Page 54 of My Secret Santa Dallas

When I got to my room, I closed the door, took my tablet from my handbag, and accessed my phone. There was nothing yet, but when I saw my recording app begin to dance, I knew I had something. Tapping it open, I heard Wentworth’s smarmy voice on the phone.

“—Yes, I know…I introduced them today. If all goes well, I’ll have an interview with the biotech company. The stock will go through the roof in the next quarter, and I want to make good use of it. Why not get another half a billion dollars?”

I scowled. “Of fucking course.”

“Hm? No, no,” Wentworth said. “I would hope she’ll have a relationship with him that will sweeten the pot, but that is not here nor there. The stock is mine regardless.”

Oh, fuck no, I was not going to be his pawn in this chess game. I’d better castle his king and checkmate his ass. All I had to do was wait.

My moment came a day later when Wentworth drove us to the country club for luncheon. The Rodenhouse Country Club was a place that reeked of elegance. The thousand-count napkins were more expensive than an average person’s monthly salary.

I wanted to be a scalpel tonight, get in, cut out the cancer growing under my skin, and get out. I didn’t even care to sew up the wound. While heading there, I could hear the gentle hum of voices and the clink of glasses from down the hallway as I headed to the tables on the patio. The small round tables were set with delicate china, and I sippedfrom a complimentary glass of champagne I’d been offered upon entering.

Holding my head high, I strode through the room, and while I faintly remembered some of the people milling about, I know no one. There were admiring looks aimed at my white pants outfit, though, but I ignored them.

Where were Wentworth and the good doctor? I had a flight to catch.

I spotted my mother talking to a lady four cousins thrice removed from the Grand Duke of Luxemburg and tried to find Wentworth somewhere among the mingling guests. I didn’t want to do this before Mom, but I needed to make a point.

“Blair,” Mom called me over, her blond hair tucked behind an ear. “So good to see you out and about, darling.”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry I am a bit late,” I said, looking over her shoulder to see Wentworth coming down a corridor with a woman in his arms. She was a mass of strawberry blond frou-frou with longer legs than was feasibly possible.

The poor girl— what spiel of lies had he told her already?

I’m sorry, Mom.

When he came over, he introduced the girl as some Senator’s daughter, and while Mom fussed over her, I stared at Wentworth.

He stared back. “Something on your mind, dear sister?”

“When were you going to tell me I was a pawn in your game to get in with Doctor Ricola’s stock?” I asked calmly. “Did you think that me dating him would further your cause? Do you know how creepy that was? It’s like you were putting me on the auction block and screaming for any takers.”

The smile on his face slipped a little.

“Don’t even ask me how I know about your ploy to get another half a billion dollars,” I threw his words back at him so the rusty gears in his brain would finally start turning. “I am sorry to say your little game didn’t work. So now, thanks for nothing but some air miles.”

The patio was dead silent, and nobody even pretended not to be hideously fascinated with the building altercation. It was terrific, I thought, how being in Wentworth's presence raised every hackle I had and fried all my nerves to shit.

“My mistake,” Wentworth ground out, his lips tight in an overly polite smile. “I thought you would like a partner who was more than arm candy.”

“Funny you should call it that,” I replied, eyeing his date. “Now, excuse me, I have a plane to catch.” I leaned in to hug Mom and whispered in her ear, “Sorry about that.”

Handing her my glass, I left the club and hopped into the rental, heading right to the airport. I had been late because I’d been plum-plucked, clueless about what to get Dallas for Christmas. Dallas did not strike me as a guy who liked ornamentation, so I’d ordered him a set of Smith and Wesson folding knives and a new Stetson.

While waiting to board, I called my Mom to tell her in no uncertain terms that I would not be some lackey in Wentworth’s scheme.

She sighed. “I know, sweetheart, and I am sorry he tried to get you into a messy situation for his gain. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

When she hung up, I called Dallas and told him my plans. The four-hour flight at two would have me landing at four p.m. his time.

“That was quick,” he said. “Were you right, though?”

“Very,” I said grimly. “I’ll tell you about it when I get home though.”

“Home,” he echoed. “I like the sound of that.”

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