“You again,” he says. I can smell the beer on his breath. He turns away from me, and I walk inside. Benjamin sits at the kitchen table, which seems to also be the dining room table. He’s working on a complicated math problem. I start trying to solve it in my head. I can’t help myself. I’m about to tell him the next step when he writes the answer in a box in the corner. The right answer. Well damn. Sasha’s right. The kid is brilliant.
“What level of calculus is that?” I ask, curious.
“I skipped calc two and went right to calc three. Was a fucking mistake, but I’m doing okay.”
“More than okay, I’d guess. That’s the right answer.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “You some kind of math nerd and a mob boss?”
Fuck, I really like this kid.
“Yep. I like to learn. Always have.”
He puts his pencil down and takes me in. “If you hurt my sister…If your father hurts her…”
“I told you I’d let you know when I found out who hurt her. It was one of my father’s guys. When I find out which one, I’ll give you his name.”
I won’t though. When did I get so skittish? Still, it’s the threat that matters. Something I can hold over Sasha’s head and keep her in line tonight.
“She’s a good person, Finn.” He pins me with his gaze. “I know guys like you at school. Smart and cool, good-looking. They mess around with whoever they want and don’t give a fuck about what happens after. My sister’s been through hell. Don’t you think it’s beneath you to make it worse?”
He’s savvier than I gave him credit for. Or maybe it’s kindness? Either way, it’s not a question I’m going to answer. It’s not one I can answer. Luckily, I hear Sasha’s footsteps on the stairs, and we both turn to face her.
Goddamn.
She’s in a little black dress, tight on top, that shows off her curves and dips just enough in the neckline to hit the perfect note of sexy elegance. Her honey blonde hair is curled and gathered into a tousled bun at the back of her neck, held in place with an understated jeweled comb. Loose strands frame her face, and my cock twitches as I imagine pulling that comb out, grabbing her by the hair, and sliding my tongue into her hot, yielding mouth. Her jewelry is simple: a two-strand necklace that falls into that delectable cleavage, and a bangle on her slim wrist.
I lick my lips.
“Oh, hi,” she says. I notice the casual tone of her voice. I’m obviously not having the same effect on her that she’s having on me right now. Fuck.
“Benj, do you know where my keys are?”
He points to the counter. “You look nice, sis.”
“Thanks.” She pops her keys into the little bird-shaped handbag she’s holding. She’s moving easier now, though I can see her ankle is still slightly swollen under her sheer black stockings.
She grabs a worn but clean pea coat from the closet, and I feel that insane possessiveness creep back as I watch her wind my scarf around her delicate neck.
“Sasha!” her father screams. She jumps, and I want to knock what’s left of his teeth in. I’m horrified when I see him whip a beer can at his daughter and step in front of her, slapping it out of the air before it can hit her. It spins and sprays him with the remnants.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” I snarl, moving my hand to Sasha’s back. If we didn’t have somewhere to be, I’d be spending the next hour deciding where to dump this man’s body.
“Forgot you were here. Benjamin, get me another beer.”
Benjamin rolls his eyes and brings his father a can from the fridge. His father turns on the hockey game and loses himself in criticizing the players.
The adrenaline’s still coursing through my veins when Sasha turns her pretty face to me.
“Thanks,” she says. “Don’t want to smell like cheap beer.”
She smells like just a hint of lilacs.
But the blandness of her reaction doesn’t escape me. This must be a common occurrence and it takes every bit of control I have to unclench my fists and smile at my lovely date.
I offer her my arm. She hesitates but takes it and we head out to my Range Rover. I open her door and help her climb in.
“You look beautiful,” I say. Perfect. Everything about her is perfect tonight. We don’t talk about what happened over the weekend.
She smiles at me. “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your scarf again.”
“Of course not.” I can’t tell her how good seeing her in it makes me feel, either. I start the short drive to the casino. “How are you feeling, by the way.”
“The bruises are fading. Ankle’s much better. I won’t be running anywhere soon, though.”
Hopefully not all strenuous activities are out of the question, because I really want to get her out of that dress and explore the treasures underneath it.
There’s valet parking tonight, but I park in my usual spot in the garage. I try not to remember how I’d made the plan to get Sasha to my place here, and instead slip my hand on her lower back again. She doesn’t protest, and I lead her to the coat check.
“Have you ever been inside?” I ask.
“No,” she says, handing her coat and my scarf to the coat check girl. She drops some money in the tip jar. I do the same.
“Figures,” I say. “You want to cause trouble without even checking the place out?”
She just smiles and says, “Nice suit.”
God, she’s making me crazy already. How am I going to make it through this night? The suit’s bespoke, a dark charcoal that I’ve paired with a white shirt and a blue and silver striped tie. Very classic. Normally I like to go a little off the beaten path to annoy my father, but I’m not going to push my luck tonight. Not in that way, anyhow.
We walk to the event space where we’re hosting the gala. It’s a grand ballroom, too ornate for my taste, with a hideous pastel mural of a Greek pastoral scene painted across the ceiling. Heavy gilt moulding creates an absurd transition between the pseudo wanna-be-art-museum ceiling and the beige walls. My father should have let my mother choose the décor. Everything about his taste screams new money. It’s embarrassing. My mother has many faults, but she has an eye for style my father never will. Tonight the room has been configured for mingling, small cocktail tables spaced carefully throughout.
It’s a little past eight now, and all the guests should be here. Don’t want to keep the investors out too late on a school night, after all, but we don’t want to eat up their weekend time either.
Once we’re inside the opulent ballroom, I walk Sasha over to my father. At first I wonder if she’ll be nervous, then remember that her own father just hurled a beer can at her.
He looks at her appreciatively.
“You clean up well, Miss Saunders. I’d like to introduce you to some of my investors later. I hear your brother is heading to college and some of these folks have connections out at Stanford. I hear young Benjamin is interested in heading out west.”
“Sounds lovely,” she says. Her fingertips go white, but my father wouldn’t notice something like that.
I take her hand and wrap it around my forearm. “I’m going to show Sasha around. Give her a tour of the facility.”