Page 17 of Exposed

There’s a lull in activity, and I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I reach back and grab Daniel by the sleeve. “Of course, I’ll show you around. We came all the way here. But just in case there’s no availability, can we talk about some alternate ideas when we’re done?”

A low chuckle hits me from behind. “We’ll see.”

I pull him through the kitchen prep area and don’t make eye contact with anyone. As we walk by the wall of ranges, a random burner flickers with a flame. I shake my head and flip it off as we walk by. I see nothing has changed. There’s always a burner left on.

“I’ve got to admit, Goldie, I thought we’d come in a side door. You weren’t kidding when you said the back way.”

“I’m no nonsense,” I mutter as I push the swinging door to exit the kitchen.

I come to a stop when we enter the grand hall.

This couldn’t be any worse.

It’s not a notoriously-single celebrity tying the knot on the sly only to sell the pictures toPeoplefor an exclusive.

That, I could have blended in with. Daniel Armstrong is just that hot. HisI-don’t-give-a-heckaura could mingle amongst the stars and look like one of them. The only thing I’m exuding, on the other hand, is complete and utter trepidation.

This is not a wedding or even a fundraiser.

This is a Dex event.

This is the very reason I cut ties with him and The Pink.

Men and women are dressed to the hilt in every brand I can’t afford or pronounce. It makes my off the sales rack dress from the Loft feel very, very two years ago.

Which it is.

The place is packed. Every eight-top round table is decorated to the hilt. Four-foot-tall towering arrangements stand proudly and like enormous balls of flowers exploding with beauty around the room. I recognize most of the people in attendance. The Pink seats one thousand and can hold even more for a simple cocktail event.

I always found it odd how Dex managed to entwine his legitimate business with his dark one. It’s like two sides of the family coming together at Thanksgiving where there’s an unwritten rule that certain subjects are off the table and you accept one another the way you never would the other three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year.

“Coming through!”

I’m yanked to the left and find myself one with my prospective client.

A string of waiters file around us in unison—they might as well be starring in a musical production. Nothing has changed. If anything, the chaos that goes on within these walls is more ridiculous than ever.

Daniel’s arm is wrapped around my lower back, and he glares down at me. His shades are pushed up on his head again, which makes him even more ruggedly handsome.

His level of not giving a rip is something everyone should strive for. The world would be a happier place.

Certainly happier than The Pink.

“You almost got flattened by a tray of lobster tails. Are you always this skittish?”

I wrinkle the lapels of his perfect sport coat in my sweaty hands again and don’t care. I hold on for dear life. No one can hear us over the chatter that bounces off the marble floors and reaches all the way to the domed ceilings painted in dark, stormy ocean scenes with yachts from long ago.

I can’t tell another lie and decide to go with the truth. He deserves that. After all, he’s trying to do right by Trippy who’s on her deathbed. “I don’t like being here.”

His frown deepens and his arm squeezes me tighter. His body is rock hard beneath his expensive suit. I feel him from his pecs all the way down to his thick thighs and everywhere in between.

He glances up over my head as he takes a step into the shadows of a fake tree that towers over us. His blue eyes twinkle in the fairy lights entwined through the branches. “Why don’t you like it here?”

I roll my lips to wet them. “There are so many reasons.”

“Start naming them,” he demands.

I pause and decide to give him the lamest one of all. “For one, it’s supposed to be haunted.”

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