Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
And while Danny and Catie might be faking their relationship—and shit, it was starting to hurt inside to think that—he wouldn’t disrespect her by allowing Mara to play bitchy games. Especially since Mara probably had a plant in the crowd armed with a camera. Next thing he knew, she’d feed one of her entertainment friends an exclusive about how there was “trouble in paradise” or other similar stupidity.
An arm twining with his, a familiar body leaning into his, Catie’s hand rising to pet his biceps.
“Mara,” Catie said with a smile so genuine it could melt butter and give a church sermon.
Demon child.
“I didn’t know you enjoyed avant-garde plays,” Catie continued. “Aren’t you so looking forward to seeing how Leon explores the twin motifs of loss and belonging?” A glance up at a worshipful Leon.
Mara gave a thin-lipped smile. “I haven’t had a chance to look at the media material,” she answered. “Decided to accept the invitation at the last minute.”
Like when she’d discovered that Danny was going to be in attendance, Catie thought with an inward bite of sarcasm. Worst of it was that Mara was an excellent sports reporter and Catie had been inclined to like her—until she’d seen the predator hidden behind the silky hair, spectacular boobs, and makeup so on point that it made Catie want to grit her teeth.
It should be a rule that shit-stirrers were bad at makeup.
Thank the universe that Danny seemed too smart to fall for her. From what Catie had heard in sporting circles, Mara was on the hunt for her final conquest.
“I’m getting on in age, darling,” she’d said to a friend of hers while touching up her lipstick in the mirror of a hotel bathroom. One of Catie’s running partners had been at the same event—and in a stall at the time—and had eavesdropped without shame.
According to her, Mara had added, “Time to put up the spurs and ride just one cowboy. Better make sure he’s young and hung.”
The woman was twenty-eight. She’d also never been near a ranch in her manicured and pampered life. Her father was a department store magnate who’d brought his “little girl” a Porsche for her sixteenth birthday.
Catie hated that she knew that, but a few years ago you couldn’t turn around without running into Mara’s face on a magazine billboard, seeing her on TV, or hearing her on the radio. Then she’d gone into journalism and Catie had figured the earlier attention-hound behavior for growing pains.
Nope. It was Mara’s actual personality.
Today the brunette bared her bright white teeth. “I heard your friend Posey Greene is going through a tough time. Please pass on my commiserations.”
Catie saw red. The only thing that stopped her from clawing off Mara’s catty face was the squeeze Danny gave her hip and the way he dropped his head to murmur intimately against her ear. She didn’t hear what he said—that wasn’t the point. The point was to see Mara’s eyes go as hard as stones.
“Oh, it looks like we’re being ushered inside,” Leon said with perfect timing, his glow undimmed.
Catie was glad he’d been oblivious to that byplay. This was his night and he should enjoy it. Channeling her inner Dragon and dismissing Mara without a glance, she turned with Danny and they headed toward the entrance to the seating area.
Danny kept his hand on her hip, and… it felt okay. Better than that. It felt nice. Big and warm and comforting.
Frowning, she went to pull away, but they were already in the stream of people moving inside and a sudden move would’ve sent her careening into a woman who was the epitome of the posh theater matron. Complete with a designer velvet shrug and actual opera glasses, her snowy hair perfectly coiffed in feathered spikes, and her lips a pop of pink.
She wore pink stiletto ankle boots.
“I want to be her when I grow up,” Catie whispered to Danny after the woman had moved past.
“Wrong color lipstick for you,” he said, deadpan.
Elbowing him, she found herself given another hip squeeze. This one made her face flush. Then they were inside the theater and the usher was showing them to the central block of seats that had been reserved for VIPs.
Where she would soon sit in the dark with this gorgeous man next to her.
14
DANCE WITH ME
Danny stood back and let her go first, which might’ve irritated her except she knew that was a Joseph Esera rule: the ladies go first. As a teen, she’d once tried arguing with Joseph about it, calling it an “antiquated leftover of the patriarchy.”
He’d smiled at her in that gruff, fatherly way and said, “I’m so proud of you, Caitlin. Such a strong woman you’re becoming.”
She’d gotten it then. To a man like Joseph, these small acts of chivalry didn’t mean he saw her as lesser or weaker. It was just part of his personal code. A code he’d passed on to all four of his sons.