Page 105 of Claimed By The Other Brother

I excuse myself and head toward the bar for another drink. As I approach, I glance through the open entryway that leads back to the main dining room. Dax is there, standing near the bar just outside our private space. He's holding a fresh whiskey, and two women are talking to him.

They're not from the company. I don't recognize either of them. One is wearing a tight red dress, her cleavage prominently displayed. She's leaning into Dax's space, laughing at something he said, her hand touching his arm.

Dax looks down at her. At her chest. Then back to her face. Something uncomfortable hits me in the chest. Sharp and hot.

Jealousy? Annoyance?

I grip my champagne glass harder, forcing myself to look away. This is ridiculous. I have no claim on Dax. We're not together. We're barely even friends.

But the image of those women flirting with him, of him looking at that woman's body, stays lodged in my mind.

I turn back to the party, rejoining the group.

The party continues. More food, more drinks, more laughter. I try to stay present, to enjoy the celebration,but I'm distracted. Distracted by Dax's behavior. By the women at the bar. By the champagne making everything feel slightly unsteady.

My phone buzzes in my clutch. I pull it out.Miles calling.

I stare at the screen, debating whether to answer. Finally, I excuse myself and step out into the hallway near the restrooms.

I answer. "Miles."

"Scarlett."His voice is warm, familiar.

"I've been trying to reach you."

"I know. I've been busy."

"Too busy to call me back?"

I lean against the wall, closing my eyes.

"What do you want, Miles?"

"I want to see you. I want to visit. We need to talk."

"We've talked. Multiple times."

"Not enough."He pauses.

"I miss you, Scarlett. I know I messed up, but I'm trying to make it right. Can't you see that?"

"Miles, look. I can't talk right now. I'm at a work event. This isn't—"

"It's never a good time with you anymore."

Frustration flares. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? You've been in New York for months, and you won't let me visit. You barely respond to my messages. It's like you're avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm working. This is a huge client, and I—"

"Always work,"he interrupts.

"It's always about work."

I open my mouth to respond when I hear footsteps.

I look up.