“That’s very kind,” Bailey says softly. “But—”
“Bailey.” I slide up beside her, my hand finding the small of her back. “Cindy was just asking about your animation work.”
Whitmore’s smile doesn’t falter, but his eyes narrow slightly. “Daniel. We were just discussing Ms. Rodgers’ impressive talents.”
“Were you.” It’s not a question.
“Indeed. I was extending an invitation for lunch tomorrow. With your permission, of course.”
“Of course.” My voice is cold. “Unfortunately, we have an early flight. Perhaps another time.”
Bailey glances between us. “Yes, another time would be lovely.”
Whitmore’s gaze lingers on her a moment too long before he nods. “I’ll hold you to that, my dear.” He gives her arm a soft squeeze before walking away.
The moment he’s gone, Bailey turns to me. “Was that necessary?”
“Was what necessary?”
“The territorial display.”
“He was making you uncomfortable.”
“I was handling it.”
“He was touching you.”
“So are you.” She glances pointedly at my hand, still pressed against her lower back.
I don’t remove it. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” Her eyes flash. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re being awfully possessive for someone who has spent two days pretending I don’t exist.”
“Bailey—”
“Save it. I need another drink.”
She pulls away from my touch and heads toward the bar, leaving me standing there like an idiot.
I’m about to follow when I see her.
Cassidy.
She’s across the terrace near the entrance, blonde hair gleaming under string lights, wearing a white dress that’s cut to kill. And she’s not alone. She’s talking to someone, gesturing animatedly, but her eyes are locked on me.
On us.
My blood runs cold. “No.”
This isn’t possible. Cassidy has no reason to be at this reception, so what …
“What?” Bailey has returned with her wine, following my stare. Her face pales. “Is that—”
“Stay close to me.” My hand finds her waist again, pulling her against my side.
“Daniel, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know yet, but whatever happens, follow my lead.”
