Page 4 of Have To Be Mine

And dammit, I hate that I felt flattered. Seen.

As prepared as I thought I was, I hadn’t fully accounted for how hot he would be in person. It was cruel that one man could be that sexy. Dash exuded charisma. Every look and smile was a promise of pleasure. There was no woman in the place that was immune to his charms—except his sisters-in-law. I watched them with him. It was clear they loved him, but they all had eyes for their men and their men only.

I didn’t blame them. The Blackwell brothers won the gene pool lottery. Weirdly enough, from my observations, they didn’t seem arrogant about it. Like they just accepted they were born that way and that was that.

Dash definitely knew he was attractive. The way he moved through the crowd with the confidence of a man that never had to doubt he was the hottest man in the room. But he was also very friendly. He ogled the women, but not in an ugly way. It was flattering. Even the older ladies practically swooned under his gaze. Earlier in the evening, I’d watched him dance with a ninety-two-year-old woman in a pink tweed dress with pearl earrings the size of Barbie heads dangling from her earlobes. She’d shimmied right up close and said something that made him howl with laughter. Every woman on the dance floor noticed.

How could they not?

Presently, he had his hand in the small of a woman’s back, guiding her through the crowd and onto the dance floor. He caught her hand in his, twirled her effortlessly back to him in a way that seemed to catch her off guard, and then dipped her low. When she let her head fall back, he shamelessly looked down his nose right into her cleavage. When he drew her back up, he tucked her hair behind her ear, gently removed a strand that clung to her lip gloss, and hit her with a smile that matched his name. Dashing.

Technically it was short for Dashiell, but it fit nonetheless.

I shifted my position to the far end of the bar and kept my eyes on him over the rim of my glass. He was impulsive. I’d clocked that within the first hour, long before he noticed me. There didn’t appear to be a lot of thought before he moved or smiled at a woman.

In his defense, he was disastrously good-looking. His brothers were handsome but Dash had a shine to him that set him apart. His face was a fucking weapon. The jaw. The way his hair fell that looked accidental but was absolutely intentional.

The woman dancing with him must have felt the same way because she was breathless, giggly, and totally clumsy trying to follow his lead, and he seemed to enjoy being in control and making her flustered.

I’d built a career on making impossible operations look easy, first in uniform and now through my own firm. High-stakes clients, complex moving parts, zero margin for error. My record was perfect. If there was ever a client that would present a challenge, I was looking at it.

I loved a good challenge.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to bring up a special guest tonight,” the lead singer of the band declared. “Elicia Jean is currently on tour, but as a special gift to the bride and groom, she’d like to dedicate a song to them.”

Everyone in the ballroom turned toward the stage. Curious whispers filled the air.

A woman stepped up and took the microphone. She was around my age with dark hair twisted up and a sparkly blue gown. I didn’t know her, but that wasn’t a surprise. I listened to old songs, and I had basically given up trying to keep up with new music. From the reactions of the people around me, the woman on stage was a big deal.

She opened with the first few bars of something I recognized immediately. Your Song, the old Elton John standard, arranged down to almost nothing, just piano and her voice. The lighting dimmed to a soft spotlight on the newly married couple, who made their way to the dance floor, where the crowd had pulled back to make space for them.

I stood at the edge of the ballroom and let the first swell of Elicia Jean’s voice wash over me. Her voice was the kind that got inside your chest. Her tone was immaculate. She sang from her soul.

The loving couple at the center of the dance floor were completely absorbed in each other. They swayed without appearing to move at all. The old familiar ache bloomed in my chest.

I’d had a voice like that once. Not like hers. I was never going to claim that, but I had something. I watched the singer close her eyes on the bridge, and I felt the moment she became one with the song. It was a feeling I knew too well, even if it had been ages since I’d felt it myself.

That could have been me.

I cleared my throat and shook my head, dispelling the hold the song had on me.

But nope.

The universe went ahead and fucked me, and now instead of singing, I’m tailing billionaire fuckboys.

Which reminds me…

I picked up my martini and relocated to a new position where I could watch Dash stare at the singer. Was he going to make a move on her next? She didn’t really seem his type, but the woman had the voice of an angel.

The song ended and applause burst from the crowd. Sebastian and Bernadette turned, the bride with tears in her eyes, the groom offering Elicia a chivalrous bow of gratitude before straightening, holding his new wife’s face in his hands, and kissing her silly.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I’m not bitter. I have a good life. I make a good living. Singing was never my destiny.

I’d knocked down barriers and left that girl behind. I was a capable, independent, successful, merciless logistics specialist. I got shit done. I helped people. There was plenty of satisfaction in that.

I checked my watch. Eleven forty-seven. I’d been here six hours, the total duration of my initial-contact contract. With zero desire to watch Dash Blackwell choose the woman he’d be taking back to his room for the night, it was an easy choice to call it a night. My feet were begging to be free of the torture devices that were heels. I had to look the part to attend the wedding and that meant stuffing my feet into these overpriced toe smashers.

I slipped out through the side corridor at exactly midnight and texted my driver. The air was heavy, promising a summer storm rolling in soon. I stepped out front and found the black limo already waiting at the curb as the first raindrops began to fall.