Nausea roiling in her stomach, Jo gritted her teeth. Her only exit, other than the one she’d taken earlier from the ballroom, which wasn’t an option because she’d rather walk over hot coals than face Giselle again, loomed behind fucking Preston and his nameless lover. She had no choice but to pass them on her way out.
Avery said something that made What’s Her Name laugh again. Another lame attempt at seduction?
God, the man had a set of balls…and the charm of a snake handler. No, he was the snake. Neither of them had any regard for where they were or who they might hurt. Jo had seen What’s Her Name arrive with a date, heard Avery ask about him. Poor guy.
Disgust drove Jo forward, a scoff escaping her lips.
Avery’s head snapped up, and the satisfied grin on his face slid right off, giving Jo a small semblance of her ownsatisfaction. At least, he had the decency to blush when he bent to whisper something in the girl’s ear, then turned her toward the ballroom and gave her a slight shove.
“Call me,” What’s Her Name tittered.
Some people never learn.
As What’s Her Name passed Jo, she arranged her long blonde curls to hide the red marks on the swells of her breasts but did nothing to conceal a smug smile, as if they were besties or in some secret society out to screw Avery Preston and she expected a high five.
Hip cocked, Avery stood with one hand braced on the open door, blocking Jo’s path, a grin toying with his lips, all shame extinguished. If it had been there at all. Men like him didn’t feel shame.
“You looking for me?” he asked as if he hadn’t been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Barn door’s open,” she spat and darted around him when he reached for his open fly.
“Fuck,” he muttered over the rasp of his zipper, but she didn’t stop.
The telltale burn pricking the bridge of her nose quickened her steps. Tears were a sign of weakness, useless in any situation. She’d learned that a long time ago. But when she was angry…
She had to get home before the fiery storm building inside her broke loose because she was either going to burst into tears or punch him in the face. And yeah, while neither would solve anything, giving him a bloody nose would sure make her feel better…and land her in jail for assault.
“Legs, wait,” he called out, jogging to catch up with her.
Legs? What the hell?
“Come on, I wantedyou,” he cajoled, matching her stride for stride even when she quickened hers. “You said no.”
“I got fired, asshole.” Saying the words aloud made them real and her pâtisserie more of a pie in the sky goal she’d never achieve.
Shit. Don’t you dare fucking cry.
His grin widened. “So you’re available now.”
“Seriously?”
“I mean, if you don’t have a job, you’re free to fake date me.”
Jo skidded to a halt just short of the double doors promising escape, and damn, if a big fat angry tear didn’t roll down her cheek. She swiped at her body’s betrayal and glared up at him.
“Let me rephrase it so you’ll understand, dumbass.Yougot me fired. You and your shenanigans. Giselle saw us get into the van. She thinks we— Argh, why am I bothering to explain this to you?”
She slapped a hand on the door to push it open, but he snagged the crook of her elbow. His hand was hot, his grip strong, making her feel weak—in strength and mind.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his deep brown eyes full of remorse. “I never meant for that to happen. What can I do? Do you want me to talk to your boss? If I explained nothing happened—”
“I’ll tell you what you can do.” She wrenched free of his grip. “You can leave me the fuck alone.”
His head snapped back, and for a moment, she wished she’d kept her temper in check. He was the reason she’d been fired, but that didn’t mean she had to stoop to his level. Or maybe she did. Maybe asshole was the only language he understood.
As he recovered, she half expected another smartass remark or sexual innuendo to come tumbling from his mouth. Instead, he gave her an understanding nod, stepped to one side, and opened the door for her.
Without hesitation or a backward glance, Jo took his gesture with a grain of skepticism, not believing for a second there was a gentleman beneath all that Casanova crude. She flew across the parking lot, another fat tear as eager to escape as she was.
