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He looked at Ophelia and she nodded. “She’ll be livid.”
“I can dance. I’ll escort you,” Jackson said.
“You can dance?” Katie responded in a hopeful voice.
“He can,” Logan said.
“I took ballroom dancing lessons to help with my basketball footwork. All those intricate moves have made me faster and more graceful on the court. I went from third scorer to top. It was awesome and a lot of fun.”
“I have to say, he’s good at it, too,” Logan said with a chuckle.
“A veritable twinkle toes.” Kurrie snorted.
Katie wiped at her eyes. “You are saving my life,” she gushed as only a teenaged girl can. “You’ll need a tux.”
Jackson turned to look at his brother. Logan nodded. “We can get him a tux.”
“Thank God.” Katie turned her big blue eyes on Ophelia. “Can you come tonight? I would feel so much better if you were there. You can bring Dean.” She turned to look at him and gave him one of her best pretty-please looks.
He met Ophelia’s eyes and smiled. “Sure. I think we can make time for a gala. Right, babe?”
“Pushover,” she murmured.
“Please, Ophelia.” Katie turned the full force of her adorable stare on her.
She sighed. “All right. We’ll go. You two better go get tuxes, and I’ll have to go home and find an appropriate dress in my closet.” She told Katie to text her the information and they would meet them there with Jackson.
In between the frantic push to get ready for the ball, Ophelia filled in her boss via speakerphone. He told her to keep up the good work and disconnected the call.
She wasn’t going to downplay this night. Nervous about Dean being in the same proximity as her mother and father, she was determined to keep everything cordial for Katie’s sake.
But her insecurity and indecision rushed back at her. She could only hope her mother cared more about appearances than she did about seeing her daughter on Dean’s arm.
* * *
O had texted him the information and let him know that she was running behind and she would meet him there. Here, in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel, was where the gala was happening. He was in the ballroom, festooned with white everything—flowers, tablecloths, waitstaff, and twinkling white lights. The young girls with their black tuxedoed escorts were also dressed in white.
Jackson stood next to him, so poised and elegant. The kid didn’t seem nervous at all. Dean leaned over and said, “How you holding up?”
“Okay. This is something, huh?”
Dean nodded. He glanced around the room, impressed with the way Logan’s little brother took everything in stride. The wealth was overwhelming. Uncomfortable in the tuxedo, he listened to conversations, picking up details about the stock market, golf, and business.
“Your brother goes by Bullet,” Dean said when he got bored of eavesdropping. “Do you have a street name, too?”
“Rocker.” Jackson shrugged. “I sing and had a band. Don’t do much of that anymore since my parents died.”
“I’m sorry about your mom and dad.”
Jackson nodded.
There was a break in the general conversation, a sudden disturbance in the force. He glanced, then followed the attention of everyone’s gaze.
“Wow,” Jackson said.
Like most of the men in the room with blood in their veins, it rushed to his groin. He stepped forward. Her dark mahogany hair spilled down her back, barely caught in some jewel at her crown. But it was her dress that had every man’s attention.
It was her alone that had his. Gone was the biker chick with anger in her eyes. The gown was no more than a plunging drape of something silky and blush, showing off her tan, her muscles, and a tight ass that made him muffle a groan.
