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I walk over and flash my friendliest smile as I reach the pair of them.

“Ah, good evening.” The older gray-haired man smiles back at me and holds out his hand. “I’m—”

“Tom Coulter,” I finish for him, taking his hand. “I watched your piece on global warming and the importance of tackling climate change two mornings ago. It was great.”

His eyes soften as he looks back at me. “Why, thank you. That’s wonderful to hear…”

“Harley,” Reed says as he steps closer to me.

I take my hand back from Tom and wrap it around Reed’s solid bicep as I sink into his side. He stiffens before he clears his throat.

“Tom, this is Harley Jacobs. My girlfriend.”

I swallow as he saysgirlfriend. It’s the first time I’ve heard him say it in public. It sounds weird.

“Oh?” Tom’s brows shoot up before he recovers quickly, smiling at the two of us. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Harley. How are you enjoying the evening?”

“Oh, it’s”—I glance at Reed, who’s looking down at my hand on his arm—“not nearly as full of stuffy bores as I had expected.”

Tom’s eyes light up before he tips his head back and laughs out loud. “Yes, my dear. You’ve hit the nail on the head there. That’s why my wife, Margo, doesn’t usually like to attend many of these things. She only agreed to come if she could have a dance with this young man again.” Tom looks at Reed, who’s smiling warmly at him.

“I would be honored. Your wife is a wonderful dancer. And she tells me some interesting tales about you when I get her alone.” Reed chuckles as Tom slaps him on the shoulder, then turns to wink at me.

“Watch this one, young lady. He’s a joker.”

I giggle as Tom averts his gaze to a woman who’s waving at us across the room. Then he bids us a good evening and goes to join her.

“Is that Margo? Wow, she looks amazing,” I say in delight as I admire her silver sequined gown.

“Yes, that’s her.”

Reed’s bicep twitches beneath my fingers, and when I look up, his expression has returned to strait-laced and serious.

“Reed,” I whisper, rising on my toes so I can whisper in his ear. “You need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he grumbles, his eyes scanning the room.

“Really?” I arch an eyebrow at him as I squeeze the thick, tense muscle of his bicep. “Because you feelsorelaxed right now.” I give it another squeeze. There’s no give at all. It’s a solid rock of strength.

He keeps his head straight, but there’s a quirk at the corner of his lips as he side-eyes me. “This is how I always feel.”

“What, hard?” I blurt, my eyes widening as the amusement in his eyes fires up like a flare. “Reed Walker,” I tut. “You have a dark and dirty mind.”

He smirks and then falls serious again as his eyes fix on something. “You’ve no idea how dark my mind is, Harls.”

Harls.

He’s never called me that before. Only my family ever calls me Harls. I never hear that name in person here in New York. It should feel out of place, wrong. Yet, I kind of like the way it sounds in his deep voice.

I look up at his profile. Maria’s right. He is good at his job. That’s a technique for getting people to feel comfortable around you, isn’t it? Call them by their name or nickname. Use it when you speak to them. I bet it’s a trick he practices a lot. Reed Walker is one smooth operator.

I follow his eye line to a stunning raven-haired woman in a long crimson dress and the dark-haired man on her arm. I say on her arm and not the other way around, as it’s obvious from the confidence seeping out of her in every graceful step that she’s the one who’s the top in that relationship. As they get closer, I recognize the man she’s with.

“Isn’t that Graham Hutchings?” I talk softly so my lips don’t move.

Reed’s gaze is glued to the pair of them as his bicep tension climbs another notch to rigid steel beneath my palm. He doesn’t answer me. But I know that one of his running opponents is almost right in front of us now with his black widow partner. I’m not usually one to judge harshly and so quickly, but the way her eyes cast over my outfit, critically and with no shame, has me straightening my spine. Her eyes flick up to my face and then drop to the hand that is still wrapped around Reed’s arm as they reach us.

“Walker.”


Tags: Elle Nicoll Romance