Chase goes bug-eyed. “Neil Waltham, as in CFO of Cohen Property Group? The largest owner of outlet malls in the country? He’s here?”
When Jack nods in the affirmative, Chase looks a bit sheepish. “Could you . . . point him out?”
“I’ll do you one better. Want an introduction? Neil and I go way back.”
I watch the exchange in mounting disbelief, simultaneously appalled and impressed by how effortlessly this guy’s managed to turn Chase into a pawn on his chessboard.
“Uh, yeah, if you’re offering,” Chase says eagerly, barely glancing at me, the now-forgotten footnote in their conversation. Really, Chase? I nearly ruptured my spleen for you!
Jack lightly cups my elbow and I startle.
“I’ll be right back.” He says it in the casual, just checking in tone of a significant other, and when I gape back at him, he shoots me a nearly imperceptible wink.
I take a generous gulp of wine as I watch their retreating backs and attempt to unscramble my conflicting feelings about this guy. His arrogance is completely obnoxious, that much is for sure. And yet, the ease with which he dispatched Chase was . . . pretty hot, if I’m being honest. I don’t know whether I’m offended or turned on. Before I can decide, Jack’s back at my side, his smirk somehow even cockier than before.
“Well, that was . . . something.”
“Thank you,” he replies seriously, like it was a compliment.
I eye him over the rim of my glass. “So what’s your game?”
“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“You make a habit of running off perfectly nice guys?”
He considers the question. “How many’s a habit?”
I let out a puff of air. “What if I liked him?”
“Come on, that guy? Really?”
We both swivel to look across the room at Chase, who’s now talking the ear off a bored-looking older man. I think of a puppy wagging its tail.
“I am a little insulted by how quickly he gave up on me,” I admit.
“And after that stage dive you took, too. So much wasted effort.” He tsks.
“I fell,” I groan in exasperation, then move to leave. “You know what, forget it.”
He grabs my elbow to stop me, laughing as he holds his hands up in surrender. “I was just messing with you. Anyway, I did you a favor. You don’t want a guy who’s that easily manipulated.”
I wonder how many times this guy’s been slapped. “And I suppose you know what I want? You don’t even know my name.”
“Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.” He clinks his glass against mine in cheers. “I’m Jack.”
I eye him suspiciously, and he grins in a way that tells me unequivocally: I’m used to charming my way out of every sticky situation. The question is, will I let him off the hook?
My internal battle seems to amuse him. “This is the part where you tell me your name. Or you don’t, in which case I’ll definitely think you were trying to pick his pocket.”
I roll my eyes, but his challenge has the intended effect. “Cassidy.”
“Cassidy.” His eyes dance and I see they’re a deep blue, sharp and intense and sparked with intelligence. “Nice to meet you.”
“I’d say ‘likewise,’ but the jury’s out on you.”
He throws his head back and laughs, the rich sound washing over me, fermenting in my bloodstream. There’s something intoxicating about this guy that I can’t quite put my finger on. I want to like him, despite my gut sending up warning flares.
“Guess I’ll have to work on changing your mind,” he says, smiling like he’s harboring a secret. “So what brings you here tonight, Cassidy?” He takes a swig of his drink, though his eyes don’t stray from my face.
“Isn’t it obvious? The free men’s cologne.”
He laughs again and I award myself another flirt-point.
“I’m covering this event for work. Though our readers are a little more interested in Eric’s love life than how he smells,” I confess.
“Ah, of course.”
“So what do you think, is their relationship real or for the cameras?”
He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Why would Eric Jessup need to fake a relationship for the cameras?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because he could use an image overhaul? Maybe he’s not getting the family-friendly endorsement deals he was hoping for.”
He snorts. “He made twenty million a year for more than a decade. Pretty sure his bank account is just fine.”
“Then why’s he shilling cologne?” I counter.
He shrugs. “They’re paying him millions to slap his name on something and make a couple of appearances. I’d take the money and run, too.”
“So you believe he’s been carrying a torch for his high school girlfriend for the last fifteen years? Sorry, I’m just not buying it.”
“What’s so hard to believe about that? Maybe he never got over her. Maybe she’s the one that got away.” His eyes glimmer in the dim light and I know he’s enjoying our sparring.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure he was crying himself to sleep every night while his supermodel of the week slept beside him.”
He shakes his head sadly. “So cynical. And here I thought women were the ones who wanted to believe in the fairy tale.”
“Remind me again, which fairy tale was it where the hero went off to sow his wild oats while his jilted ex-girlfriend pined away for him at home?”
“You know, we should ask Eric. And I think we’re about to get our chance.” He nods toward the door.
A current of energy ripples across the restaurant as the previously low din of voices builds to a fever pitch, and before I can blink, the crowd surges toward the front door like a tidal wave, nearly flattening Jack and me in the process. Eric Jessup has arrived, and I’m not ready.
I curse under my breath and try to join the throng, but before I can, a heavyset guy in a backpack elbows past me, clipping me on the shoulder and sending me hurtling to the side. Before I’ve even registered what’s happened, Jack’s grabbed a fistful of his backpack and shoved him away.
“Excuse you,” he barks in a menacing Clint Eastwood–esque growl. I half-expect to hear him snarl, Get off my lawn. Backpack guy mumbles an apology, avoiding my eyes as he skitters away.
“Damn,” I mutter once I’ve regained my balance for the second time tonight. I abandon my wine on a nearby table and attempt to muscle my way into the mob, but I’m hopelessly boxed out, the wall of men now blocking my view even more intimidating than the one standing next to me.
“Can you see if he’s arrived with anyone?” I ask Jack, hopping up on my tiptoes and craning my neck, but it’s futile; I can’t see a thing. I pray that Nat—wherever she is—has a better view.
“Nope,” Jack says, looking amused.
“You didn’t even look!”
He chuckles as he sets his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter and thanks him.
“Come on, you said you wanted me to change my mind about you? Here’s your big chance. Just throw a couple ’bows and get us to the front of that pack.”