Chapter 7 #2
The guy who tried to screw me over now wants a buyout clause that’s basically a ransom note written in lawyer speak. I should be in Manhattan shutting it down. Instead, I’m stuck at a princess party, trying not to body check toddlers.
Ever since I walked into Hudson’s house yesterday, I’ve been on edge. Even Hudson noticed. And the worst part? I’m not sure if it’s the fallout from Nathan’s extortion attempt… or her.
Been to any good sex clubs recently?
The line’s still echoing in my head. Her deadpan delivery. The look on her face when I walked out.
The way I keep imagining her in that dress.
I shouldn’t have left. I should’ve laughed it off. Hell, I should’ve asked if she’d gone to more without me.
West appears beside me, handing me a beer. “What’d you say to those two? They looked like you cancelled Christmas.”
I grunt. “They were talking about Francie.”
His brow lifts. “Let me guess. Something about that dress?”
I don’t answer.
He chuckles, clearly amused. “You gonna fight every guy who looks at her?”
I shoot him a look.
“Damn,” he says, low. “You’ve got it bad for her.”
“She’s a kid,” I mutter, though the words sound weaker every time I say them.
“She’s not a kid,” West says. “She’s Belle. And every guy here wants to be her beast.”
I scowl. “Are you one of them?” Because God help me, I’d throw him into the fucking ocean too.
He grins. “Relax. She’s not my type. I prefer my women slightly less likely to stab me with a tiara.”
Before I can bite back, something yellow catches my eye.
Her.
She’s walking toward the dance floor with one of the twins on her arm. And yeah, the interns were right, she looks stunning. Too stunning. It’s distracting.
I can’t keep my fucking eyes off of her.
She glances at me, pulling her lip between her teeth when she realizes I’ve been watching her. And still I can’t look away..
That’s the problem. Not that every guy here wants her.
But that I do too.
“Look, Mylene!” Francie’s voice is unnaturally bright. “It’s Asher and West.”
Mylene squints at us. “What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?” she asks, her voice throaty.
Francie’s jaw stiffens. “You still have duties. Remember? As guest of the day?”
“Duties?” I echo, already regretting it.
“You get to dance with all of the Fitzgerald brothers,” Francie says to her, cheeks flushing. “Well at least the ones who are here today.”
West grins. “Well, who could say no to that? I’m sure Asher would be delighted to dance with you.”
“Not me,” I mutter, shooting him a look. “You’re an honorary Fitzgerald brother, too. You dance with her.”
“I’ve had three knee replacements,” Mylene says with a sniff.
West mouths three? and glances down like he’s checking for spare limbs. I sigh and hold out a hand, because I know when I’m done for. And I’ve already pissed Francie off enough this weekend.
“I’ll be gentle,” I tell Mylene. “And I promise not to shake anything loose.”
She latches on with surprising speed and strength. By the time we shuffle onto the dance floor, pushing our way through a bunch of overexcited kids, she’s got her arms around my neck and is wiggling like she’s at a '60s sock hop.
Over her shoulder, I catch West giving me a smug little wave. I flip him off behind her back.
As the song changes to ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight’, Mylene sighs and leans against me. “Mmm. You smell like cedar wood. My favorite.”
I blink down at her. “You smell… like funnel cake.”
“Francie made me eat half a dozen.” She looks up at me, dead serious. “Help me.”
“Help you?” I say. “How?”
“I hate being guest of the day. I just want to sit down and drink champagne. She won’t let me breathe.” She tilts her head toward Francie, who’s laughing at something West just said. His hand brushes her arm and something tightens in my chest.
“I’ll talk to her,” I say, because quite frankly I’ll jump on any excuse to be near her.
“Now?”
“If it will help.”
She beams. “Okay, but I’ll stay here. If I get any closer, she’ll drag me to the face-painting table. She’s relentless.”
By the time I make it back through the crowd, Francie’s leaning into West, smiling.
I clear my throat. She looks up, her eyes locking on mine. The shift in her expression is instant.
“Where’s Mylene?” she asks, voice low.
“She asked me to talk to you,” I say. “She’s tired. Wants a break.”
“But where is she?” Francie’s voice lifts, looking frantically over my shoulder. “She’s not on the dance floor.”
I glance back. She’s right. There’s no sign of Mylene.
“You had one job,” Francie mutters. “I gave you one freaking job!”
“She’s not six,” I say. “She’ll be fine.”
“She’s over there,” West points toward the bar, where a tiny black-clad figure is bee lining for the champagne.
Francie lets out a strangled sound. “Three hours. I’ve kept her away from Eileen for three damn hours. If she blows it now—” She shakes her head and hikes up her skirt, chasing after Mylene and yelling something about hair braiding.
West watches her go, grinning. “You really know how to win a girl over.”
“I didn’t sign up to be Mylene’s babysitter.”
Hudson joins us. “What happened now?” he asks, frowning at me.
“Francie’s mad at him again,” West says cheerfully.
Hudson lifts a brow. “What did you do this time?”
“Apparently,” I mutter, “I lost the guest of honor.”
And before either of them can say anything else, I turn on my heel and head for the bar, needing a drink more than I need air.