She nods, though her eyes track him as he starts toward us.
Ridge crosses the room without hesitation. The bodies between us shift, opening a narrow path straight to me.
When he stops in front of me, the music dulls, swallowed by the rush of blood in my ears. His jaw is set, and his eyes are sharp, scanning past me once, then back again.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is low, controlled, pitched just above the music.
The question irritates me. I guess he thinks that once he says he loves me, suddenly I need his permission before I do anything.
I lift my chin. “I’m out with a friend. What do you think I’m doing here, Ridge?”
His gaze flicks past me again, quick and assessing. “You shouldn’t be.”
“According to who?”
“According to me,” he says. “And according to the call I got an hour ago from Wells.”
That lands.
“From who?” I ask.
“Wells. My brother.” His eyes stay on mine. “Never mind. Trust me.”
“I can hardly hear you, Ridge. Trust what? What about Wells, your brother?”
“He’s a hacker, and he picked up someone asking about you by name,” he screams louder in my ear.
My irritation flares hotter than my fear. “So now I’m supposed to panic and go home because someone mentioned my name somewhere in the ether?”
“This isn’t about panic,” he says. “It’s about not standing in the open when you don’t have to.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “The Duvalls are dead, Ridge. You made sure of that. So what exactly am I supposed to be afraid of now?”
He steps closer, close enough that I feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress. “The part where their deaths don’t erase every loose end.”
“Or is this just easier,” I snap, “than admitting you don’t like that I’m not where you can see me?”
His jaw tightens. “Stop it, Coco. That’s not what this is.”
“What?”
The music surges, swallowing the rest of whatever he was about to say. His eyes flick to the speakers, then back to me, frustration threading through his restraint.
He reaches for my wrist.
I pull back on instinct. “Don’t.”
“I need you to hear me,” he says, voice firm now. “And that’s not happening out here.”
His grip closes on me, and he pulls me with him.
“This is not you dragging me out,” I say sharply.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s me moving you somewhere quiet.”
I hesitate just long enough for him to see it. Then I let him pull me.
The crowd resists, bodies bumping and shifting as he steers us through. I dig in my heels once, just to make the point, but it doesn’t slow him.
