“Here we go,” Sterling whispered. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” he added, slapping me on the back.
“What the hell is that?” Bristol’s voice pitched high as she gestured at my soaked shirt and—yep, the tie was a loss, too. Her eyes were wide, with a subtle hint of panic.
“Nice to see you, too, Bristol,” I said, putting my empty glass on the nearest table. There was something to be said for having both hands free when it came to this woman.
“Is that…” She leaned forward and sniffed. “Amaretto on my thousand-dollar tuxedo shirt? Oh, God, that tie is silk!” She yanked the fabric free, holding it up for examination.
“I was right. That dress makes your eyes look green,” I said softly.
Her gaze jumped to mine. “Amaretto isn’t exactly your drink of choice,” she countered, leaning to the right and glaring past me to where the women stood with Maxim.
“It was an accident! I’m so sorry!” The one who had spilled her drink on me exclaimed.
“He smells like a bachelorette party!” Bristol snapped before grimacing and then letting loose a long sigh. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.”
“I can just take off the tie—” I started.
“Let’s go,” she interrupted, nodding toward the door. “I have another shirt in my room upstairs.”
“You traveled with more than one shirt for me?” My eyebrows rose.
“Of course I did.” She shrugged. “An editor for GQ is here tonight, and you have no idea how many strings I had to pull for that one to happen. It’s not like he was just traipsing around Charleston, looking for charities to donate to.” She blinked. “Oh, by the way, I’m going to need a signed game-stick. He’s a fan.”
“So, the string you pulled was a signed stick?”
“And box seats to today’s game against LA.” She motioned toward the door, tugging on the tie lightly. “Now, let’s go. I don’t want anyone to think I actually designed it this way.” Her lips pursed, and she glanced left and right as if she was surveying the crowd for someone who might actually judge her for a spilled drink.
“Bristol—”
“Please.” It was a whisper, and damn if it didn’t cut me straight to the quick.
“Fine. Lead the way.”
She sighed in relief, released my tie, and led me out of the ballroom and toward the row of elevators under the swanky hotel hosting tonight’s gala for a school arts program. Tension thickened between us as she punched the elevator call button.
We both stared at the lights above the doors in silence.
The elevator on the left dinged, and the doors opened. We waited for a couple to exit, then walked in. Bristol tapped her room key to the sensor and hit the button for the penthouse.
“How did you like today’s game?” I asked as the elevator rose, mostly hoping to break the tension. It didn’t work.
“Hmm?” she asked, her gaze locked on the floor numbers that lit up as we ascended.
“The game? Today? The one you had box seats for?”
“Oh, I didn’t go. I had a meeting around the same time. My flight actually got in just a few hours ago.” A tiny smile lifted her lips. “Just long enough to throw on a gown and schmooze the editor.”
I tried to quell the disappointment that she hadn’t watched as my stomach wobbled. Was that what she’d been doing with that guy? Was he the editor? Was there something else between them? “Well, you looked to be doing a good job from where I stood. Though I’m not sure you needed that dress to give him your number.” A muscle in my jaw ticked.
Her head whipped my direction as the elevator opened on her floor. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I walked out, and she followed, then led us into her suite.
She threw her clutch on the small table by the door and then glared at me. “First, I wasn’t giving him my number for the reasons you’re insinuating. Second, that wasn’t the editor. That was a retailer interested in your tux.” She jabbed her finger at me. “And fourth, you don’t have a single right to tell me who I can or cannot give my number to, Cormac Briggs.” Her eyes shone with fire, and maybe it was wrong, but fuck, seeing her all worked up turned me on.
Relief, sweet and sharp, hit me like a two-ton truck, even though she was right. I didn’t get a say in who she dated, but instead of agreeing with her, I barely bit back a grin. “You skipped number three,” I whispered.
She glowered and spun on her heel. “You’re impossible. Stay there!” she called back over her shoulder as she strode for the bedroom she’d used as hers every time she’d been in Charleston. Pretty sure she could own this suite for how much she’d paid—
Wait. “Your brother owns this hotel, doesn’t he?” I asked, loosening my tie, then tossing it onto the dining table.