Page 101 of Heartbreaker

Hell, considering the blow she’s just taken, she’s remarkably together.

Wiping her tears, getting on board with a plan, walking back out here with her head held high.

“Everything okay?” Briar asks as we approach the table.

“Not really,” I mutter, and watch the alarm sweep across her face. I put up a hand. “I’ll fill you in later. For now, I want to get Jade home.”

“I’m all right,” she says, her fingers squeezing around mine.

Around my bad hand.

And for once, it doesn’t feel wrong.

“We can stay until you’re ready to go.”

I press a kiss to the top of her head, draw her closer. “We’re going.”

“I—”

“We’regoing.”

She huffs out a sigh, shakes her head, but I don’t miss the relief that creeps into her beautiful gray eyes.

Dash stands up, his affable, careless playboy demeanor immediately shifting to work mode. “Let’s call your team,” he says quietly. “Get your car right at the back door and get you two home.”

“Th-thanks, Hudson,” Jade murmurs.

“Dash,” he corrects gently, lightly squeezing her arm. “Remember? All my friends call me Dash.”

More emotions in those gray eyes—happiness and hurt, pleasure and reticence, joy and sadness.

“Dash,” she corrects, her voice quiet.

He tugs at a strand of her hair. “You guys hang here while I call the crew.” His eyes meet mine and then he flicks them to the side.

I get the silent message, and so does Briar.

“Jade,” she says, holding up her phone. “Was this the shade of lipstick we were talking about earlier?”

“I—”

“I’ll be right back,” I tell her, nudging her toward the booth.

“I—”

I cup her jaw. “Just a minute, Shortcake, okay?”

Her lips part on a shaky exhale, but then she nods and joins Aspen and Briar in the booth, Banks slipping out to join us.

Dash tilts his head toward the hall, and we both silently follow him.

“Fill me in.” It’s the brusque order of a man whose life is this business, so I don’t hesitate to tell him what’s happened, the skeleton of what our plan is. Banks is listening closely too, but I don’t hold anything back. I trust him with my life, and if said life’s about to hit the shitter—in the media, that is—then it’s good for him to be aware.

God, the last thing I need is for some asshole sports blogger with a bone to pick to surprise him with a question about the tape during a game.

“Damn,” Dash says. “Nice friend of hers.”

“We’re going to bury him.” Or, well, Atlas, Maddie, and Kate are, but I’m going to pay them very well to make sure it’s properly done.