Chapter 10
Cash
The second I see Darren Campbell swagger off with that smug grin, my blood heats like I’ve just been thrown back into a chute.
Savannah’s still talking to one of the sponsors, tablet clutched to her chest, every inch the professional. I should be focusing on her schedule, the next autograph session, the camera crew. But all I can think about is the way that jackass looked her over like she was part of a prize package.
I wait until she walks toward the tent again, then step around the corner where Campbell’s leaning against a fence rail, phone in hand, grinning like the devil himself.
“Got somethin’ to say, Dalton?” he drawls without looking up.
“Yeah.” I plant a hand on the post beside his head. “You ever look at her like that again, you and me are gonna have a problem.”
He laughs, low and lazy. “Didn’t realize she came with property rights.”
“She doesn’t,” I bite out. “But she damn sure deserves respect.”
Campbell slips his phone in his pocket and finally meets my eyes. “You really think she wants a white knight? Please. Women like her … they like to fix men like you. Gets their blood pumping. When they’re done patching you up, they move on.”
I take a slow breath. He’s not worth it. Cameras are too close. Sponsors are everywhere.
He grins wider, sensing the restraint. “Hit a nerve, huh?”
“Not today,” I say, forcing a smile that probably looks more like a snarl. “See you in the arena, Campbell.”
I walk off before I do somethin’ stupid. My boots crunch gravel, heartbeat still pounding in my ears.
By the time I reach the vehicle, Savannah’s already there, looking over contracts and paperwork laid across the dash, acting like nothing happened.
“You okay?” she asks without looking up.
“Peachy.” I slide into the passenger seat. “Campbell’s got a big mouth.”
Her head snaps up. “What did you do?”
“Nothing … yet.”
She exhales, shaking her head. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is. We’re supposed to look like a couple, not act like we’re in a bar fight.”
“That’s funny,” I mutter. “It sure feels real enough.”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s color rising in her cheeks. “Cash …”
“I ain’t sayin’ it’s smart,” I interrupt. “But I don’t like the way he talked to you.”
The silence that follows is thick. She studies me, expression softening just a fraction. “You really would’ve hit him, wouldn’t you?”
“Guess we’ll never know.”
For a long moment we just sit there. Finally she says, quieter, “Let’s just get through today, okay?”
I nod, but inside I know the truth. I’m in deeper than I planned.
And damn it, maybe Campbell’s right. Women like Savannah that are sharp, driven, and all buttoned-up with ambition.
They don’t stick around once the mess is cleaned up.
They fix what’s broken, smooth the rough edges, then move on to the next wildfire that needs containing.
So what happens when she’s done “handling” me?
The thought settles heavy in my gut as she starts the engine, and for the first time in a long time, I realize I’d rather take a hit in the arena than watch her walk away when this job’s over.