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“She’s my assistant.” I wave a hand between them. “Dad, this is Bryn James. Bryn, this is Vinnie DeLuca.”
“Lovely meeting you.” She takes Dad’s proffered hand, literally batting her eyelashes at him. I swear I hear a hint of her Texas twang when she speaks.
And it’s sexy as hell.
“Likewise.” Dad won’t let go of her hand, and she has to tug out of his hold as discreetly as possible, not that he notices. “You’re a looker, darlin’. Where you from?”
“Why, Cactus, Texas, sir.” More batting of the eyelashes, her voice is syrupy thick with the accent. She’s flirting with my dad and I don’t know if I should be horrified or thankful.
She doesn’t really... want to flirt with him, does she?
“Well, what do you know, I met a hot little thing who lived near Cactus years ago, when I was on one of the farm teams. That was a long, long time ago though.” Dad grins, most likely reliving the memory and enjoying the hell out of it.
“I probably know her. Not many people ever leave Cactus,” she says.
“Miss James, can I speak with you for a moment? Privately?” I rest my hand on Dad’s shoulder. “You’ll be all right alone so you can eat, right, Dad?”
“Of course. Go handle your business with your Miss James.” Dad waves a hand, cackling wickedly. “You sure are smart, son, more than I give you credit for, hiring a looker like this one. I bet you chase her around your desk all the damn time, trying to get your hands on that ass. I know I would.”
Bryn stiffens, her expression frozen with shock. I see it happen right before my eyes. She looks at me, her gaze a little wild, her chest rising and falling with her accelerated breaths.
I have no idea why his words triggered that strong of a reaction, but, of course, my dad’s involved so what else is new? The man offends women—everyone—on a constant basis.
“Dad. Come on. Show the lady some respect,” I say, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dad starts digging into his food, not bothering to offer her an apology, and I feel like shit.
This night is going from bad to worse at a rapid pace.
Bryn
Matt steers me to a dark corner a few feet away from the packed courtyard so we’re standing beneath a mighty oak that actually doesn’t have a string of lights wound through the branches. His expression is grim, his gaze contrite as he turns to face me.
“I’m sorry.” He runs a hand over his face, looking downright traumatized. “My father is an asshole, and I can’t believe he said those things to you.”
“It’s okay,” I say softly, my heart still panging from Vinnie DeLuca’s earlier words. They’d cut way too close to the truth, reminding me of my old boss.
And of how I haven’t changed a bit, even though I think I have. I fall into the same habits time and again, self-destructive to the point that I’m wondering if I seek this sort of attention out.
Was I so neglected as a child that I prefer any attention, good or bad?
“No, it’s not okay. You came sweeping in, handling everything perfectly, and he still treats you like that. He’s awful.” Matt blows out a frustrated breath and rests his hands on his hips, staring out at the courtyard. The music has picked up the pace, and people are actually dancing. The wine is flowing and being praised; the grounds are still packed with people. The party is a huge success.
And here Matt stands, looking so desolate and sad all I can think about is how much I want to comfort him.
Don’t do it, Bryn. Not in public. He’ll probably freak.
Ignoring my inner voice’s protestations, I step closer to him and rest my hand on his chest. I can feel his heart pumping wildly beneath my palm, and I smile up at him, trying to offer reassurance. “He’s an old man stuck in his ways. Do you know how many of those types live in Cactus?”
He smiles. “I did notice you slipped into your Texan accent when you spoke to him.”
“I did? I didn’t even notice.” I smooth my fingers down the length of Matt’s tie, loving how firm and solid he feels beneath my touch. I wish I could see him naked. I know he has a body to die for. I’ve seen him bare-chested and sexy as hell online, but I’d prefer to see the real thing. So I can get my hands all over his hot, hard flesh.
“I appreciate you trying to help me,” he says, his voice low and sexy, igniting that flicker of desire that always seems to burn within me when he’s near into a full-on flame. “You were great with him. Even when he started insulting you.”
A soft huff of laughter escapes me. “I know how to handle guys like your father. I’ve dealt with them a lot.” Too much. It’s like I can’t ever escape them.
He steps away from me, and I drop my hand, pushing aside the sadness that nips at me. I’m acting like a girlfriend when I need to remember my place. I work for him. I’m his assistant.
