Page 18 of It's Just Business

This is the Faulkner Dylan was telling me about. Jerome Faulkner is, I believe, Evan’s grandfather or granduncle. I’m not sure which, never wanting to seem like I was cozying up to the family name, ironically enough. Either way, I haven’t met the man before, but there’s something in the way he talks, a certain pitch to his voice, that reminds me of Evan. It makes my throat go dry.

I must swallow audibly because Dylan offers to get me a water from the bar. Part of me wants to go with him, cling to his side as though he’s my security blanket, but I can do this. I can stand here in a room full of sharks and listen to a speech for a few minutes until he gets back. So, I wave him off, promising to stay right here until he returns and flashing a smile I hope reads as serene.

As soon as I'm alone, anxiety sets in. I fight it off, but it builds with an unexpected fervor, and I glance around me, not searching for Dylan, but Evan. I feel vulnerable, which means this would likely be the moment he strikes. It’s what men like him do. And though a few people return polite smiles when we meet eyes, I don’t see any incoming threats.

Once the senior Faulkner has finished his speech, he thanks everyone for their attendance before passing the podium over to tonight’s guest of honor, the chairman of Healing Through Business, a charity that promotes building up local economiesafter wars or natural disasters. It at least sounds like a worthy cause, although I’ve never heard of it before.

Suddenly, I feel a strong arm wrap around my waist. It’s a relatively unfamiliar yet immediately comforting feeling. But I’ve been holding this arm all night, and I turn my head to see Dylan giving me a warm look. My chest tightens with a flash of something I felt back in the car before it’s gone as quickly as it came.

"Everything is going as it should," he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine. To anyone around us, it must seem intimate, and in a way, it is, even though he’s merely coaching me through the evening the same as he’s done all night.

"Thank you,” I say for what feels like the millionth time this evening. Still, it will never be enough. I’m going to forever be grateful to him, not only for this chance but for his presence. Because in the mere moment he’s been back at my side, my pulse has settled, my breathing steadied, and my nerves have all but dissipated. I look up to find his eyes on me, a spark there that resonates deep in my core. He holds my gaze, and heat rushes through my veins. I know exactly what he’s thinking.

Sex.

It permeates the room around us, not in a vulgar, in your face way, but it’s there, nonetheless. It’s in the power, the money, even in the way everyone is dressed. They politely touch each other, a hand on an arm or an arm wrapped around each other, but it’s there in the glances if you pay attention.

But of all the people I’ve met so far at this party, Dylan’s the most powerful, the most sexual. He’s merely polite to almost everyone but me, and I know he’s only more to me because he sees me as a means to an end, but the line between revenge and pleasure is getting murkier every time his hand grazes along my spine. Perhaps they are one and the same, though.

“Too bad Evan doesn’t work in this building,” I murmur as I sip the water he’s returned with, and Dylan lifts an eyebrow. “He definitely took her on his desk. It’d only befair to do the same.”

Dylan’s grin is sharklike, and he nods in approval of my callous suggestion. “I’m sure I can think of something appropriate, if you’d like.”

His grin is infectious as we teasingly test the waters and each other’s limits, which does nothing to help settle the growing tension between us. If anything, it heats the air around and between us a few more degrees.

After a long moment where we simply look into one another’s eyes—me, imagining what Dylan would be like as a lover, and him, likely plotting and scheming how to use me for maximum impact—he glances away. Before I follow his lead of returning my attention to the speaker, I note the slight tilt of a smile at the corner of his lips.

I work to keep myself occupied mentally as the guest of honor continues his speech. It goes a lot longer than it should, but I don’t think I’m the only one who feels that way. There’s a few people shifting around as he drones on, and as the speech finally comes to an end, the room erupts in applause that sounds more grateful for the chairman getting off the stage than anything else.

A flash of light catches my attention. A photographer snaps photos of the event. As I smile for another photo, I catch my first sight of Evan this evening. He’s with his mother and father, and on his arm is Elise… but Evan’s not looking at her. If anything, he’s staring this way. My stomach drops, and a rush of cold slips down my spine. Every emotion swarms me, but I keep my expression still, using the skills I’ve practiced for years to fit in to the tiny corner of this world I’ve clawed my way into.

I pretend like I didn’t see him. I might be embarrassed by the way he treated me a few days ago, but I’m for damn sure not going to let anyone see that. Instead, I turn in to Dylan.

“He’s at your eleven o’clock. He broughther,” I tell him, placing my hand on his chest. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt. It’s not enough to help with the shock ofseeing not only Evan, but Elise at his side with his parents smiling at her welcomingly.

Dylan must see what I’m talking about because I feel a rumble in his chest. He captures my upper arms in his large hands and dips down to quietly say, “It could mean nothing. Many people bring assistants with them to take discrete notes throughout the event.” I look up at him through my lashes, hopeful it means that and not what I automatically assumed—that Evan is hard launching his relationship with Elise. But Dylan concedes, “It could also mean more. You okay?”

I force myself to nod. “Just unexpected. I was prepared forhim, notthem.”

“You’ve got this,” he says encouragingly.

I trust that he’s right, turning back to the podium and taking a drink of my water. When a waiter passes by, I set the now empty glass on his tray. All the while, I can feel both Dylan and Evan’s eyes on me.

Up front, another Faulkner is speaking, really giving the hard push for everyone to show generous support of tonight’s featured charity. When he wraps up, the room breaks out in muted applause. After it dies down, Dylan gives my hand a gentle squeeze and points with his eyes across the room. “There’s Ollie.” It’s a name I recognize from a list Dylan rattled off earlier of important contacts I should meet.

I nod, confident in my skills and ready for this because I’m on Dylan’s arm.I’vegot this, I remind myself as we cross the room to approach a balding man in his upper fifties. He’s surreptitiously sneaking what looks like one of the event’s single bite meatballs into his mouth.

“Ollie, you know Wendy’s going to be upset with you for that,” Dylan says, mock menacingly, and the man legitimately blushes as he licks his lips. Dylan breaks into a polite smile and offers a hand. “Your secret’s safe with me, though. For now,” he teasingly warns. “How have you been?”

“Dylan, it’s been too long,” Ollie replies, shaking hands enthusiastically.

This is a completely different introduction than all the others tonight. Dylan and Ollie sound like actual friends.

“You’re right. About what, thirty pounds lighter or so?” Dylan compliments him, and Ollie puffs his chest out a little.

“Doctor said I had to work on my blood pressure. Apparently, red meat and scotch aren’t good for me,” he sighs wistfully despite having just eaten a meatball that likely isn’t on his doctor’s nutrition plan. “I tried to tell him it’s not the food, but the stress. Unfortunately for me, it seems he was right because it’s working. Blood pressure’s down several points now, which means Wendy’s got the chef feeding me chicken every damn day.”

“Good for you,” Dylan says. “How is your lovely wife? She here?”

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