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"Well, this party is for a good cause and I'm one of their biggest fundraisers this year, so we're going," she says.
"What cause?"
"The Hope House Project. They provide housing for abused women and children. They have emergency shelters in Nashville, Knoxville, and Memphis."
"I'm familiar," I murmur, softening. If she wants to go, I won't tell her no. How the fuck can I when I'm pretty sure she could lead me into hell, and I'd follow with a smile on my face? Fundraisers and parties are the second closest thing to hell as far as I'm concerned, but they're part of her job. It's obvious this one means a lot to her. If she needs to be there, she'll be there. And I'll be standing at her side, supporting and protecting her while she helps the people who need it most.
"Go on and get your hair and makeup done, beautiful. I'll wait out here."
"Okay, but you're going to be waiting a while. It's going to take a miracle to deal with this hair."
"Makenzie." I wait until she looks at me to say anything else. "If you think you need anything to be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, you're wrong. You could go wrapped in a potato sack with your hair exactly like that, and you'd still have every man there wishing they were the lucky motherfucker taking you home."
Her expression softens, her lips parting.
"You're gorgeous exactly like you are. Every goddamn minute of the day."
She bobs her head, her expression full of some soft emotion I'm not sure I know how to name. Adoration? Devotion? The first inklings of love? I'm not sure, but it looks good there. Especially when she's looking at me.
"Get inside, baby. I'll be out here."
"Yes, sir," she says, putting that smart-ass attitude back together like armor.
I've got her number now, though. I know exactly what beats beneath it and why she guards it so fiercely. And there isn't a single part of that soft heart I haven't fallen in love with.
I watch carefully as she dashes inside the little salon, glancing over her shoulder at me before she disappears inside. As soon as she's over the threshold, I dial Madden's number.
"If you're calling to warn me that Taggert is on a rampage, I already know," he says by way of answer. "I've been on the phone with my PI all morning. If he follows through on his threats to press charges, I'll bury him."
My brows climb. "He's threatening to have me arrested?"
"You didn't know?"
"First I've heard of it."
"Ah, well. I guess I have bad news for you then," he says, earning a chuckle from me.
"Tell him to bring it on." I'm not afraid of the piece of shit. I'm not afraid of being arrested for what I said to him yesterday, either. If he wants to play that game, I'll lay all his shit bare in a courtroom. He can explain to a judge and jury exactly how he's been harassing Makenzie for the last year, following her home, threatening her. The son of a bitch put his hands on her.
He won't take that risk, though. We both know he doesn't want that smoke. He's just talking out of his ass because I embarrassed him. All people like him can do when men like me show up is talk. The only thing a bully hates worse than being called on their shit is someone who won't play their games.
"He's saying you threatened to kill him," Madden says.
"Of course he is," I snort, not in the least surprised. He's about as trustworthy as he is decent. "I didn't threaten to kill him. I threatened to feed him his own dick."
Madden's laughter booms down the line.
"Had I known he put his hands on Makenzie, I'd have done more than threatened his sorry ass," I growl. "You left that detail out, Banks."
"Hold the fuck on. He put his goddamn hands on her?"
"Grabbed her by the wrist the day he followed her home."
"That sorry motherfucker," Madden growls.
"You didn't know."
"She left that part out."
