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“Yep.”
“Well, Honey, you’re a great gal. Keep them drinks coming my way. Deal?”
“You got it.”
There were more than a few guests that appeared to be having a good time and others that seemed unimpressed with the whole party. They held court in the corner of the main room as far away from the garden as possible and whenever anyone came near, the conversation would stop.
Once they became so involved with the topic, they didn’t notice Honey approaching. That’s when she heard the tall stranger call out to the one she knew worked for Mrs. Jackson. She’d seen him earlier kissing the ring.
“You better see to it that the shipment gets picked up on time, mister, or they’ll be no more trucks coming your way. Our organization doesn’t deal with losers. We got a lot of product and even more buyers. So don’t fuck this up.”
Honey slowed her steps and almost turned around to head back until one of the men happened to see her and reached out to replace his drink. The bossy one spoke directly to her, his show-off tone irritating. “Darling, how about some scotch next time. I’ve had enough of this bubbly crap.” A few of the others nodded, and the man involved with Mrs. Jackson set his down in disgust.
“Get us a tray,” he admonished curtly.
“Certainly. I’ll just be a moment.”
Honey hurried over to the bar and asked for the drinks, thinking they’d at least wait for her to return. But she watched them moving toward the garden and tracked them closely, wanting to be sure to get the right drinks to the ornery demanders.
Soon, with her tray arranged with crystal highball glasses of scotch and a rather large decanter of ice and another of water, she made her way carefully toward that particular group. Just then, Matt announced a fifteen minute break for the band, and Luke became surrounded… the hostess commanding his attention ahead of anyone else. The fawning and groping from some of the women and even the men made her bite her lip and turn away, her smile of understanding heightened after seeing his distaste for the attention.
Honey weaved past and carefully walked to her customers who responded with satisfaction upon seeing their preferred drink. Taking care to mix the cocktails as each man requested, she didn’t notice the hand reaching out to grope her butt. Once she felt the touch, she stiffened and put the glass down on the table in front of her.
Twisting her head, her voice like ice, she warned, “Let go of me. This body is private property… mine.”
Thinking she was joking and too inebriated to tell the difference, he squeezed and in seconds found his thumb twisted so that if he moved the pain would send him to his knees. Not wanting to bring attention to the incident, Honey gave it one more twist and let it go, turning to face the dude with her eyebrow raised in warning. Her whispered words were nonetheless threatening. “You touch me again, and you’ll be on the ground before you know what hit you.”
“Jesus, precious. You got a beautiful ass. Don’t be so edgy. I never meant anything bad.”
Rather than discuss the matter further, Honey picked up the tray and started to turn away. That’s when the idiot got peeved about being ignored and pushed the envelope.
Before Honey had a chance to put the idiot down, he got waylaid by a man’s body coming between them. Luke had his arm around the guy’s shoulder and force-walked him to the far end of the garden. No one heard what was said but Honey had no doubt an order had been given and the grabber had decided it was time to call it a night.
Luke returned, his stare her way saying it all. No one gets to put his hands on you. Nobody but me.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Enjoying the music more than usual, Luke hadn’t minded the party too much… until he saw the drunk groping his girl and suddenly a sour taste filled his mouth. Before he could retrieve his fake smile, the hostess sidled up to him. “For a cowboy, you sure can sing.” Her taunting eyes dug into him at what she considered a witty remark.
He nodded, trying to be polite but couldn’t wait to get away from her cloying attitude. She might have hired his band, but she couldn’t afford his body. Not in a million years.
“Baby, why don’t you stick around after the festivities. I have something to show you.” Her suggestive eyebrow made it quite clear what she wanted.
“Sorry, ma’am. I’m the designated driver tonight. The rest have been imbibing your good alcohol and now it’s up to me to get them home safe.”
“Oh, honey, that can be arranged. I’ll take care of it.”
Before he could reply, her bodyguard, Zed’s killer, moved in close, cupped his hand by her ear, and whispered. Without another word, a mask of anger descended. She turned and left him, heading toward her office.
Jesus, I hope they didn’t find the recorder I attached to her picture frame. He wished he’d been able to fix the second one on the bookcase, but he’d noticed Honey watching him and didn’t want to take a chance she’d see him planting it. Shaking off his worry, he shrugged. One would have to be enough.
Finally alone, he walked toward his truck thinking to retrieve his burner phone and get some images of a few of the guests, especially the ones Honey took a tray of drinks to earlier. One looked suspiciously like the Mexican gang leader they’d been trailing for months.
As expected, when they’d arrived all their phones had been taken from them and locked away, which made it impossible to take the pictures he wanted. Thankful to have his hidden phone, he headed in the direction of the parking lot and came across Cissy just coming out of her van… a new outfit appearing as proof that she’d taken the time to change.
“Hey, girl. I’m just heading to switch shirts and have a quick wash myself. Even with the cooling fans and misters around the place, it’s stinking hot.”
“I know. I was dying up there during the last few songs.” Obviously, not worried for him to see, she lifted a cell from out of hiding and began to scroll her messages.
