The Second Shot #2
Dominique reached out and put her hand on his arm, tugging impatiently, demanding attention.
The guy laughed and complied, turning toward her with an affectionate smile.
He was definitely not the hired help. For some reason, that burned.
In the intervening six years, Max had put Dominique out of his head.
Mostly. Sort of. Max would never have admitted it out loud, ever, under any circumstances, including a court of law, but Dominique had always been one of his go-to fantasies.
He was perfectly sure that she hadn’t thought about him once in that time. So why did he feel jealous of this guy?
Max turned back to his father and tried to focus on the conversation. Dominique was none of his business. What did he care if she dated someone with an over-active sense of security? None. Of. His. Business.
Grant moved on and Max followed him dutifully, the same way he had when he was twelve.
He was a prop to his father’s socializing.
He met a dozen people and forgot their names instantly.
Finally, he turned away from a blocky woman in a Chanel jacket and found his father about to introduce him to Dominique and her date.
“Max, I don’t know if you’ve met Jackson, but you went to school with Dominique.
Max is staying with me for a few weeks while—Hey, Frank!
Frank! Be right back. I’ve been trying to get five minutes with that guy all month.
” Grant buzzed off and left Max staring uncomfortably at Dominique and her date.
“So, Max,” said Jackson, his expression derisive, “do you need Dominique to get you another drink? We could send the catering staff out for some beer and solo cups.”
Max glanced at Dominique, who was visibly restraining a laugh.
“No,” said Max, trying not to feel like an ass—any hope that she’d forgotten him or the incident slipping away. “I think once was enough.” Did she really have to tell everyone?
Dominique actually did giggle this time and her boyfriend looked amused by her laughter, but his attention was pulled away.
“Nika, what is Aiden doing?” asked Jackson, looking past Max.
“Um,” she squinted toward the door, “exactly what you told him not to do?”
Jackson sighed. “OK, I’ll be right back.
” He ducked around Dominique, his jacket swinging open.
For a second, Max clearly saw the strap on a shoulder holster and outline of a gun.
Max looked back at Dominque, but she seemed not to notice.
She was watching her brother attempting to sneak out of the room and biting into her bottom lip with a frown.
She transferred her gaze back to Max and smiled, but it was the same old cold smile.
“I’m glad you can laugh about that uh...
incident,” he said, deciding to man up and do what he should have done six years ago.
He glanced down at the floor and realized that she was only conservative from the ankle up.
Her heels were stacked, strapped, and had a black satin bow at each ankle that begged to be untied.
“I really apologize for that,” he said, tearing his eyes off her feet.
She looked startled and suspicious.
“I was a total asshole,” he added.
“Um.” She frowned, then smiled—a real smile this time. “Well, apology accepted.”
It was his turn to feel surprised. He hadn’t expected her to simply believe that he was sorry. “And I wouldn’t say total. I’d go ninety-eight percent.”
“Ninety-eight percent?”
“Well, I’ll give you a one percent discount for being young, dumb and in college.”
“Yes,” he agreed fervently.
“And another one percent for standing there for the entire cup of beer.”
“I knew I’d earned it,” he said. She glanced over his shoulder, still following the action across the room.
“Your boyfriend’s a little intense,” he said.
“My boyfriend? You mean Jacks?”
He wanted to comment on the intimate shortening of their names. Jacks seemed weird, but he liked Nika. On the other hand, it really was none of his damn business.
“Does he always carry a gun?” he asked instead.
“Oh, you know…” she said, trailing off and not answering the question.
Max decided that meant the answer was yes.
“Grandma has gotten some... Well, they’re death threats, really, in the last few weeks.
She’s chairing that Senate Committee Hearing on Absolex.
And nothing brings out the crazies like Big Pharma. ”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I thought that was about government fraud?”
“Absolex falsified research and then sold their drug Zanilex to the VA as a solution to treat complex PTSD. Suicide rates sky-rocketed. Turns out that, in fact, it makes the symptoms of PTSD worse, particularly the paranoia and depression. Or at least that’s what Grandma intends to prove.
She’s going to haul the CEO out on the carpet next week.
But ever since the hearings started, she’s been getting hate mail. ”
Max looked around the party. “Where is the Secret Service?”
“None of the threats have been active. It’s all kind of vague. And she’s not a party leader or anything. So, no Secret Service.”
Max frowned. If he had been Eleanor, he would have been putting his foot down and demanding an investigation. He also wouldn’t be hosting a party and looking as relaxed as she did.
“Besides,” continued Dominique, “we have Jackson. Although, even he couldn’t get her to cancel this stupid party. She claimed that we all just didn’t want to go.”
He raised an eyebrow and she looked guilty.
“That may be partially true. Anyway, Jacks said if she was going to insist on having the party, we should at least be smart about it. He gave us all rules and hired additional security. Of course, Aiden is not following the rules. I would accuse him of being willful, but it’s more likely that he’s just not taking the threats seriously. ”
Max nodded. His memory of Dominique’s older brother was a sunny personality to whom nothing serious was allowed to adhere and who never seemed to get mad about anything.
“I expect Jacks will tell him about a secret stash of bourbon under the bar and rope him back in.”
“Sounds like Jackson knows what he’s doing then,” said Max, turning to look at the two men who were now making their way back toward them. Aiden stopped to adjust the bandana on the scarecrow with a disapproving shake of his head.
“He does,” agreed Dominique, looking up at him with a flash of a smile, “but Jackson isn’t—”
Whatever she had been about to say was drowned out by the sound of a car engine and then a thunderous crash as a car exploded through the windows, slammed through the buffet table, plowed across the room, and buried its nose in the far wall.