Page 62 of Dirty Dancer

“Well, when your grandfather gets here, I’ll excuse myself.”

I did not roll my eyes. “You can do it now. I’m perfectly fine sitting here in this lovely establishment, drinking water and eating cheese.” Not to mention I hadn’t invited him nor was I interested in having this little tete-á-tete. “Thank you for your concern.”

“I’m not concerned,” he replied in a droll tone, but his attention wasn’t on me. The waiter approached but he didn’t give the man time to speak. “Schloss Reinhartshausen Erbacher Markobrunn Riesling Trockenbeerenauslese, Rheingau, 1959. Two glasses.”

“Right away, sir.” The waiter obeyed the crisp instruction just like most people in our lives obeyed Adam or his father. They spoke with a careless kind of ease. They expected to be obeyed. They didn’t throw their weight around or yell. Most of the time, they didn’t even have to raise their voices.

“What?” he asked as I continued to stare at him. The problem with Adam was he knew he was in control, he thrived on it, and everyone around us always rushed to obey him.

Everyone except me and maybe Ezra.

“Nothing,” I said, demurring from the fight. This was a chance to eat at my favorite spot with one of my favorite people. I would not let Adam spoil it for me. So, I opened my purse and pulled out my phone.

As social faux pas went, this was quite rude. However, he started it when he invited himself. His soft chuckle rankled but I refused to let that show. Instead, I checked my messages, then my email. Tally was on holiday with her latest conquest and she’d sent me photos from the slopes in St. Moritz.

There was only one photo of her with—oh, what was his name? He was just the latest in a string she’d collected since thebeginning of the fall term. Since I somehow doubted he would make it much past the winter break, I didn’t worry about it.

Emersyn’s messages were quiet still. Nothing from her since she’d gotten to Braxton Harbor. There were only a few stops left on the tour, she couldn’t wait to be free. But she was going to take advantage of the break to rest and work on her routines.

Going quiet while she had performances wasn’t unusual, but I missed her. The waiter returned with the wine, he took the time to open the bottle and presented a taste to Adam before he filled the two glasses and set the bottle into the ice he’d brought for it.

As soon as he was gone, Adam moved the second wine glass to me.

“You know I’m not old enough,” I reminded him.

“No one is going to say a word to you, enjoy the wine. Your grandfather will probably not make lunch at all.”

I frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Just drink the wine, Lainey. We’ll order your favorites. Then when we’re done, I’ll take you home.” The patience in his voice just roughed over me like sandpaper.

“Why do you think my grandfather isn’t going to make it?” I studied him. Adam’s attention still didn’t seem to be focused on me. It would be a mistake to think he missed anything. Still, I picked up the wine glass and shifted so I could follow his line of sight.

Ugh.

I almost wished I hadn’t. Turning, I found Adam’s cool, assessing eyes locked on me and seeing almost too much. Too bad I’d noticed Bradley Sharpe. The man made my skin crawl and Adam loathed him.

“I had no idea he would be here,” I said rather than ask why his presence irritated Adam.

“Of course not,” he said almost dismissively. “Drink your wine, Lainey. Have you ordered your salmon and scallops?”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?” Damn him, the wine was good. The first sip was crisp and swirled over my tongue like a good mystery on a cold night.

“Not recently,” he said, his tone damn near indulgent. “I’ve almost missed your acerbic wit. You keep hiding at school. Would it help your appetite to say something now?”

I snorted. I hadn’t been hiding at school, I’d simply elected to forgo coming back for the holidays. The last time Adam and I had any kind of a conversation—it had been not long after his mother’s funeral.

That sobered my reaction.

“No,” I answered before my phone began to vibrate with a mad number of messages. I wasn’t alone. Several patrons seated throughout the dining room were reaching for their phones. I’d barely silenced the buzzing when I spotted the first headline.

Missing Heiress Sought in Disappearance of Dance Partner

Missing heiress?

My stomach sank even as I clicked on the message to open the article. A glass smashed across the room and I shifted in my seat. Adam was already rising and he moved around to block me and my view.

“Where the hell is she?” Bradley Sharpe’s harsh, cold words were like little stabbing bits of ice burrowing into my flesh. A hail storm raining down too fast to escape the stings.

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