Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
I swallow, grateful for the pep talk. Comfortable with him, I lift his arm to take a peek at his watch. Nearly two hours have already slipped by. I glance around the floor again and answer him. “I hope so. And our other goal?”
It seems only fair to put a bit of effort toward that mission as well, especially considering how much he’s helped me already.
Dylan catches my hand in his own, lifting my knuckles to his lips to brush a kiss against them unbidden. “You are the talk of the event so far. You have been noticed, and while I doubt he’ll approach, I’ve kept my ears open. Just keep being yourself.” His smile has a hint of a chill, but it doesn’t intimidate me any longer.
I’ve actually come up with a trick. It’s quite similar to the ‘picture them in their underwear’ method of dealing with nerves, but it’s more along the lines of ‘picture them with magnifying glasses on that make their eyes look comically enlarged while they glue tiny pieces of plastic to other tiny pieces of plastic’. It seems Dylan’s little fact about himself and the model aircraft has helped me more than he probably guessed and has made him delightfully endearing, though I certainly won’t tell him that. I suspect it’d mess with his self-perception as a ruthless asshole.
The clinking of glasses and murmur of conversations fill my ear, and the crowd quiets as a man comes up to a podium at the front of the room. “Good evening,” he says, and I can hear the money in his voice. There’s a certain tone to it, a cadence and pitch that I’m familiar with.
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 economies after 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.