Page 104 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"You made it!"

I join her near the bar where several people are gathered. Brad hands me a glass of champagne.

"To the woman who saved our asses," he says, raising his glass.

I laugh. "I didn't save anything. This was a team effort."

"Don't be modest," Daniel says, appearing beside me.

"Your strategy was brilliant. We all know it."

"I appreciate that, but really—"

"Just take the compliment," Mike interrupts with a grin.

"You earned it."

I sip my champagne, warmth spreading through me. The room is buzzing with energy, people laughing and talking, plates of food being passed around. I glance around the room, looking for Dax. I don't see him at first.

Then I do.

He's across the room, leaning against the wall near the windows, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes are fixed on me—not just looking. Staring. With an intensity that makes my skin prickle. I turn back to theconversation, but I can feel his gaze like a physical touch.

Brad is telling some story about a disastrous client meeting, and I force myself to focus, laughing at the right moments, contributing when appropriate. But then Dax is there. He walks up to our group, not looking at me, and addresses Brad directly.

"How's the digital campaign performing?"

Brad blinks, slightly thrown by the interruption.

"Good. Strong engagement across platforms."

"Numbers?" Dax asks.

"Up fifteen percent from last quarter."

"Good." Dax glances at Daniel.

"And the media outreach?"

Daniel responds, and the conversation shifts to work talk. Dax participates, asking questions, making comments. But he doesn't look at me. Doesn't acknowledge I'm standing right here. It's passive-aggressive and obvious, and it sets my teeth on edge.

After a few minutes, someone calls Dax away to talk to Karen. He leaves without a word to me.

"That was weird," Mike mutters.

I don't respond, just take another sip of champagne.

Twenty minutes later, it happens again. I'm talking to John about his weekend plans when Dax appears, inserting himself into the conversation with questions about analytics and performance metrics.

Again, he doesn't look at me. Again, he leaves without acknowledging my presence.

The third time, I'm ready to say something. Butbefore I can, Emma pulls him away for an introduction to someone.

"Is he okay?" Melanie asks quietly, appearing at my elbow.

"No idea," I say, keeping my voice light.

But I'm frustrated. Annoyed.What is he doing?