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“Yes,” he admits, squaring his shoulders at me as if his last name could intimidate me.
“I see,” I retort dryly. “I’ve met your father on a few occasions. He seems like an honorable, hardworking man. Pity that I can’t say the same for his offspring. Excuse me. I think it’s time to greet my player and his date.”
I tip back the rest of my whiskey, set to do just that.
But just as I take a few steps towards Wilder and his date, Ethan stops me with his belligerent remark.
“No matter. Why waste my time with someone who has a foot out the door anyway? My time is better spent talking with the man who’ll soon be makingallthe decisions for the Guardians. And there he is now,” the snake beams, pushing past me to walk in Lawrence’s direction.
But right now, Ethan Flynn is the least of my problems.
My heart stops as I watch a slender blonde lay her head on Lawrence’s shoulder while he converses with some of his guests.
And when the fucker dares to shake her head off him, my hands ball into fists.
It’s only when she turns around that my tense muscles relax.
It’s not Piper.
His date is not Piper.
My heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest with the realization.
But if Lawrence is here with this stranger, then where the hell is Piper?
I then remember that Wilder came to this shindig with the one woman who might have a clue as to where she is.
Like a man possessed, I start scanning the large venue, hating the fact that there is more than one room for the festive crowd to congregate and mingle. Thankfully, Wilder is a tall fucker, so his head is easily spotted amongst the well-dressed mob. As I rush towards him, I take a few deep breaths, not wanting to look like a lunatic. When I finally reach Wilder and his date—and after ensuring I’ve got my composure in check—I place my hand on his shoulder to announce my presence.
“Glad to see you here tonight, Wilder,” I greet, the smile on my face feeling all sorts of wrong. “And even more pleased you brought Piper’s friend with you.” I throw the same awkward smile to his date. “It’s Charlotte, correct? How lovely to see you again.”
“Likewise,” she politely replies.
“I must admit, I’m a little stunned to see you here, Wilder. Seems like the tide is turning in your favor, considering you scored an invite to the social event of the season. I’m impressed,” I tell him in earnest since I’d have to be blind not to see the recent effort Wilder has been making to repair his image.
He’s fighting for his position and giving it all he has. That alone tells me he’s a man of substance and integrity. As long as he keeps doing what he’s doing, he’ll go far. I have no doubt about that.
“Thank you, sir,” Wilder replies, looking somewhat uncomfortable with the praise.
Not that I can fault him for it.
I’m not typically one to offer praise freely, shelling out kind words left and right.
Instead, I am more commonly acknowledged as the decisive figure, wielding the gavel on all my players’ hopes and dreams.
Not exactly a role that my players warm to.
But that is neither here nor there.
Piper’s whereabouts is all I’m interested in at the moment.
“If your sports agent was able to get you an invite, I can only say that she’s doing wonders in rehabilitating your image,” I say, preparing my opening. “Is she also in attendance by any chance?” I ask, pretending not to care either way. I scan at the crowd behind him, wondering if she’s here somewhere, and I missed it while throwing my own personal pity party.
“No, she’s not,” Charlotte replies for Wilder.
“How unfortunate.” I frown in disappointment. “Ms. Lee always brings a certain type of flair to these occasions. Please tell her that her absence was felt, Charlotte.”
“I will.”
