Page 70 of The Agreement


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She throws up her hand. "No, don’t say anything else. You’re my boss. I’m your employee. I’m sorry if I overstepped that line." She tips up her chin. "But as your Communications Manager, I need to warn you that your behavior is in danger of jeopardizing your career."

"That’s right; it’s my career. Andyouare under my protection." I slap my hands on my hips. "I’m responsible for you. If anyone dares put his hand on you, what am I going to tell your brother?"

A look of sheer incredulity sweeps over her features. "You may have promised my brother that you’d look out for me. That doesn’t mean I can’t date or meet other men or—"

"What did you say?" I lower my voice to a hush, and she pales. A shiver grips her.

"I… I…" She swallows. "I said you can’t stop me from dating other men—"

The stabbing sensation in my chest intensifies until it feels like a burning sword has run through me. "Want to try me on that and see what happens?”

"What the—" She shakes her head. "Are you for real? Are you even listening to yourself, you—"

"Everything okay here?" Isla walks into the room. She pauses when she reaches us, then looks between the two of us. "Abby, you okay?"

"Of course." Abby glances away, no doubt, in an attempt to regroup. When she turns to Isla, her features are more composed. She even manages to smile at her. "How is it out there?"

"It’s ugly." Isla winces.

I drag my fingers through my hair. Why is it so difficult for me to find a balance with the press? My relationship with journalists is, at best, tenuous and at worst, a disaster—like the current scenario promises to be.

"I don’t regret what I did." I straighten to my full height.

Abby rounds on me. "See, this is what I don’t get. You had no right butting into that dance. You had no reason to interfere. I was having an innocent dance—"

"Innocent, my ass. You were all over that guy."

"Yeah, it’s called dancing," she explains as if I’m five years old.

Anger flushes my skin. A nerve pops at my temple. Everything in me insists I close the distance to her, then throw her over my shoulder and carry her away from here to a place where no one can see her. No one, except me. And that is crazy. I do not get jealous or possessive about women. I do not act proprietorial over females, and certainly, not over Knight’s little sister. I curl my fingers into fists at my sides, then take a deep breath. "So, what do we do?"

"Nowyou want my help, huh?" Abby scoffs.

"You’re my PR manager, aren’t you? This kind of shit is exactly what I pay you to take care of."

She stiffens and color smears her cheeks. How adorable. She opens her mouth as if to say something to me, then seems to change her mind. She turns to Isla "Videos from the dance floor must already be making the rounds on the internet."

As if to punctuate her words, my phone pings; so does Isla’s.

"Oh no, my phone is in my bag, which I left downstairs," Abby exclaims.

"I have it." A new voice sounds. I turn to find a slender woman walking in with Abby’s handbag.

"Oh, thank you, Ava."

"Amelie had a call from Weston and had to leave but she told me to tell you she’s there for you, if you need anything," Ava murmurs.

Behind her is another woman who throws her arms around Abby. “Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” Abby half-smiles.

The woman steps out of the circle of Abby’s arms and holds out her hand. “I’m Mira, Abby’s friend.”

“Cade.” I shake her hand.

“It’s my fault she danced with the other man; I didn’t give her a choice,” she explains.

“I really don’t need to explain myself to him,” Abby interrupts.

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