Page 142 of Sinful Blaze

“Oh, my, I’m so sorry, Daphne.” Todd taps a stack of papers on the table in front of him. “Are we keeping you from something more important?”

Yes, asshole—actually, you are. “Of course not,” I dismiss with a wave of my hand. “I want to make sure we get this show smoothed over, but I?—”

“You’re damn right, you need to smooth this over!” Keith shoots his brother a hard glance before turning his impatience on me. “We’re already wasting thousands of dollars on adjusting the advertising campaign. Not to mention the hours of humiliation explaining to our investors why their favorite artist will not be featured.”

Hazel’s grin reaches her ears, but not her eyes. She’s juuust this side of shredding The Tweedles with her bare hands. “I’m sure they all understood why you’re not supporting the work of a sexual predator.” She gasps like she was just struck with inspiration and turns to me. “Daph! We could add that to the marketing! Underline how this gallery supports women and stands by this no matter the consequences. That’ll sell tickets for sure.”

I glance at the clock again. In less than a minute, I need to be out the front door.

My phone buzzes.

Shit.

I know who it is without looking at the screen. I’d agreed to meet him outside and I’m running late. But The Tweedles called this impromptu meeting without consulting with me and they wouldn’t take no for an answer.

But we’re now pushing forty-five minutes. “Excuse me,” I mumble as I grab my coat and bag from behind my chair.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Keith snaps.

I freeze. “I have an appointment?—”

“You have a meeting. With us. Right now.” He stabs his finger onto the tabletop. “Sit down.”

Hazel frowns. “Keith, she said she?—”

“I heard what she said.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. “But she doesn’t write the paychecks here, does she?”

I look to Todd. He avoids eye contact and opts for flipping through the new marketing proposal folder I slid across his desk this morning.

Coward.

My phone buzzes again. Keith’s glare hardens when he hears it, so I click the power button to send the caller to voicemail.

“As you were saying?—”

Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz. Buzz-buzz.

I swallow back my growing anxiety. I’m not sure which is worse: dealing with Keith’s anger or knowing a certain someone else is growing increasingly pissed.

I hit the power button again. “Sorry,” I mutter through a very dry mouth. “It’s probably about my appointment.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Anyways, I want to discuss the budget for the campaign and how we intend to recoup our losses with the adjusted show. As much as I despise?—”

The main door slamming open echoes through the gallery. Keith turns to Todd, who shrugs.

I glance at my phone screen and sigh. Ten missed texts and two more missed calls. Not good. Maybe he’ll see I’m not in my office. Maybe he’ll understand that I was dragged out of there without my consent. Maybe?—

Maybe he’ll kick the door open like a fucking Viking and storm across the room to scoop me up in his arms, slaughter my enemies, and ravage me on the conference room table.

Guess which option he chooses?

“Why aren’t you ready to go?” Pasha growls at me as the echo of the kicked door reverberates.

“What the hell?!” Keith and Todd jump to their feet. “Excuse you, but you can’t just?—”

“She has an appointment. Didn’t she tell you that?”

Todd looks away, painfully guilty. Keith stops in his tracks, but unlike his brother, he decides to double down on his stance. “Daphne did inform us, yes, but as you can see?—”

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