Page 67 of All Twerk, No Play

Being summoned to my grandfather’s office.

Spencer, flanked by his father and my father.

Four imposing white men, towering over me.

Richard imploring me to make the right choice for our family.

Because this business was my family. My future. My legacy.

Spencer’s father’s reminder that I was Victoria Sinclair Larsson now.

My future children’s reputation was dependent on my discretion.

Spencer’s smug expression, arms crossed, waiting for me to crack.

Richard yelling, “Talk sense into your daughter, Arthur.”

Meeting my father’s calm gaze, reassured by his fortitude.

Dad's whisper: “You know what to do, Princess.”

A touch on my back startled me. “You okay, baby?” Eric asked softly as his large palm on my lower back grounded me in reality.

I jolted, blinking at the much smaller ring, then up to Lawrence’s shamed face, I pulled on a mask of indifference. “I’m fine.”

Eric tucked away his concern, slipping his arm around my waist. “Larry, have you met my girl Victoria?”

Lawrence shifted, probably wondering if I would throw him under the bus—and even now, his slimy gaze slid down the low-cut magic dress. Eric’s grip tightened but stayed firmly in the friend zone around my ribs.

“We’ve worked together. Good to see you, Lawrence,” I said, holding my hand palm down as if expecting him to kiss my ring.

If I still had a ring.

Eric squeezed my waist, enjoying the discomfort he was sowing. I pasted on a pleasant smile to Susan, grateful for her ‘change of plans’ so I didn’t unwittingly sleep with her husband, the lying, cheating son of a bitch.

Seemingly oblivious, Eric forced his goofiest grin, his voice saccharine. “Tonight’s full of surprises, huh? When I found out Victoria was free I jumped at the chance to take her out, which is why I’m underdressed,” he gestured to his torn jeans.

When I tilted to Eric, rage flashed across his face.

“Eric, sweetheart,” I said, tapping twice on his pec in a request to drop it. “We should let them enjoy their dinner.”

He flicked his fingers in a subtle ‘I’m watching you’ gesture to Lawrence, who followed the hostess before we were led to our own table. The backlit bar cast a romantic glow over the small candlelit tables arranged intimately around a small stage. When I'd met Eric here months ago, these tables had been cleared for a dance floor—nothing like this awkwardly romantic space.

Eric pulled out my chair then rested his hand on my knee. I stared at the menu without processing it, resting the edge on the table so he wouldn’t notice it shaking. He clenched and unclenched his hand on my knee to check his emotions. Gaze on his menu, he asked quietly, “Why did you let him off the hook?”

“No reason to cause a scene,” I murmured, not meeting his gaze.

“You don’t think she deserved to know?”

“Would you please drop it?” I said, my tone curt with a hint of pleading.

His lips drew into a firm line, like he was biting back a retort. “Did you cause a scene last time you caught someone cheating?”

My body tensed, and his hand squeezed my knee. He’d noticed my reaction, and I’d just confirmed his suspicions.

“No,” I said, willing the pulse in my veins to slow.

“Alex?” His jaw clenched so tight he might crack one of those perfect teeth.

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