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“Whatever happens in there, don’t let go of me. The vipers are intimated by Disney Princesses.”
She straightened his bowtie. She offered her arm and then she lent him her eyes. She described the room, the sea of men as penguins, the glamour of the women. The heavy chandelier and the candelabra table decorations. The large print stills lifted from movies and animations around the walls and flashing on a central screen.
They weren’t in the room more than a few minutes and he was having his back slapped, his cheek kissed, his body touched by people he knew well and not so well. He should’ve warned Georgia about that. She stiffened at his side, confronted by the attention he was getting.
It got easier once they took their seats at a table of friends and their partners. He introduced Georgia and she joined in the conversation, swapping the fish that got put in front of her for the steak that got put in front of him. With the main meal down he could claim her attention again. “Are you doing okay?”
“You’re up for three awards.”
She sounded put out. Unless there was an upset, he’d win two. “Yeah.” Where was the eloquence of a script when you needed it?
She scooted closer. “Do you have any idea how exciting that is for me?”
And didn’t that make him want to haul her into his lap and find out for sure about the underwear. He couldn’t give a shit about the awards, or the meal, or the few people he wanted to catch up with. He wanted to call the limo and make out with her all the way home to her Hello Kitty pjs.
He was planning on kissing her in an X-rated way and damn the watching eyes, when he felt a hard slap across his shoulders. Fuckers who did that, touched him without speaking, without making him aware of who they were, deserved to get slapped back. He turned his head. Black blob, women didn’t tend to slap, this was some guy he knew or who wanted to
know him.
He kept his voice even. “You have to help me out, buddy.”
“The great Captain Vox doesn’t know his own friends.”
No friend. Isaac Groone. A leech, a misogynist who managed to stay employed despite a heavy drinking problem. They’d worked on game software, playing soldiers together. Six weeks of gritting his teeth and pounding a bag daily at the gym to get through the experience. He’d had his fill of Groone four hours after meeting him and hearing him brag about his conquest of a woman half his age. That was four years ago, but not long enough ago to forget how Groone had denigrated the woman, calling her a whore and a slut and getting annoyed when Damon shut him down in front of the production crew. Since then the parasite had tried to trade off their association to build his own career.
Another slap. “Good to see you again, mate.” Said loudly to reinforce their non-existent relationship. “Who’s the lovely lady? Did you finally put a ring on it?”
Damon turned to Georgia. “Please excuse me.” He pushed out from the table and stood up, got in close to Groone, hand to his coat, bunching it in his fist, not to steady himself, to threaten.
“I’ve only got to be near you to be reminded how lucky I was to lose my sight and not my decency. You and I are not mates. If you come near me again, if you insult anyone I call friend, I will find a way to make sure the only work you can get is voicing dog food commercials in hell.”
Groone laughed loudly, throwing his voice to make it look like this was a gag, but there was a nervous hitch to his laughter. “Ah mate, you’re a card.”
Half the room was probably watching them. Damon stepped in closer, his knee knocking against Groone’s leg, more of the man’s coat in his fist. He’d like to have seen his eyes. Like to have known for sure he’d rattled the bastard. He pushed Groone hard enough that he staggered back with a shout. He couldn’t make a joke out of that. He felt Georgia’s hand on the back of his and he regretted the aggression immediately. Not much romance in a head-butting contest.
“I thought we might go to the bar,” she said.
A great idea. He didn’t know where Groone was now. Could only hope he’d backed off. He took Georgia’s arm and felt her tremble. Shit, he should’ve thought the violence might upset her. She started out across the room, weaving them around tables. He didn’t know there was a bar, but he didn’t want the attention he’d get there either.
He squeezed her arm. “Take us somewhere quiet.”
She paused, changed direction. “The foyer.” They moved off carpet onto a hard floor, her heels tapping. A good few minutes and she stopped.
They had to be out of the main entryway, it was dark. “Where are we?”
Her hand to his cheek. “That was hot.”
“Hah?”
She kissed him. Her hands going to the back of his neck, his going where he’d wanted them earlier. He couldn’t taste fear on her lips, though there was still a tremor in her body. This was not the shy girl, the hesitant one who was scared to get involved. This was the wild girl he’d made out with on the gantry. He was so staying the night. By the time he’d actually collected a couple of awards he might see some action in the back of the limo. Ah, forget the freaking awards. He broke the kiss. “Let’s get out of here.”
She unwrapped herself from him. “And miss the fun in there? Not a chance.”
There was sunshine and certainty in her voice. He laughed. “You’re sure?”
“I was hoping you were going to hit him.”
She couldn’t have said anything more surprising. “I was worried the aggression was a turn-off.”
