Page 55 of Bitter Beats

“Sorry,” I wheeze, noting my mom’s bridge partner at a table to the right. She frowns at me. “I need to use the restroom.” I push back my chair.

I just need a minute to wrap my head around tonight.

Mav and I are here together. We’re a united front. I can do this.

“I’ll go with you,” Allegra offers.

“Oh, you don’t have to.” I wave her off, my gaze darting between her worried expression and Mav’s confused one. “I’ll just be a minute.”

My face is still turned toward Allegra as I move to push in my chair. As I step forward, I collide with a moving body. The heel of my boot snags in the thick, woven jute rug under our table.

“Oh,” I cry out, stumbling backward. I toss an arm out behind me to break my fall—or break my arm—but before my ass hits the ground, Mav grabs me, wrapping a strong arm around my torso.

I regain my footing and grip the back of Mav’s chair. “Thanks,” I murmur.

Mav’s hand on my hip flexes, but he doesn’t reply. His eyes are zeroed in on the man I bumped into.

“Fancy seeing you here.” There’s an edge to the man’s voice and my stomach twists.

I look up slowly, trying to calm my racing heart as nerves skitter up my arms.

His presence looms over me. His mouth twists, and his eyes flash, half with mirth, half with anger. My skin tightens.

“Branson.” My knuckles on Mav’s chair turn white as I try to regulate my breathing.

A slow, sinister smile stretches across Branson’s face. “Mckenna.”

EIGHTEEN

MAV

The wayhe says her name grates over my skin like sandpaper.

How he looks at her causes anger to flood my senses.

He speaks to Mckenna with an intimacy I don’t fucking like. My stomach feels slick, and anger boils in my bloodstream as I level my gaze at the cocky motherfucker who couldn’t be more my opposite.

Neatly combed hair. A pressed, white button-down shirt tucked into dress slacks with a simple black belt whose purpose is to hold up his pants rather than make a statement. I bet he has monogrammed cuff links.

No way he has any fucking ink.

My hold on Mckenna tightens as I take in the way he’s staring at her. Like he wants her. Like he’s had her.

Fuck. Has he?

My gaze bounces to mygirlfriend, and what I read in her expression confuses me further. Mckenna looks like she’s about to vomit. Or pass out.

Her face is pale, her eyes wild and out of focus. She’s gripping the back of my chair tight enough to crack her knuckles.

Allegra’s expression twists, her eyes narrowing, as she takes in the weird stand-off between Mckenna and this fuckwad.

I skim my palm over Mckenna’s waist before dropping my hold. Her spine straightens, and terror fills her eyes at the loss of my touch. My throat tightens as I clock her responses to me. To Branson.

I gently loosen her grip on my chair and lace her fingers with mine, shifting my weight to stand behind her.

“Who the fuck is this guy?” Levi mutters.

The douchebag continues to grin at my girl. “You should order the filet mignon,” he continues as if this entire table isn’t glaring at him. “You look like a girl who enjoys red meat.” He taps Mckenna’s wrist, and she flinches.

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