No, scratch that. I don’t want tolieto her. Holding her hand has nothing to do with us pretending to date tonight.
Isla Covington does not cower. She’s strong, fearless, and unapologetically herself. I’ll be damned if these people change that about her.
“Two hours,” I whisper as we wait at the front door. “You can do anything for two hours.”
“The saying is about one minute, Davidson.”
“One minute…a hundred and twenty times.”
Isla rolls her eyes. “Not helping.”
“You choose what we do after this,” I say.
She squeezes my hand once. “You’re speaking my language. I’m very much into the idea of ordering you around.”
The door swings open before I can fully process the impact of that statement, which is probably for the best considering where we’re headed. But I will pick up on that thread of conversation later.
A man in a crisp black suit stands in the doorway, blond hair slicked back and plastered to his head. He’s a couple of inches shorter than my six feet, about the same height differential that exists between Brooks and me. This guy appears nothing like me—all sharp edges and an air of superiority.
This must be the jackass ex who can’t accept that he lost Isla. I look forward to making his life hell tonight.
Chapter 19
Isla
MyhandtightensaroundWes’s, and not for the first time tonight, I’m grateful he’s standing beside me.
He squeezes back like he knows I need the protection that comes along with holding his hand. If we were anywhere else, I’d need a few minutes to process this turn of events, how we went from bickering in a parking lot six weeks ago to having each other’s backs when it matters most.
“Chip,” I grit out in lieu of greeting. I can’t stand the sight of him, not after he destroyed our relationship with his selfishness and exacerbated the rift in my family.
Chip slips his hands into his black pants, the same ones he wore to work every day when we were married. I’m not surprised that he’s wearing them now. He wants so desperately to be like my father. “Hello, Isla.”
Silence descends as we face off in a contest of who will cave first. This polite facade will drop; it always does. I refuse to give him a second of pleasantness.
After thirty seconds, Wes’s cool voice breaks the quiet. “Are you going to make us stand out here all night?”
“Who’s this guy?” Chip asks me, altogether ignoring that Wes can hear him.
My lips slip into a half-smile as I sidestep toward Wes. He lifts his arm, inviting me closer, before he slings it around my shoulders. My side melds into his. The strength of him pressed against me causes my stomach to dip. It feelsrighthaving him touch me like this, like I belong beside him.
“Wes Davidson,” I answer.
“Her boyfriend,” Wes adds with an immediacy that shocks me.Is he enjoying rubbing our fake relationship in Chip’s face as much as I am?
Chip’s expression falls at the news that I brought a date tonight, and I couldn’t be happier. Before I ended our relationship, I believed that he wanted me to give him another chance because he loved me. But now, I think he just wants to win and please my father.
“Boyfriend.” The word stumbles from Chip’s mouth, but he tries to cover it by shifting the attention elsewhere. Unsurprisingly, the shift comes at my expense. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re moving on that quickly. Always were fast, weren’t you, Isla?”
Wes’s grip on my hand tightens as red flashes behind my eyes.This fucking bastard. I was hiswifefor five years.
I school my features into boredom, not wanting him to know how deep that comment hit. I fake a gasp, apparently so convincing that Wes takes a step as if he might intervene.
“Not with you,” I state, voice coated in fake sugar. “Idoremember how fast you were with me, though. Minute, minute and a half?”
Brooks groans. “Jesus Christ, Isla.”
“That’s a damn lie,” Chip snarls.
