Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I need time,” I respond softly.
Marco clicks his tongue, his usual sign of annoyance, but doesn’t press the matter.
“I get it. Like I said, I was a jerk. But can we forget all that just for tonight? Let me be your date for the auction. I promise it’ll be a good time.”
That’s the opposite of giving me time, I want to scream but suck it down with the rest of my champagne. God, I need another. Or maybe I should cut myself off. I think I’ve had too much to drink, because the air suddenly smells woodsy and rich. Braken’s cologne. Why is he on my mind now? Fuck, this is all so annoying.
“Marco—”
“She doesn’t need you to be her date.”
My head immediately snaps back. I wasn’t imagining Braken’s cologne after all. The man stands behind us, impeccable in his fitted black Italian suit. His angular face is even sharper with the way he clenches his jaw, and his eyes are sharp and full of malice as he stares Marco down—literally.
Then he turns to me and smirks. “Because I’m her date.”
Chapter 26
Braken
I didn’t expect much based on the photo in his background check, but Marco is even less intimidating in person.
This is the asshole I’ve been worried about?
He looks like he’s playing dress-up with his daddy’s clothes. His suit and shoes are Italian made, no doubt a gift from Fiora herself, but he doesn’t fill them out. Marco comes up to my Adam’s apple, and his glare is weaker than a chihuahua. All bark and no bite. I’ve dealt with old Italian grannies with more spunk than him, and it’s only been three minutes.
Fiora stares at me, her pretty brown eyes wide in shock. She looks absolutely ravishing in her green velvet dress, a little window in the fabric giving a perfect view of her cleavage. The buttoned collar and her high ponytail only accent how long her neck is.
Perfect for me to mark my territory since she’s not wearing her fucking ring.
I turn back to Marco and offer a hand. “Braken Frost.”
He takes it. Even his grip is weak. “Marco Pollozo.”
“I know.” I drop his hand like a hot potato. “I didn’t expect a police officer to come to such an event. Did Fiora invite you?”
The anger that burned in my veins when I saw them together flares when Marco smirks. As soon as I set foot in my building’s ballroom and saw them standing together, I slapped double the ticket price into the doorwoman’s hand and stalked over.
Fiora meeting this bastard is one thing, but to do it in my own damn hotel? They have balls.
“Yes,” Marco answers at the same time Fiora says, “No.”
I regard her with a side-eye. She doesn’t look pleased at his answer, her lips pursing in annoyance. So even Fiora doesn’t want him here.
Time to take out the trash.
“I hope you enjoy tonight’s festivities,” I say to Marco with a bow of my head. “You probably won’t be able to make it to many others.”
“I’m sure I can,” Marco shoots back, slamming the rest of his champagne and sliding the glass away. It tips over and falls against the white tablecloth. “The world is free after all.”
“Yes, but money isn’t, and my hotel is a bit out of your price range.”
“Braken,” Fiora scolds like my mother.
I turn to her with a shrug. “I’m being welcoming to your guest, Fiora.” Then I turn back to Marco and fish into the inner pocket of my coat for my wallet. “Since you’re here, you might as well drink on my behalf.” I pull a business card out of it and hand it out to him. “Though I’m afraid a room is far out of your price range. There’s a Motel 6 down the street though. I hear they leave the light on for you.”
Fury lights up Marco’s face, and he clenches his jaw so hard he might start shaking like a rabid dog. He snatches the card from my hand and crumples it in an angry fist. Fiora mutters under her breath but it’s covered up by Marco’s exaggerated movements as he pulls out a similar business card.
“Since you’re so good at sharing,” he mocks.
I glance down at the business card in his hand. Marco Pollozo, Assistant Chief of the Seattle Police Department, marcopolo@seattlepdgov.org. It doesn’t offer me any information I didn’t already know from his background check. I don’t reach out to take it.
“I’m very selective on my sharing,” I respond coolly, looking at Fiora. “And she is busy for the rest of the night, so why don’t you run along now?”
“Are you going to let him treat me like this, Fiora?” Marco demands, gripping his business card so hard the paper looks about to rip in half. “Really?”
Fiora hesitates, glancing from me to Marco and back again before sighing.