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He notices my reaction.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, turning so we have some privacy. I bite my lip and his dark eyes roam my face. “Payton.”
“I didn’t tell her I was coming tonight.”
He watches me for a while, then asks, “Why is that a problem?”
Damn. I really don’t want to answer. Not after my are you single question in the limo.
“We’re not meant to, um, socialize, with clients,” I say, glancing at my feet.
Oh my god, could I not think of anything better? He’s going to know exactly what that means.
Socialize. Ah, why didn’t I say shag?
Or bow chicka bow wow. Dancing in the sheets. Bumping uglies.
Well, there’s no way Knox Montgomery has ugly anything... just as a side note.
His hand reaches out and takes the corner of my mine, almost making me jump. They’re hidden, but the spark it ignites inside my body feels like it has lit up the entire United States.
My eyes dart to his.
“I can’t lose this job, Knox. I know your launch is important, but I really need this job, so if she thinks there is anything happening, which it’s not, then I need to go and tell her.”
“Leave it with me. I will make sure Alexandra knows I asked you to attend for work purposes,” Knox says. “And last minute, so you didn’t have time to tell her.”
“I don’t want you to lie for me.”
“And I don’t want to lose our new account manager, so let me do my job,” he says firmly.
“Thanks,” I reply, and he straightens, taking a step away, but then turns back to me and our eyes lock.
The small space between us now feels like a mile. I know he felt the distance and that I’m not the only one feeling something here.
I can’t be.
“Do you waltz, Payton?” Ward asks, holding out a hand.
My mouth falls open, and I glance between Knox and Ward. I’ve been oblivious to our surroundings for a few minutes, and the break in our connection took me by surprise.
Ward drops his glass on one of the tables, and I realize his hand is still stretched out in offer.
“Yes, um, I do,” I reply quickly.
Knox glares at his father but then suddenly swings back to me. “You do?”
“Yes,” I reply, righteously, because my dad taught me when I was little. My feet would sit on top of his as he whirled me around the living room. Eventually it became our thing, and we brought the house down at our father daughter dances.
Not really, but we were good.
I hate that Knox has assumed things about me because I’m not some high society billionaire or whatever. So I place my hand in Ward’s. “I would love to dance, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Ward, please. Call me, Ward.”
Then he leads me to the dance floor.
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