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“Oh, honey.” She carefully curls her arms around me for a loose hug that won’t crush my dress. “Logan’s a strong man. I don’t see him gettin’ too bothered about that stuff.”
“I know. He didn’t say he was upset.”
“Of course not.”
Someone knocks on the door. Cindy runs to answer and gasps in surprise. “Dawson!”
“Evening. Is our girl ready?”
“I’m ready.” I rush over, holding my dress up so I don’t trip over it.
“I’m heading out,” Cindy says, grabbing her gear.
I air kiss her cheek and promise to give her all the details later.
“You look lovely,” Dawson says, briefly sweeping his gaze over me. “I think this will match, too.”
He hands over a wide black velvet box.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Inside, a glittering choker of what I assume are diamonds sparkle up at me. “Whoa,” I breathe out.
I glance up, meeting his eyes. “I can’t accept this from you, Dawson.”
His lips quirk. “It’s a loaner, darlin’.”
My cheeks warm. Duh, of course he’s not giving me jewelry that probably costs more money than I can count.
“Well, I promised your man I’d keep you safe tonight, and this came free with the necklace.” Dawson jerks his thumb over his shoulder and I finally notice the stiff, muscular guy in a suit standing behind Dawson. “To make sure we don’t steal the diamonds,” Dawson whispers in a voice loud enough to carry into the corridor.
The guard doesn’t move a muscle.
“He’s like one of those guards at Buckingham Palace. Never smiles.” Dawson winks at me. “Or speaks.”
“Be nice.” I swat at him.
“Come on.” Dawson snaps his fingers. “Help her put it on, James.”
“Hi, James,” I say as he approaches.
“Evening, Shelby.”
“So, you do speak!” Dawson says.
James rolls his eyes as he takes the box out of my hands. Seems Dawson’s the problem, not James’ sense of humor. This should be a fun night.
I turn around and he slips the necklace around my throat, snapping the clasp tight. “Tell me, James, if someone tries to kidnap me, are you gonna go after me or the necklace?”
I turn around and face him.
“You,” he answers.
“What a relief.”
“As long as you’re still attached to the necklace, of course.”
I burst into giggles, releasing the tension that’s built up all afternoon. “Great. That’s perfect.”
In the limo, James returns to his silent robot act. I consider asking if he plans to follow me into the bathroom tonight, but, afraid I might not like the answer, I keep my mouth shut.
“You nervous, sweetheart?” Dawson asks, passing me a glass of champagne.
I hold the glass, studying the golden bubbles. “Last time I drank, it didn’t go so well.”
He scoffs. “Tell me about it.”
“Thanks for not…holding that against Logan.”
His eyes widen. “Ain’t Logan’s fault. Meant what I said the mornin’ after.”
“Well, thank you. And thanks for agreeing to this tonight. I know Miranda forced—”
“Shelby, Miranda didn’t force anything on me.”
“I’m sure you had someone else you’d rather have on your arm.”
He stares out the window. “Not really.”
The limo rolls to a stop, mercifully ending our awkward conversation.
“You ready, darlin’?” Dawson asks.
“I don’t think so.” My mouth trembles into a shaky smile.
He steps out first and offers his hand to help me down. “Thank you.”
“Dawson! Dawson!” photographers shout from different directions.
“How do you wanna do this?” Dawson asks.
My nervous eyes meet his calm ones. “Don’t leave me.” I want to kick myself for saying something so ridiculous but I’m suddenly terrified. Of the crowd. Of the photographers. Interviewers. Random fans. All of it overwhelms me at once.
He presses his hand to my back and steps onto the red carpet, pushing me along, yet somehow keeping his distance. We stop and smile for a few photos.
He leans down. “Can’t lie, I’d rather not have any photos taken of us with my hands on you. Your boyfriend’s fully capable of chopping them off and beating me to death with ‘em.”
That finally cracks me up, chasing away my nerves.
“I ain’t kiddin’, darlin’.”
“Dawson! Dawson! Are you and Shelby dating?”
“No, sir. Shelby’s a good friend,” Dawson answers smoothly. “That’s all.”
“Shelby! Are you sleeping with Dawson?” someone else shouts.
Why do I get the rude questions?
“Don’t answer that asshole,” Dawson growls, turning us away from the cameras so we can continue to the next stop.
A short woman in a tight, shiny ice-blue gown stops short in front of me. I bang into her before I can catch myself.
“Oh! I’m sorry.”
Next to me, Dawson mutters, “Motherfucker,” under his breath.
It’s the only warning I have before Glenna Wilson turns around. Her eyes widen and she lets out a startled gasp.
Too stunned to feel anything I just blink and stare at my sworn enemy.
She recovers from her shock quickly, easing into a haughty pose of indifference.
“Dawson,” she greets.
When he doesn’t bother to answer, she settles her gaze on me. Her big blue eyes examine me for so long, sweat drips down my back.
