Page 12 of The Wrong Promise

What a weird word.

I don’t need to know his every move, though I appreciate he is looking out for me. With my hands in the air, I twirl, the liquid bubbles giving me more confidence than I naturally have. The cheers of other tables incite us to keep dancing. Eyes closed, I imagine all my fears leaving my body, as though I’m expelling it through my fingertips, and like invisible gas, it’s circling above me, and I’m lighter for it.

I have to stop reading fantasy books.

Smiling, I open my eyes, and my entire body freezes. A few feet away, Jobe Hendricks’ dark eyes hold me captive.

“What are you doing, Zara?”

4

ZARA

“Dancing. What does it look like?”I counter in my sweetest voice.

He gets up in my face. “How much alcohol have you consumed?”

How much alcohol have you consumed?sounds out in my head, mocking him.

“Not enough to forget how annoying you are.” I glance at my table, and his gaze follows. “Why are you even here?”

Jobe grabs my wrist. “Apart from a business trip? I think you know why.”

I yank my arm from his grasp. “I’m having fun, happyas promised.”

His expression softens. “AndI promisedPenny I would check in on you and make sure you’re safe.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. Does it appear I’m in immediate danger?”

I slide onto the chair, pick up my glass from the table, and down the remainder of the champagne.

“You never leave drinks unattended at a table,” he says bluntly.

“Ugh, my friends are nearby.”

He laughs once as though I’m clueless, and it grates on my nerves.

“Okay, let’s get you home.”

Before I object again, Oscar appears at the table. “Is everything all right?” he asks directly to me.

I nod. “Oscar, this is Jobe, my girlfriend’s annoying brother-in-law.” Oscar smiles at him and holds out his hand. “Oscar is a friend.”

“Who wasn’t here watching over your table.” Jobe shakes Oscar’s hand. “How long have you known Zara?”

“Well, mate, I met Zara here one night, and we’ve caught up several times since.”

“So not well enough to be friends.”

“Hey.” Oscar raises both his hands. “I’m only looking out for her. No offense, Americana, I like you, but you’re not my type.” Weirdly, my shoulders relax. “And neither are you,” he states matter-of-factly to Jobe.

I smile to myself. “Not many are.” Jobe gives me his best scowl, and I force down the smirk threatening to spread.

Oscar picks up his drink and downs the last of it. “He’s looking out for you, love. It’s not a bad thing.”

What?

Ugh. “I didn’t ask him to look out for me.”

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