“But you want her to be a hell of a lot more than that.”
I turn my head slowly and stare at him. Vinn just grins.
We’ve done business long enough for him to know exactly when he’s right, and I hate that smug look he gets when he clocks something before I’ve admitted it to myself.
“It feels a lot better,” he says, “when you stop pretending you don’t need her.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
He laughs again. “Sure.”
The bathroom door opens and Wynter steps out looking pale, embarrassed, and far too fragile for the thoughts that hit me all at once.
I want to pull her against me and get her out of here. I want to ask if she’s okay. I want to drag her far away from every man in this building and lock the damn door behind us.
And, God help me, I want to kiss her until she forgets anyone else ever tried.
Instead, I look at her and all that comes out is anger.
Her eyes flick from me to Vinn and back again, uncertain. She shifts her weight, clearly wishing the floor would swallow her whole.
Vinn pushes off the wall and gives me a knowing clap on the shoulder as he passes. “Try not to terrorise the poor girl,” he says lightly.
I ignore him.
Wynter looks at me like she’s bracing for impact.
“Let’s go,” I say. My voice comes out rougher than I intended. I reach for her arm, then catch myself before I’m too harsh about it. My hand settles around her elbow instead, firm but controlled, and I guide her through the casino.
I can feel eyes on us as we walk. Staff pretending not to stare. Guests whispering and laughing.
Wynter keeps her head down, mortified. My anger shifts, there’s less fury now and it becomes something ugly and protective that sits heavy in my chest.
The elevator opens directly into my office. The second we step out, I lock it from this floor so no one can interrupt us. Then I turn on her.
“What the hell was that?”
Wynter flinches. Her makeup is smudged, her face pale beneath it, and she looks far too fragile standing there in the middle of my office, all wide eyes and unsteady limbs.
“You made a spectacle of yourself,” I snap. “You drank far more than you can handle, and you let yourself get into a vulnerable position with men you don’t know. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”
She says nothing. Just keeps her eyes lowered while I pace two steps away, still too angry to stand still. “Answer me.”
Slowly, she lifts her gaze to mine. Her expression is dazed. Miserable. “I think I’m going to be sick again,” she whispers.
The anger drains out of me so fast it leaves me feeling hollow. I exhale sharply and point to the bathroom. “Go.”
She doesn’t argue. She just turns and rushes for it, slamming the door behind her. I stand there for a moment, scrubbing a hand over my face.Fucking hell.She’s a disaster.
A half-hour passes.
At first, I hear everything—retching, running water, the occasional muffled movement—then nothing. Ten minutes of nothing.
I cross to the bathroom and tap lightly on the door. “Wynter?” There’s no answer. I try again. “Wynter.”
Still nothing.
A knot tightens in my chest. I ease the door open and find her sprawled on the tiled floor, fast asleep, one arm tucked awkwardly beneath her, her hair fanned across the tiles.