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“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” Something in his voice told me he was serious.
“You can’t do that—there are laws against it.”
“Technically, yes. But in reality, for those laws to be enforced we’d have to go to court, and you’d be homeless in the meantime. Then you’d need a lawyer to sue me. Or you could represent yourself. Either way, the whole thing would drag out for months. So, yeah…”
Fuck, I hated him. He was the epitome of an entitled smug prick. It was too bad I also really wanted to sit on his face.
“Jesus, you’re an asshole.” An asshole who looked particularly fine in his exquisitely tailored tux, but an asshole none the less.
“Agreed. You won’t find me arguing otherwise. It’s genetic. Speaking of which, I need for you to meet someone.” As he maneuvered me across the room, he didn’t seem in danger of releasing his grip on my back anytime soon, much to my dismay.
When we reached a guy in an impeccably fitted suit, that showed off his thick neck, broad shoulders, and well-defined arms, Drew tapped him on the shoulder, and waited for him to turn around. In those few moments his body language changed, becoming rigid next to mine. Every muscle seemingly taut with tension.
“Drew. To what do I owe this pleasure?” The man’s smile was faker than a porn star’s tits, and it was clear that he was experiencing anything but pleasure.
Drew nodded curtly. “The pleasure is all mine.” He sounded even less genuine than the other guy had—unless pleasure was akin to having his scrotum bitten by sharks. His lips were pressed into a thin line—a grimace posing as a smile.
As I noted the body language while the two of them interacted, and took in the man’s build, his features, and the faint cuts and bruises gracing them, the other shoe dropped. What the fuck is Drew playing at?
“Like everyone else, I’m here to raise money for a deserving cause. But as we’re so rarely in the same place at the same time, I thought I’d take the opportunity to make some introductions, also.” Oh shit. “Victor, this is my girlfriend, Kristina Sanchez. Kik, this is my father, Victor Cavanagh.”
I didn’t know who was more stunned by the strange turn of events, but I was definitely in shock as a camera flashed in front of us. Then when the photographer called our attention and as we posed with Drew in the center, his arms around mine and his father’s shoulders, we all did our best not to look as awkward as we felt. Even more so when Drew beckoned Tom Williams over for a group photo as well.
Without even knowing Victor Cavanagh, it was obvious that he was livid—he shared not only looks with son, but his body language, also. It was equally obvious that he was attempting to keep a lid on his rage in order to avoid an extremely public scene—made even more so by the presence of the photographer who then hovered nearby, with seemingly no interest in photographing anyone else at the event.
“Victor, so nice of you to make an appearance.” If the tic in his jaw was anything to go by, Tom was equally as tense as the other two men. I was one hundred percent lost as to what the fuck was going on.
“Tom, nice to see you.” Clearly a lie. “And of course, I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else. I never miss an opportunity to help those less fortunate than myself.”
I just managed to stifle my snort of derision.
“Of course. Your contribution is most gratefully received.” Tom had recovered his cool quickly.
“And given with pleasure.” Drew’s father’s voice had an edge to it that suggested he’d rather be connected to electrodes by his balls, and periodically shocked than be standing around making small talk with his son and possible arch-enemy.
“I see you’re acquainted with my newest recruit.” Tom’s voice had a sing-song ring to it, as though he was goading Victor, though I couldn’t work out how, or why. When Victor looked back with a bemused expression, Tom plowed on. “Oh, you didn’t know? Well, young Kristina here is training to be a lawyer, and as of next week she’ll be interning at Williams, Corbin, Wilmott Associates.”
Victor Cavanagh turned to me. “Congratulations, I’m sure you will learn a lot.”
I officially didn’t understand rich people. They were straight up weird. It was clear that each of them hated at least one of the others—and in the case of Victor Cavanagh, it was worse than that—yet they were standing around baring their teeth in agitated approximations of smiles.
If this whole thing had gone down where I grew up, at least one of them, and maybe all three, wouldn’t have made it out unscathed. I shook off the wayward thoughts, and kicked my brain and body into gear.
“Thank you. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose.” Powder my nose. I had no idea if it was the right thing to say or not. It was just something I’d heard in movies. I’d probably made myself sound like a complete yokel. Not that I cared—I was certain in the knowledge that I was never going to see either man again, and even if I did, I didn’t give a fuck what they thought of me.
“Again, it was nice meeting you both.” I gave Tom Williams and Victor Cavanagh tight smiles, and then nodded curtly to Drew, before turning on my heel, heading for the entrance of the grand ballroom. I’d just made it to the door, with my hand hovering over the handle, when a voice in my ear and a hand around my waist stopped me in my tracks.
Chapter 41
Drew
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Literally anywhere where you’re not. Now get your hands off me.” She hissed the words, but her tone was so loaded with venom, it threw me for a moment.
“Wrong answer. Come with me.”
