Page 72 of Inarticulate

She shook her head to dislodge her thoughts. “It’s a new dress,” she lied and swung her hand out to indicate the glistening black that clung to her skin. “I’m not sure I can pull it off.” The dress had hung dormant in her closet for years, the long sleeves and knee-high hem too conservative for clubbing and too sexy for a business function.

Tonight was an exception. She wanted Keenan to see the material hugging her the way he previously had. She craved his attention along the deep neckline that exposed cleavage highlighted with a simple silver drop necklace nestled between the top of her breasts. She’d kill to have him contemplate the thought of her underwear. To second-guess if she was wearing something equally appealing as the lingerie he’d bought for her. And if they did cross paths, and their eyes did meet, she would be on his level, able to glare into those deep gray depths because she was wearing her highest heels, the ones that gave a great kick to her calf muscles adorned in sheer stockings.

“You look gorgeous.”

She stifled a gasp at the breathlessness in Grant’s tone.

He was looking at her.Reallylooking at her. “Stop it.” She patted his arm playfully and clung tighter to her clutch. “You’re making me blush.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

He jogged a few steps ahead to pull the door open for her. She slowed, swallowing over the tightening in her throat. Inside was shadowed, glistening lights filling the darkness. Noise bellowed forth, laughter, clinking glassware, chatter.

Goosebumps skittered along every inch of her skin, blanketing her in discomfort. Not quite unhealthy anxiety, but awfully close. The glossy wooden bar came into view. The stools. The suits. The crowd. Each step exposed more elegance and superiority that shoved her tighter into the Inferior box.

“Savannah…” Patrick Black stepped toward her in his tailor-made suit, his hand outstretched. He was dashing, entirely pleasing to the eye for a man old enough to be her father. He would’ve been a heartbreaker in his day, and the trait lived on in his son who came to stand tall at his side. “You look ravishing.”

“Thank you.” She grinned, pasting a sly and provocative smile right where it needed to be. “You’re quite charming yourself.”

He chuckled, giving her hand a warm shake before releasing it. “Have you met my son?”

Heartbeats increased, the sound punishing in her ears. She tilted her chin, ever so slightly, and met visual perfection. “Yes.” She kept her voice strong and licked her lower lip for added measure. “We’ve met.”

Keenan took her hand, encasing it in his solid grip. He held her tight, peering at her with a look so fierce it almost scorched her nerves. She tried to remain in control, to keep him from penetrating the rapidly beating organ in her chest, but she was too susceptible, too weak against his charm.

She cut her gaze to his father. “He’s quite mysterious, isn’t he?” She spoke as if Keenan wasn’t even there. As if he didn’t exist even though their palms were still joined. “I bet his silent demeanor works wonders on the ladies.”

Patrick chuckled. “It certainly works on my assistant.”

Keenan’s touch vanished, leaving her arm to fall to her side. She feigned ignorance, her lips parting in shock as he fled, the back of his tailored suit fitting perfectly over every body part.

“Was it something I said?” she murmured, her stomach turning with guilt.

“Please accept my apologies on his behalf.” The influential CEO of Grandiosity encroached, placing his hand at the low of her back. “He’s not the most social of people.”

“I understand.” But she didn’t. When it came to Keenan, she knew nothing.

“And who is this young man?” Patrick focused over her shoulder.

Oh, shit.“Sorry.” She winced at Grant. “This is Grant Stevenson, one of the managers of Rydel, Seattle.”

The men shook hands and flowed into an easy conversation about business. She excused herself, needing space. Needing alcohol. But mind-numbing bliss wasn’t an option. She had to remain in peak condition for the wedding.

A waiter passed, teasing her with a tray of bubbles as she maneuvered around guests, pretending she had a destination in mind. She didn’t want to speak to anyone. She didn’t even want to keep this smile plastered on her face when there was a mountain of work to be done back at Rydel and too many unfamiliar eyes looking her way. Did they know she’d been banging their boss? Had they found the security tapes that placed her in the penthouse, and cavorting in their pool?

Another tray slid past her vision, and this time the champagne couldn’t be denied. One wouldn’t hurt. One might actually help. It would keep her free hand occupied and stop the tremble of her traitorous fingers.

She reached out, swiped one of the flutes, and smiled in thanks at the young man who continued walking. Over the rim of the glass, she scoured the room as she sipped. Familiar faces chatted with strangers. Rydel and Grandiosity mingling with ease. Penny was in the far corner, her long, perfect legs on display, her flawless, glossy hair streaming over her shoulder.

Savannah detoured in the opposite direction and made polite conversation with the competition. She ignored the itch at the back of her neck, the one that told her someone was staring at her, talking about her, and feigned interest in the people she met.

“Savannah,” Patrick called from over her shoulder. “I’d like you to meet Tanner. He’s like a son to me.”

She turned to meet vibrant blue eyes and a playboy smile that threatened to melt her panties. But the introduction hadn’t been lost on her. Patrick was far more enthusiastic about introducing this man than he had been about his biological son.

“Hi.” Her grin was genuine under Tanner’s hungry stare. “Nice to meet you.”

“Tanner is one of my executives. He determines what brands go into every Grandiosity room. From the televisions to the tiny liquor bottles.”

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