However, it’s fleeting as Grant shifts closer. His knee brushes mine.
I move. He follows.
“So,” Grant says, voice casual as his hand lands on my thigh beneath the tablecloth, “you planning to work for the family empire, or just marry into one that can keep up?”
My hand drops to his. I pry his fingers off. Quietly. Firmly. My nails bite his knuckles.
“As if I’ll tell you,” I whisper, lips curved in a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes.
He grins. “Spicy.”
Of course, he likes that. Of course, he thinks it’s a performance for him.
The main course arrives. The wine keeps flowing. The fathers talk shop.
Margins. Assets. Consolidation.
I might as well be a side dish.
“It’s all about the merger now,” Mr. Jameson says. “We need to find ways to integrate.”
My father raises his glass. “Shared goals. Shared futures.”
Grant’s hand returns. Higher this time. Fingers trailing up my thigh like a silent agreement.
My leg jerks, knocking him off me.
I stand abruptly. “Excuse me.” My voice is tight. “I need the restroom.”
I don’t wait for permission. I walk fast, jetting toward somewhere far from here.
With each step I take, it feels like I can’t breathe.
I reach the powder room, and shove open the door. I’m about to close it, when Lorenzo slips in behind me, and then he closes it behind him.
“Jesus,” I breathe. “You scared the hell out of me.”
He locks the door. Leans against it. His jaw is tight. His eyes burn.
“I saw everything,” he growls.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper, wiping at the corner of my eye even though I’m not crying. Not yet.
He steps forward. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
His hand cups my face.
I close my eyes.
“He touched you like he owned you.”
“He thinks he does.”
Lorenzo’s voice is low, lethal. “He doesn’t.”
