Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
V iolet
T he Velvet Fork is exactly the kind of place Harris would pick—swanky, over-the-top, and pretentious. I park outside and grip the steering wheel, considering my options. I could drive away. Pack my things, leave town, and never look back.
But that wouldn’t solve anything. There will always be another Wayne Harris, another man who thinks he can control me. But there will never be another Dex.
With my heart shattered, I grab my purse and step out of the car, my heels clicking on the pavement as I make my way inside. The ma?tre d’ barely glances at me before gesturing toward the bar.
Harris is there, leaning casually against the counter with a scotch in his hand. When he sees me, his eyes light up with approval as he takes in the dress. He stands and holds out his hand, his smile as oily as ever.
“Violet. You look… unbelievable,” he purrs.
I take his hand, forcing myself not to recoil at the clammy feel of his skin. “Hello, Mr. Harris.”
“Call me Wayne,” he says, his grin widening. “Our table will be ready in a few minutes. Join me for a drink?”
“I don’t believe I have a choice,” I reply, sliding onto a stool beside him. I set my purse on the counter, keeping my back straight and my voice steady. “But before we go any further, I’d like to clarify a few things.”
“Certainly,” he says smoothly, his stool scraping closer to mine. His hand settles on my knee, and I have to fight the urge to shove it off.
“I have dinner with you tonight, wearing the outfit you sent to my house, and then you will not sue Dex for bruising your ribs. Correct?”
“That is correct,” he says, his hand sliding up my thigh. “And dessert.”
My breath hitches as his fingers creep higher. “One night. Dinner. And dessert. I will not sue Dex.”
“Cross my heart,” he says with a wink. “I’m having another scotch. How about you?”
“That’s fine,” I say, my voice tight. Harris turns to the bartender to order, and I glance toward the door, plotting my escape.
My stomach does a freefall.
Dex is standing in the doorway, his dark eyes locked on mine. His expression is unreadable, but the tension in his jaw and the storm in his stare tell me everything I need to know. He’s furious—boiling mad. And he’s walking straight toward us.
My heart pounds as I meet his gaze, torn between relief and dread. Harris doesn’t notice him yet; he’s too busy chatting with the bartender.
Dex reaches us; his presence is towering and magnetic. He doesn’t say a word, but the look he gives Harris could turn steel to ash. My breath catches as I realize I’m not sure what’s going to happen next.