Page 29 of The False Flat

“They’re really good.” Deanna, elbows on table, was mesmerized like everyone else.

“How come we’ve never seen them do this?” Mere slapped Deanna’s arm, and Deanna shook her head and shrugged.

The song ended, and the four dancers returned to the table, but not before Chad had bowed to the other three.

“The victors,” Chad admitted as they returned to the table. “But I didn’t have backup dancers, so it wasn’t a fair fight.”

Conner laughed. “You held your own, man!”

Everyone was laughing, except Chad, who kept the same grin plastered on his face.

He leaned down until his clenched teeth were next to my ear. “Let’s go.”

I stood, grabbing my jacket without protest. His tone suggested he was barely holding it together, and I couldn’t take another scene.

“You guys leaving already?” Grant looked between the two of us. “Had enough, have you?”

I closed my eyes and swallowed, hoping Chad could keep that grin on his face until we made it to the door.

“Of some things.” Chad stared at Grant. “But really, I want this girl to myself. I’ve only got the weekend to convince her to come back to Minnesota with me.” He winked. “It’s been a pleasure.” He started toward the door.

“Are you thinking of moving back, Pen?” Deanna looked like she’d been slapped, which touched me.

“No. At least, I don’t think so. Can we talk about it later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

I wanted to sit back down, but Chad was already a good distance away from me.

“I’m sorry to cut the evening short. It’s been great meeting you all.”

“Girl, this is the beginning. You’re all right,” Keyondra said.

Everyone else said their goodbyes, but Grant wouldn’t make eye contact. He held on to Elaine’s hand. I tried not to let his snub bother me, or better yet, I wouldn’t acknowledge that it was a snub as Chad opened the saloon doors, and the country music swallowed us on the sidewalk of Second Avenue.

CHAPTER 12

THREE WORDS: HOUSTON FREAKING MCGREGOR

Midnight. That’s when Erin finally called. I got out of bed so I wouldn’t wake Chad, but he’d had so much to drink that starting drum lessons beside his pillow probably wouldn’t have roused him.

I was angry with him, but that didn’t matter right now. I needed to hear what Erin had to say.

I’d cycled through all kinds of possibilities, from Houston in a sex-trafficking ring, handcuffed, his no-longer-smug face above the newspaper article that said his clients would be transferred to independent financial planner Pen Auberge, all the way to Houston guaranteeing Chad’s dad better financial returns, an impossible promise.

“Sorry for the delay,” Erin said. “My boyfriend just broke up with me.”

Uh. How to respond?

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” For me, this wasn’t a huge deal. But for normal people, breakups weren’t necessarily par for the course.

“Honestly, it’s fine. It’s going to be a little weird living with him until I get my own place, but . . .” She inhaled. “Don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll cry if I do.” She sighed. “I want to tell you about Houston instead.”

I was downstairs now, pacing in my still-empty living room.

“So, you remember the Fletchers. Ugh! Of course you remember them. They’re why you left Twin Cities. I’m sorry. I’m tired and angry—so, so angry. And I did something. I could really get into trouble, and I need this job, and . . .”

“Erin.” I forced patience into her name. “Take a second and calm down. There’s no pressure. No rush.” There absolutely was pressure, definitely a rush.