Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
CAL
I n the morning, we made our plan with Paul and our friends. I’d be lying if I said a part of me wasn’t hesitant. It came from years of trying to protect her. I didn’t mind taking risks; I was good at that. It was my job. Risks with her, though, I preferred not to take. It wasn’t that I didn’t have faith in us. It was just that I’d never been able to predict my father, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t like to see her cry because of what he did to her. I didn’t like that she was the bait.
The only obstacle to our plan was Sabrina’s ankle. “We need to solve the entire problem of walking and weight bearing,” I said.
Sabrina’s eyes lit up with an aha moment that shone brighter than a million-watt Q beam. And that was how I ended up back at the doctor’s office with Sabrina getting a cast put on while my jet was preparing for a flight.
“Okay,” she said, putting her phone back in her purse. “My connection is having a bunch of dresses delivered to the hotel.”
“Remember when I said the X-ray didn’t show a break?” Dr. Bryant asked her. “That didn’t mean you should be doing this. It’s bad enough that you should stay off it. Since you won’t listen, this will help protect your ankle, but even then, try your hardest to do minimal walking.”
“Maybe we should wait until you have time to heal a little more,” I said.
She shook her head. “The gala is perfect. When will we have that chance again?”
She was right, of course.
Two hours later, we were in the air with a final destination of LA, making two quick stops on the way, one in Vegas to tie up loose ends and the other in Seattle to pick up my tux. I’d changed out of my jeans and flannel shirt and into dress pants and a button-down. Business attire. I was sliding back into the Cal I’d been before she came into my office, and though I didn’t want to give him up, I didn’t want to ignore how different I’d felt since being at the ranch.
Sabrina sat across from me in a pretty navy dress that complemented her red cast, with her foot in my lap and my hand over her toes to keep them warm. My long legs were stretched out, capturing her other leg between them. The collar on my shirt felt tight, and I tugged at it in hopes of stretching it.
Sabrina chuckled.
“What?” I asked.
“That day in your office, you were all buttoned up. Now, after some time living your cowboy life, it looks like buttoned up might not really suit you anymore.”
I smirked. She could read my mind.
“What?” she asked.
“I did stay away too long. I realize how much I missed it—how important the ranch is to me and how it suits me.”
“So much good has come out of all this.” She smiled, but I saw the sadness of her loss in that smile.
I leaned forward and captured her chin in my hand. “Hey, any time this feels off and you want to bail, we will. We don’t have to do this gala thing. You get a bad vibe, let me know.”
She shifted so she could lean forward and take my hand. “I love that you don’t want me to get hurt and that you’re worried. But we’re in this together. Stop trying to be a one-man show. Ask for help.”
I barked out a laugh. “What? Did you just meet me?”
She dissolved into laughter. “Right!”
We made our two stops and arrived at our LA hotel as the sun was setting. I’d reserved a suite that overlooked the hills. The living room and kitchen were the central space, with a mirrored wall that a bar backed up to. The mirror reflected the setting sun. A rack of dresses were waiting for Sabrina to try on in the bedroom.
I ordered room service, and while Sabrina was in the other room, trying on the gowns, I called a former client in the jewelry business to line something up for the next day. Sabrina would need some accessories. After dress picking, we would eat and review the plan. Having a plan and acting on it felt good.
Sabrina tried on a handful of dresses, each one sexier than the last, and was leaning toward a hot red number with a V-neck and thigh slit. The dress matched her cast well enough to offer it some cloaking. All plans for room service and reviewing went out the window when she came out of the room in the last option. The dress hit mid-thigh and looked like it was vacuum sealed onto her. The material was sheer with a nude-colored liner that, at first glance, made me think I was looking at skin. The dress left just enough to the imagination.
“Holy shit.” I stood. Her legs looked like they went on for miles, and she wasn’t even wearing heels.
“Clashes with the cast, for sure. It’s a cute dress but a no.”
I took a step toward her and put my hand over my racing heart. “Cute dress? You clearly don’t see what I do.”
She took my breath away. Her hair flowing over her shoulder, her smooth thighs—yeah, I loved Sabrina for more than how she looked, but all her assets were the cherry on top, and at that moment, I wanted to put that cherry in my mouth and tie a knot in the stem.
“You don’t like it?” She looked confused and did the cutest little hop turn to see it from different angles.
“Reenie,” I growled.
She caught my gaze in the bar’s mirror. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re the big bad wolf and I’m Little Red Riding Hood with a basket of cookies.” She hopped around to face me as she put a hand on her hip.
Her mouth—jeez, those cherry red lips were hinting at a smile. She knew what I was thinking. Heat flared in her eyes.
I glanced at my watch. “We have a little more time before the food gets here, and I’m craving cookies.”
“Well then, we’d better hurry.” She opened her arms, and I rushed to her and lifted her up by her sweet ass.
“Hurry? What are you saying? They can leave the cart by the door.”
She wrapped her legs around my waist. “I should take the dress off.”
“Oh no, darling.” I stalked to the bedroom. “Can’t we keep it on?” Then I kicked the door closed. My one goal to make her happy.
The next evening I’d made Sabrina cry before we even left for the gala.
SAbrINA
As soon as we walked into the ballroom, we were accosted by a tall, lithe man with thinning gray hair, thick glasses, and a left-eye twitch.
“Cal, what… why… we… we weren’t expecting to see you,” he sputtered, spraying us with spittle as he ran his hands up and down the lapels of his tux.
Cal—looking stupid hot in his tuxedo and black cowboy boots, making me think of spy movies and sex in cloaked public places—clasped the man on the shoulder. “Nelson, it’s good to see you. Let me introduce you to my wife, Sabrina Holloway.” He paused to look at me with his shit-eating grin. “Holloway-Beckett.”
I put out my hand to shake his, and of course, I picked the one with the stunning diamond ring he’d given me earlier that had made me cry and forced me to redo my makeup.
Damn straight, we’d made a quick stop in Vegas and taken ourselves to the courthouse to tie the knot. It was what we’d planned initially, and though we would have liked our friends with us, we didn’t need them to be. We had each other. We would have a party when we got home.
Home. We’d decided that would be the Wyoming ranch. It made sense. All the people I loved the most were there except Nick. Cal said he wasn’t worried about his company; he could run it from anywhere.
Nelson stared down at my ringed finger and became even more flustered as he went from rubbing his lapels to gripping them white-knuckle style.
“Sabrina, this is Nelson Maher, head of GSI,” Cal said.
Nelson didn’t look ready to shake anyone’s hand but took mine lightly with his fingers and gave me a damp, tepid shake. I returned my hand to Cal’s arm, subtly wiping my fingers on his jacket. Other than the shake and a jerky nod, Nelson barely registered me. His eyes were on Cal.
“But, Cal, you heard about the award?”
Cal waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, Nelson, I did. I’m here because I’d like the board to tell me to my face why they withdrew the award. You understand how this withdrawal has devalued the award and the committee?”
Nelson’s ears turned pink. His left eye twitched four more times before Cal clasped him on the shoulder again. “Relax, Nelson. I think my presence is causing enough of a scene.”
The man visibly relaxed in front of us, his eye spasm slowing down. “It’s not that. I was worried you’d be upset. It’s the most ridiculous thing, isn’t it? But I was outvoted.”
“I appreciate that, Nelson.” Cal shifted his weight so I was leaning more on him and off my foot. Only ten minutes into the evening, I could feel a dull throb coming on.
Nelson nodded several times and stuck his hands into his jacket pockets, making the coat tent around him. “It is good to see you, Cal. For what it’s worth, Hitchens is the one who started the cancel campaign.” Then he shuffled off to greet other people.
I blinked in surprise. Terribly nervous Nelson outing another person like that spoke to his respect for Cal. “I read him wrong. I thought he was horrified when he saw you here, when he was actually worried you’d be upset.”
“Nelson’s a good guy, and he won’t start spreading word of our marriage, so we need to find the gossips.”
We mingled, moving slowly around the room with occasional stops to let me rest. Cal was approached by a lot of people who all seemed to not only like him but admire his work as well. One guy waxed poetic about the initiative they’d pushed out to colleges, regarding updated plans and procedures for school shootings.
“Standing here in a formal gown and talking about how to prevent school shootings feels like a weird juxtaposition,” I said.
“Mm, I can see that, but part of change starts here. Sadly, it’s not always a given that people will do what’s best unless there is an incentive behind it.” He glanced at my foot. “How ya doing?”
I waved away his question. “If someone needs an incentive to do the right thing when it involves keeping people, especially children, safe, they should be… I dunno, but something bad should happen to them.”
“Thankfully, those people are the minority.” He brushed a lock of curled hair behind my ear. “I’m glad we came. I often wondered what it would have been like to have you beside me at things like this. Now I know.”
“A lot of work, huh? With me leaning on you so much. It makes me think of that terrible saying, ‘the ole ball and chain.’”
“I think that’s more about being shackled. And I’d pick you to be shackled to every time.”
“Such sweet words,” I cooed.
“We’ll give Dalton another hour to show up before we bail. Think your ankle can take it?”
“Of course. What if he doesn’t show up?”
“Then he’ll send a proxy. We need to show them we aren’t rattled and we’re ready to rumble.”
“Okay, I’ll go sit at the bar and see who approaches,” I said.
“And rest your ankle while you’re at it.”
“Win-win.” I brushed a kiss across his mouth.
Cal’s phone chimed, and he checked the text message. “Paul’s contact in Vegas said someone from the Beck Group called to confirm the validity of our nuptials.”
The gauntlet had been thrown. Now we would wait.