“Yes!” she manages. “Wrong pipe.”
He hands her water. “Drink this.” She drinks. She listens. And I hate how she listens to him while fighting me at every turn.
“Thanks,” she says, soft and grateful.
I set my glass down. Hard. “To answer your question,” I say, not bothering to soften the edge in my voice, “I haven’t quite decided what comes next. I still have several companies to manage, and I don’t plan on slowing down anytime soon.”
I lift my drink again, stare straight at Eslin as I add, “As for the hot young thing? Let’s just say, I’ve never had any troublestealingthose up.”
She clears her throat. “He said swooping.”
I hold her gaze. “And I said stealing.”
“Ouch!” Eslin yelps, snapping her head toward Tatum. “Girl, seriously?”
Tatum shrugs, wide-eyed and innocent. “This damn foot just keeps fallin’ asleep! Must be these heels I’m wearing.” She waves it off like it's nothing. “Anyway! Have you seen Marlow?”
“No!” Eslin hisses through gritted teeth. “Maybe you should gocallher!”
“She texted earlier,” I cut in. “Said she’s running behind. Something about a wardrobe malfunction.”
Eslin and Tatum exchange a look. One of those wordless conversations women seem to master. I catch the hesitation in it but decide not to ask.
Darren leans in, his hand resting casually on the back of Eslin’s chair. “I’m gonna grab a drink. Want anything?”
She looks up at him “No, thank you. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“I’ll have a Macallan, if you’re taking orders,” I chime in.
“Asshole,” Eslin scoffs but only I catch it.
He nods, grinning. “Sure thing, Mills.” Then he strolls off, just as Bruno Mars and Cardi B’s “Finesse” drops through the speakers.
Tatum perks up like she’s been hit with electricity. “Oh, hell yes. My jam!” She jumps to her feet, hips already swaying. “You’ve gotta honor the ‘90s when the groove hits this hard!”
She drags a few others with her to the dance floor, laughter trailing behind. The table shifts, the energy thins—and then, it’s only us. Me and Eslin.
The music pulses. Lights flicker like heat lightning across her skin. Everyone else is spinning, lost to the beat. But we sit, still and charged, like something unspoken is winding too tight between us.
She doesn’t look at me at first. Her eyes stay fixed on the crowd.
“Grant, you have to stop.”
My jaw clenches. “You expect me to sit here and watch him touch you like that? Like he has the right?”
She turns, finally meeting my gaze. “You don’t get to act like this unless youwantsomeone to discover your feelings!”
“Myfeelings? So it’s just me?” I lean in, my voice dropping. “Tell me I’m imagining it. Tell me I’m the only one losing my damn mind.”
She doesn’t answer.
“Eslin. Tell me it’s just me.”
“I can’t think when you’re this close.”
“Good,” I murmur. “Because I haven’t been able to think straight since the second you walked back into my life.”
My hand slips under the table—reckless. I’ve always been good with both hands, but it’s my left that moves now, slow and precise. I find the zipper of her jeans, tug it down inch by inch, my knuckles brushing her skin.