and we start to dance.

“Okay, here we are,” Mick says. “Now what is the reason for this? Because I know you don’t actually want to dance with me.”

“Sure I do.”

He stops moving and cocks his head, clearly waiting for the real answer.

“Fine,” I sigh. “It’s Rhett.”

Mick’s brow dips, but he starts moving again. “What about him?”

I swallow hard. The image of Rhett with that woman pressed against the wall burns behind my eyelids. “Do you see him? Is he looking at us?”

Mick lifts his head, scanning over my shoulder. It only takes a second before his expression shifts—eyes back on mine, slightly wider now. “Uh huh.”

“How does he look?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Mick deadpans. “Tall. Tan. A little tousled. Like he wants to skin me alive.”

“Great.”

“Sorry, but why are we trying to infuriate your husband?”

Shit. Right.

Wives don’t usually dance with other men to make their husbands jealous.

I mean, unless…

“It’s one of his kinks?”

Mick shudders. “Jesus, Barrett.”

He starts to pull away, but I tighten my hold.

“I’m kidding. Just… please. A few more seconds. ”

“I don’t understand?—”

“Cub.”

Both our heads snap to the side at the sound of Rhett’s voice. He’s standing a few feet away, staring us down like he could incinerate the space between us on sight alone.

“Oh,” I say, forcing a breezy tone as I press a little closer to Mick. “Hi.”

Rhett’s eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m dancing. With my friend, Mick.”

“Hey, Sutty,” Mick offers awkwardly.

He starts to pull away, but I slap my hand over his, keeping it glued to my waist.

“The song isn’t over yet,” I tell him.

“You’re right,” Rhett says evenly. “Mind if I cut in, Mick? I’d like to borrow my wife.”

Mick backs off so fast you’d think he’d been electrocuted. “She’s all yours.”

I let out a scoff, shooting him a glare before Rhett steps in to block my view.

He reaches for my hand, but I yank it back.

“Yeah, actually, I’m not an item you can just rent out when you’re interested and put back on the shelf when you’re not.”

Before I can move, Rhett grabs my hand again and pulls me flush against him. I try to twist away, but his grip is iron. He starts dancing like nothing’s wrong, like this isn’t a war, and I have no choice but to follow.

In any other situation, I’d cause a scene.

But not here.

And he knows it.

“Easy,” Rhett exhales, his voice low and gravelly enough to send a shiver down my spine—a reaction I hate. I grind my teeth, my body stiff but starting to move with his .

“Now,” he mutters after a moment, “want to tell me what the fuck that was?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I reply flatly.

“What are you doing dancing with Mick? You don’t even like him.”

“Well, I’m dancing with you, aren’t I?”

He presses his tongue to his bottom lip. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“Why? Is it working?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation.

“Hmm.” I hum like that’s mildly interesting. “Well, you’ll get over it soon enough. I’ll need a drink right after this anyway.”

Rhett knits his brows, confused.

“Or maybe you could just spin me real quick?” I offer sweetly. “I’m sure in the time I’m turned away, someone else will catch your eye. You’ll move on in no time.”

“That’s not?—”

“Let me guess,” I cut in. “She’s one of the board members’ daughters? Would make sense, considering you have a thing for daughters.”

“Every woman is a daughter, Cub,” he snaps. “And to answer your question honestly, I don’t even know who she is.”

“Oh, well that’s just great, Rhett.” I give him a bright, bitter smile. “That makes me feel so much better—to know you’d risk this entire thing for someone you don’t even?—”

“That didn’t happen.”

“Oh right. I forgot—I’m actually blind. Or maybe I’m just hallucinating. I should probably schedule an appointment with my psychiatrist. Are we even here right now? What’s my name again?—?”

“Cub, listen to me.” Rhett cuts in, cupping my cheek in one hand and forcing me to meet his gaze. “Nothing happened between me and that woman tonight, okay? I swear. ”

I blink at him, then slowly pull my head back.

“Tonight?”

His lips part slightly, and his face falters.

And that’s all the answer I need.

I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “I’m actually gonna grab that drink now. If you could try to behave yourself for the next two minutes and not put my entire reputation and career on the line, that would be amazing?—”

Ding Ding Ding!

A loud bell rings out from the front of the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” my dad’s voice booms over the speakers, cutting me off. “We’ve officially surpassed our charity goal!”

Ragnar appears suddenly at our side, leaning in to mutter out of the corner of his mouth to Rhett, “Does that mean we can leave?”

“Yep,” Rhett answers, lacing his fingers through mine and pinning me with a look. “Sure does.”

I don’t even know if that’s true.

“Let’s go,” he says, already moving, tugging me behind him.

“No.” I wrench against his grip. “Let go of me. I don’t want to go anywhere with you?—”

Rhett stops short, spinning around so fast I nearly crash into him. He catches me by the shoulder just in time. “Cool it, Cub,” he murmurs. “Three o’clock.”

My brows pull together. “What?”

He jerks his head to the side, and I follow his line of sight.

Linda. Standing less than ten feet away, eyes fixed on us as she claps politely along with the rest of the crowd.

I suck in a slow breath, forcing down the volcanic rage still bubbling just under the surface. Instead, I dig my nails into Rhett’s hand.

“Fine,” I grit out. “Let’s go.”

We don’t speak.

Not during the walk to the door, not as we climb into his Range Rover, not the entire drive home.

Not even in the elevator, though the silence grows heavier with each passing floor.

I watch the numbers above the doors tick from 18 to 19.

Ding.

As soon as the doors slide open, I fly out.

He doesn’t say anything, but I can hear Rhett’s footsteps behind me—measured at first, then growing quicker to match my pace. I can feel the weight of his stare drilling into the back of my head, the heat of it crawling down my spine.

It only makes me walk faster.

By the time I reach our apartment door, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely get the key into the lock. The whole thing feels like a horror movie—me fumbling with the key, Rhett stalking closer like Michael Myers in designer dress shoes.

The only difference—he should be the one afraid of me.

The key finally catches just as I hear his steps approach. He doesn’t speak, but I feel the brush of his arm against mine, the warmth of his breath at my neck as he reaches forward.

“Cub—”

“Do not touch me,” I snap, just as the lock clicks. I shove the door open and stride into the apartment like it’s a battlefield I intend to burn to the ground.

“Would you just talk to me for a minute?” Rhett calls after me, his voice frustrated and pleading all at once.

I toss my purse down on the kitchen island without looking back. “Not interested.”

I try to walk away, but his hand wraps around my wrist. Before I can react, he spins me back toward him. I stumble slightly, grabbing the counter for balance, then yank off my heels one by one, gripping them by the straps as I stand tall on bare feet.

I glare up at him, fully expecting him to start defending himself, but he doesn’t.

He just watches me.

“What?” I snap.

“Why are you trembling?”

I rear back, blinking. “Because I’m angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re infuriating?—”

“No,” he cuts in, his voice low and steady. “Why specifically?”

I gape at him, dumbfounded. “I think that’s obvious.”

“Because of the woman?”

It’s more complicated than that.

But, essentially?—

“Yes.”

“Because you were jealous?”

“Yes—” I cut off. “What? No.”

Rhett stares at me. He doesn’t say a word. A ghost of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth—and it lights the fuse.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” I seethe, “I’m not some delusional member of the Rhett Sutton fan club. What you do in your personal life means nothing to me. And frankly, I know exactly what to expect from you. Just because we’re in a fabricated, meaningless relationship doesn’t change that.”

He studies me for a beat, brows pulling together. But then his expression drops—and he starts to laugh.

My eyes narrow. “What the hell is so funny?”

“Fabricated?” he echoes, stepping toward me. “Maybe. But meaningless?” He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Now you’re just lying to yourself.”

I shake my head, scoffing. “I’m being one hundred percent truthful when I say I couldn’t care less that you slept with that woman.”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

I arch a brow.

“I fucked her.”

“Oh.” The word escapes before I can stop it.

“And that doesn’t bother you,” he says flatly.

I cross my arms. “Doesn’t affect me whatsoever.”

He studies me—really studies me—his eyes trailing down my body like he’s trying to catch me in a lie. “You sure about that?”