“Baby,” Judge, who was with her, murmured his warning.
“Apparently, Blake had words with him,” Rix filled her in. “Just not enough of them.”
“Yes, like he needs to behave all the time, not just when a Sharp is around.” She turned her attention to Dair. “Or someone very Sharp adjacent.”
She meant him.
“I’ll have a word with her, or more likely him, when we get back,” Dair told them.
“Are you fucking…” Rix started.
“Joking?” Hale finished on a growl.
Dair turned back to where they were looking, or more to the point, scowling at the Sharp family greeting funeral guests in the vestibule, something they decided to do that flew in the face of tradition because most of the attendees were acquaintances.
Helena, unsurprisingly, had very few true friends. Those true friends were invited to the burial ceremony followed by tea at Treverton after the service.
But Blake and Alex had decided, especially due to the clamoring of paparazzi outside, they wanted to get out of there and get home as soon as they could when the service was over.
However, at what he saw when he turned their way, he felt fire ignite in his veins.
“Excuse me,” he grunted.
“I should think so,” Chloe snapped.
As he prowled to his woman, he took in Ned’s angry shock, Alex’s stunned surprise and Blake staring at her ex-fiancé in complete astonishment.
And distress.
Aye.
Chad fucking Head was there.
The man who cheated on her. The man who humiliated her. The man who broke her heart.
A man who should know better than to show up, unannounced, and as far as Dair could see with the reactions of all three of the Sharps, uninvited at her mother’s funeral.
And he was now a man who was reaching for Blake’s hand and staring at her earnestly.
Oh…
Fuck no.
The G-Force was preparing to pounce, he could tell, but they backed off as Dair got right up close to him. So close, Chad jerked and turned to look at him.
“Can I help you?” he asked, shrinking back.
“A word,” Dair clipped.
“I don’t know you,” Chad stated.
“Then ye dinnae pay attention to social media, or ye would,” Dair retorted, seeing as, with Helena’s death, they were all fucking over it.
There were photographers at the end of the lane at Treverton, 24/7, for fuck’s sake. Hale had to have his assistant switch out all their rental vehicles for ones with tinted windows so, if they needed to go somewhere, they didn’t do it and half an hour later, have a picture of them racing over the Internet.
And right then, outside, there was a pack of media behind steel cordons, taking photos of the people who arrived.
“Then again, I could see why ye wouldn’t ever get on social media,” Dair continued.
