He blinks. “Thank you. You, too.”
I don’t say anymore. Just turn on my heel and walk away from the mayhem of backstage, toward the table my brother paid an ungodly amount for. When I slide into my chair there’s a waiter pouring coffee and I hold out my cup as he pours.
“Everything all right?” Myles asks me. “You were gone a while.”
“Just talking business,” I tell him, my expression neutral.
“Don’t you ever take a night off?” Ava asks, shaking her head.
“Work always comes first,” I murmur, lifting my coffee cup and taking a sip. From the corner of my eye I can see Sophie sitting at a table a few rows down. She’s smiling and chatting, but her body is stiff.
I could relax you in three minutes, baby.
As though she can hear my thoughts, she lifts her head and her gaze catches mine. Her head tilts slightly, a lock of hair escaping from her elaborate updo. Her lips part and all I can think of is how good they’d feel. On my mouth, on my body. All fucking over.
We finish our entrees and the plates are taken away, but I’m so damn aware of her I couldn’t tell you what I just ate. When they bring the desserts, I shake my head and gesture for the waiter to pour me more coffee instead, no cream, because I need to stay alert.
Sophie’s at another table now. It’s near the stage and full of the kind of guys who drink too much wine and spend too much time looking down her top. My jaw twitches as one of them slings his arm around the back of her chair, his fingers brushing the skin on the back of her neck.
“Do you think Sophie is all right?” I ask Ava.
“What do you mean?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.
“The table in front of the stage,” I tell her, and she follows the direction of my stare. Sophie is talking to the man on her left, but the guy on the right is still stretching his arm behind her, his fingers brushing her bare shoulder.
I want to rip them out of his body.
And yes, I’m aware this kind of reaction isn’t normal. Plus I have the sense not to actually do the deed. I’m not even sure if I’m capable of ripping an arm off. I mean, I go to the gym, but I imagine it’s gonna need a lot of force.
“What’s going to need force?” Ava asks me.
Alarmed, I turn to her. “Did I say that?”
“You mumbled something. I only heard force.”
Thank God. “I was thinking about Star Wars,” I tell her. “That Sophie could use the force right now.”
She stares at me uncomprehendingly, then shakes her head. The wait staff are thankfully taking away the dessert plates, and Mr. Tickle has to pull his arm away to let them lean over. Sophie smoothly leans to one side and puts an elbow on the back of the chair to make it difficult for him to put his arm back.
Good girl.
“She seems fine to me,” Ava says, sending a weird look my way.
“Ladies and Gentleman,” a voice calls out over the PA. “Please take ten minutes to make yourselves comfortable, fill up your glasses, and shake the moths out of your wallets. We’ll be beginning the auction as soon as you’re drunk enough to overbid.”
Everybody laughs. I don’t, because I know that voice.
And yeah, I want to rip out that throat, too.
I’m not a neanderthal. I haven’t gotten into fights as an adult. Even as a kid I preferred using charm to my fists. It was less painful and usually had better results. I don’t understand this urge I have to get physical with these assholes. All I know is that I can’t. It’ll ruin any chance of having normal and pleasant interactions with Sophie in the future.
Mr. Tickle shifts his chair closer to Sophie’s and whispers something in her ear. She shakes her head slightly and he shrugs, but it’s enough to spark the annoyance in me again.
“Are you okay?” Ava asks, leaning across the table. “You look like you’re overheating.”
“I’m fine,” I say, my teeth clenched. “Just need to send a message to my assistant.”
Thank God Myles is too busy schmoozing the guy on his other side to notice my current reaction.