With them distracted, I tug Jack off to the side and lower my voice. “What is going on with you?”
He crosses his arms. “What do you mean?”
“I mean is everything okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” The belligerence in his tone makes me flinch.
“I meant at work.” His response is a blank stare, so I clarify. “Whatever kept you late?”
He lets out a beleaguered groan. “Great, here we go. Are you going to nag me about being late now? I’m here, aren’t I?”
Over Jack’s shoulder, I lock eyes with Gabriel, who’s monitoring our exchange with a frown. I shake my head slightly: Stand down.
“Have you been drinking?” I ask in a hushed voice. It’s the only way I can explain his erratic behavior.
“No, though I see you’ve started without me,” Jack responds at full volume, nodding at my wineglass. “Guess I need to catch up. But I’m sure you already have a drink waiting for me, right babe? Or is that one for me?”
Before I can react, Jack’s grabbed the glass from my hand and drained its contents in one stiff swallow. The others have stopped talking and are openly gawking now, watching the scene unfold like the train wreck it is. Daniela’s glaring at him like she’d like to massage him with some barbed wire.
He sees her face and laughs, holding up his hands defensively. “It’s okay, this is just one of Cassidy’s rules for dating. She likes to always have a drink ready and waiting for me at the end of the day. It’s one of my favorite things about her, how devoted she is to taking care of her man.” He grins down at me, his eyes cunning and sharp, and something pricks at my subconscious. “She even cooks for me! Talk about every man’s dream, amirite guys?”
The men laugh nervously, shuffling their feet and casting uneasy glances at their significant others, most of whom have steel in their spines and daggers in their eyes. But I can’t worry about their reactions for long because I’m too busy having an epiphany of my own:
He knows.
I’m as certain of it as I am that his eyes are blue—and it’s those same eyes that ultimately give him away. The look he just cast me—the devious gleam and focused intensity, the antagonism and steely resolve—is the very same one he wore the night we met. We’re back in that bar and at each other’s throats in a ruthless battle of the sexes, only this time, one of us won’t make it out alive. It’s a fight to the death and Jack’s just thrown down the gauntlet. Honestly, I’m surprised it took me this long to figure it out.
Sabotage. That’s what tonight’s been all about. I have no idea how he figured it out or how long he’s known, but he’s obviously been planning this—and it’s not like he’s trying to hide it. Indeed, as awareness dawns and the diabolical motives behind his antics sink in, Jack’s villainous smile only burns brighter, as though pleased that I’ve finally caught up. He wants a willing and worthy adversary because where’s the fun in besting someone who’s oblivious to the fight? No, he intends to embarrass me, and he wants me to watch. He wants me to preside over my own defeat, thrashing and flailing on my way down. It’s payback time, and if he has his way, I will pay dearly.
Welp, be careful what you wish for, Jack. If a fight is what he wants, then he’s about to get one. Two can play at this game, and he’s overlooking something crucial: I’ve had a weeks-long head start at acting like I’m a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
I tuck myself against his side and gaze up at him adoringly, splaying my palm on his chest possessively. “Oh no, sweetie—you’re the one who’s a dream.” I tug lightly on his tie and imagine choking him with it. “I often think, how is it fair that one man can be so handsome and smart and funny, all while doing such important, admirable work—oh wait.” I snap my fingers. “Scratch that last part. Oh well, can’t have it all, can we, ladies?”
His smile tightens, jaw flexing, and I can practically hear the enamel grinding off his clenched teeth. We’re nose to nose now, his narrowed eyes locked on mine and pinning me in place—twin blue flames that singe my skin.
Behind me, I hear Kara lean over to Jordan. “Is this some weird form of foreplay? Because I don’t get it.”
Cody clears his throat. “So did you two meet through work, then?” God bless this guy for trying to salvage this social interaction from the jaws of hell. We are thisclose to storming the stage and scream-singing “You’re So Vain.”
“We sure did,” Jack says, brimming with phony pride, and I’ve got to hand it to him—his “devoted boyfriend” act is convincing. “And it’s been such a blessing to be in a relationship where my partner understands the unique stressors of the industry. Working in media is crazy, as you can imagine, but Cassidy is so supportive,” he says dotingly, and I brace myself for whatever grenade he’s about to pull the pin on. “Our work even crosses over from time to time. Of course, Brawler isn’t much for fashion and diet tips,” he says with a condescending, good-ol’-boys chuckle, and my blood blasts from simmering to a full boil.
I bring the heel of my stiletto down very deliberately on his foot and am gratified by his wince. “But if you’re looking for fratire or dick-lit, he’s your man!” I boop him playfully on the nose.
His eyes are razors, slicing me to ribbons. “Speaking of fashion tips, that dress is a little revealing, don’t you think?”
I rear back like I’ve been slapped. How dare he insult the dress! Now he’s gone too far. I’m about to charge him like a bull when Nat cuts me off at the pass. “I’m sorry, revealing?”
He looks me up and down, making a show of his appraisal. “Just seems like she’s advertising something that’s not for sale.”
Nat stares at him unblinkingly, and I genuinely fear for his life. With Nat, silence is impending violence. If looks could kill, Jack would be wearing a toe tag. “Her dress is gorgeous, just like her.” Her voice is hypothermic.
“I agree,” Gabriel says flatly, arms crossed. He’s a bouncer ready to toss Jack out of here headfirst, Fresh Prince of Bel-Air–style. He may even throw in an Oscars-esque sucker punch for good measure.
A uniformed server passes by with a platter of hors d’oeuvres and I snatch a few off the tray, barely identifying what they are before cramming them down my throat. Apparently, psychological warfare works up the appetite. Jack gives me a patronizing smirk and I can practically hear the next degrading insult trip off his tongue: You sure you want to eat that? A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips! To beat him to the punch, I take my next bite in slow motion, moaning in pleasure with some excessively suggestive Mmm’s. He has to cover his mouth with a hand, and I nearly had him there.
He clears his throat, attempting to recover. “Cassidy is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that,” he says with tenderness, his eyes briefly softening, and for a moment I wonder if he’s going to call a cease-fire—but when they sharpen again, I know he’s about to deliver the knockout blow. “Of course, if you think she looks good now, you should see her in an apron.”