Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 181992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 910(@200wpm)___ 728(@250wpm)___ 607(@300wpm)
“Know what I didn’t hear? You telling him to shut the fuck up. You defending my sisters. You defending me.” Anger tinged with humiliation sparked in my gut and caused my face to burn. “No, you were more interested in talking about Wal … whoever.”
“There’s a good reason for that,” Dax appeased, calm as ever. Yeah, calm.
I felt my brows fly up. “There’s a ‘good’ reason for not saying anything in my defense, or in telling some creep to keep his distance from my sisters?” Try as I might, I couldn’t see one. “And if I’m honest, it also wasn’t real nice that you didn’t deny having fantasies about Alicia or thinking maybe you should have married her. I mean, if that’s how you feel, that’s how you feel, but still.”
Set on ignoring the frog in my throat, I swallowed around it. Uh, ow.
Dax took slow, measured steps toward me, his eyes regarding me with incredulity. “Do you really think that’s actually the case?”
“What I think is that if the situation were reversed, I’d have shut that shit down. I wouldn’t have tolerated anyone talking smack about you.” The backs of my eyes burning as hot as my cheeks, I threw up my hands. “You know what? Forget it.” I spun on my heel and stalked off.
“Don’t walk away from me, Addison, we need to talk about this.”
I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I needed space if I had any chance of finding some calm.
“I understand why you’re upset,” he went on, all reasonable, “but you have to let me explain.”
I didn’t have to do anything.
“Wouldn’t you like to know who he was?”
Nearing the staircase, I shook my head and said, “I’d rather not talk anymore about your mystery friend.”
“He’s no friend of mine. His name is August Blum. The guy’s a reporter.”
One foot on the bottom stair, I stilled in surprise, my brows sliding together. He was a, what?
Dax didn’t say anything more, or try to catch up with me. He simply waited.
Placing one hand on the banister, I slowly half-turned and met his unreadable gaze, knowing my expression would be a mask of sheer skepticism.
“He was interested in getting the scoop on our recent nuptials,” Dax elaborated. “I can guarantee you he was somehow recording that conversation. I wasn’t going to give him anything to print, no matter how much he tried goading me. And believe me, they always try goading me,” he added a little tiredly.
I licked my lips. “He’s a reporter?”
“Yes. He waltzed up the driveway just as I was grabbing something from my car. He was friendly at first. But when I wasn’t cooperative, he started tossing out verbal bait. It’s easy enough for me to ignore the tactic—I’ve been dealing with it since I was a kid. That doesn’t mean what he said didn’t piss me off, though I doubt he meant a word of it—he just wanted me to jump to your defense; wanted a reaction.”
Flexing my fingers, I nibbled on my lower lip. Was his explanation believable? Yes. It even made sense. But I had so much anger and hurt powering through my blood that it wasn’t easy to quite simply accept his story and back down.
Watching me carefully, he covered the space between us. His hand cupped my chin as he lowered his face slightly, snaring my gaze. “Do you really think I would tolerate anyone insulting you? That I would stay quiet unless I had a good reason?”
Well … no. No, I didn’t. It was far from his style. But if the dude was really a reporter, it begged the question: “Why didn’t you just tell him to leave?”
“I did. He ignored me. At first.”
“What finally made him walk away?”
Dax minutely flicked his head to the side. “I indirectly threatened to have his boyfriend fired and evicted.”
“Wal Stroeder?”
“Wal Stroeder,” he confirmed, releasing my chin. “There would be no sense in me putting together such a lie when you could easily do an internet search on Blum—his picture will pop right up, along with articles he’s written.”
True, I silently conceded as my anger and hurt began to steadily leach away. Rubbing at my face, I pulled in a long breath. And promptly coughed.
“The reason I didn’t ram my fist in Blum’s face is that the media … they know how I am, how I operate. He will have had a cameraman close by, hoping to catch something on film. They usually do.”
“That’s messed up,” I whispered.
He shrugged. “It’s my normal.”
“That’s why it’s so messed up.”
He dragged his gaze over my face. “If I hadn’t been positive he was recording that conversation, I would have handled the matter differently. To be clear, I have never once had fantasies about either of your sisters or considered marrying them. You should have known better than to think otherwise,” he added, a pinch of admonishment in his tone. “I also do not at all consider you even remotely vain or stuck up. Or too curvy, for that matter.”