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“Did you figure paying my bills would make up for your sins?” she demanded.
Dillon gaped at her. “I—”
“I don’t need your money, Mr. Big Shot. I can do whatever I need to do for my store myself. It’ll succeed or I’ll die trying. I didn’t want you to help prop up my business. I wanted you for you.”
His head and stomach churned in tandem. Only half of what she’d said made sense to his addled brain. Why had he chosen last night to get drunk when he needed his faculties more than ever?
All he had left to give her was the truth. He’d get the words out even if they choked him.
And with the way his throat kept locking up, they just might.
“Nothing I did was for show. What you saw is who I am.” He ignored her derisive snort. “I wanted to help you, but not because I didn’t think you could do it on your own. I knew you could.”
“You really think I trust your supposed faith in me when all you’ve done is lie?” Her beautiful eyes sheened and his gut twisted. “Give me one reason to believe you.”
Because I love you.
He opened his mouth, the words right there. This was it. He was going to lay it all on the line. But before he could speak, Alexa muttered a curse and twisted the knife in his gut once more.
“Your money can buy a lot of things, but it can’t buy me.”
Chapter Eleven
Goddamn bastard.
Alexa flexed her hand and stared straight ahead until her dry eyes screamed for relief. But there was none to be found tonight.
Other women probably would’ve slapped him and left. She’d planned on doing some version of that but when she’d seen not one, but two different gorgeous women glide up to Dillon before she’d even made it out the door, she’d changed her mind.
She wasn’t keeping an eye on him. That would be ridiculous. No, she just wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of ducking out early as if she was too brokenhearted to stay.
There were other benefits to staying besides proving that her will hadn’t been broken by the mighty Santangelo/James brothers. She wanted to see the so-not-a-handyman in action. Schmoozing with his fellow benefactors, rubbing elbows with his snooty family. Although Dillon’s mom and dad weren’t snooty at all, truthfully. Cory probably stole all the stuck-up genes and hoarded them for himself. Seemed like something he would do.
It wasn’t all bad. She ended up at a table with two lovely older couples who included her in the conversation and seemed quite interested in her store. Both of the women mentioned stopping by the following week. And even a picky eater like her couldn’t fault the selection of the dinner buffet. She went for seconds of her chicken piccata, and had a thick wedge of lemon meringue pie for dessert.
Though that might just have been to spite Dillon, who tried repeatedly to speak to her. She hadn’t told him to go to hell again, but she reserved the right to change her mind.
The last time he’d crouched next to her table and told her in an urgent voice that she needed to give him a chance, that he’d never meant for “things” to go so far. His face might as well have been set on stun for its effect on her traitorous body.
His golden skin gleamed under the lights and his black tux wrapped sensuously around every rise and ripple of muscle. The few times she’d caught his eye, he’d stared at her as if he wanted nothing more than to get her alone. Worse, her traitorous body wanted to let him. Coming to the benefit at all had not been the smartest move on that score.
She fought a sigh. It just wasn’t fair.
The unfairness multiplied when they started the award portion of the evening. Dillon’s mother got the first one, then it was two board members’ turns. She applauded them all, because it was a great charity and the house she and Dillon had, ahem, visited the other night proved how much good Helping Hands was doing in the community.
How much good he was doing.
But when Dillon got the biggest award of all, practically a damn trophy, for all his many hours of service, she couldn’t look away fast enough. Even so, she still saw the embarrassment he shouldered as he strode on stage.
He kept his speech mercifully brief. Too brief, it turned out, since that meant the guests could again wander around. What wandered her way only sent her further into her rage spiral, via emotional purgatory.
“You should’ve sat at our table. We have beignets.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You have a lot of nerve.”
“Indeed. It’s an asset in business.” With a smile unnervingly close to Dillon’s—how had she not noticed before?—Cory sat in the empty seat beside her. The dancing portion of the evening had begun, and most of the couples were swarming the dance floor. There weren’t too many singles at the gala, and those who were there looked about as merry as she did.
“You look like you just fought three rounds and lost in a TKO.”
