Page 45 of Tate
Finally, he nodded. “Go to the kitchen. Get some ice. I’ll pick up Gloria’s detail until you get back.” He stood up as Tate turned.
“Tate?”
He stopped, glanced at Sly.
“We’re a team here. My team. And you’re not the only one who made promises to people. Good job today…but next time you show up hurt to work, I’m sidelining you. You’re not the only one who can keep Gloria safe.”
Tate nodded, but as he pushed out the door into the hallway, cast a look into the crowd and spotted Glo, he wanted to respectfully disagree.
Go ahead and date Slick, honey.
Because he may have lost the battle, but he wasn’t about to concede the war.
Tate was out there, and she was in here and?—
“Sit down, already, Glo. Or go out to the bunkhouse and find him. But you’re making me dizzy.”
Glo wore her pajama pants and aBelles Are Made for SingingT-shirt, having taken a shower after tonight’sfundraising fiasco, her hair still wet. Cher sat on the bed, finger combing her wet hair. Her friend was staying over in one of the other guest rooms and had also showered, changed into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.
“I can’t go out there. It’ll just encourage him.”
“I think we’re beyond the need for encouragement here, sister. The man saved your life tonight. I’d say he’s all in.”
All in.
She could still feel Tate’s body pressing over her, feel his heartbeat thumping through his chest.
Hear the tiny grunts of pain he tried to hold in.
Stupid, heroic man. Her eyes burned at the memory of watching him in the office, the muscles in his jaw so tight she could strum them. He’d been in pain.
And not just from his shoulder.
Don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t get in the way of you and Slick.
So much hurt in his voice, it put a fist in her gut.
Glo stood at the window. She’d darkened her room so she could look out and now spied at least two security staff prowling the exterior of her mother’s house, one down by the semi-lit pool area. The darkness wouldn’t allow her to make out his features.
It could be Tate.
Or maybe he was inside, still icing his shoulder. The man had worn the ice pack all night, on top of his dress shirt, like the hunchback of Notre Dame.
But he was never more than ten feet from her, even when she pulled Sloan out to the far end of the pool, after the guests started to leave, and told him that yes, she’d accept those dinner plans.
Every word out of her mouth tasted sour.
Especially with Tate standing in the shadows.
Her plan, even to her own mind, sounded desperate, a scene out of a soap opera. But with her mother holding the reins of his employment—and heaven help her, she’d like to know what “deal” they’d struck—her only hope was to make him quit.
So yeah, she’d date Sloan. Hold his hand. She’d draw the line at kissing him, but…the whole idea of hurting Tate still made her ill.
“I’m a terrible person.” Glo ran her hands up her arms and came over to flop on the bed beside Cher. The ceiling fan ran overhead, catching the light of the pool on its gilded blades, cascading it around the room.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
She looked at Cher, who raised a shoulder. “That perfectly handsome, wounded man saved your life tonight. You should be sneaking out in a romantic Romeo and Juliet moment to thank him.”
