What If I Never Read online

  My heart races with the inference that I’ve done something wrong. “I’m at the venue now,” I state. “I’ll head that way.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” He hangs up. No goodbye. No other words.

  Frowning, I shove my phone back inside my purse.

  “Problem?” Dash asks, but his intelligent blue eyes say he already suspects what’s going on.

  With that in mind, I don’t even consider mincing words. “I’m pretty sure you’re the problem. I could tell that Tyler was pissed that I’d talked to you about what I had going on before I talked to him. He said he needs me back at the office to set boundaries.”

  His jaw sharpens. “I would agree with Tyler. You do need to set boundaries. Yours, not his.”

  “Easier done when I’m educated on what I’m dealing with,” I say, continuing down my direct path. “There’s a notable tension between you and Tyler,” I dare. “I’m not asking what it’s about. That’s not my business, but I do need to know how to navigate it.”

  “Tyler and I have an understanding that works for us,” he says tightly. “I’ve drawn my line in the sand. Make sure you draw that line for yourself. Make sure he knows you don’t need this job because he does need you.” When I would reply, he steps closer to me, really close, so close I can feel the heat of his body, and I seem to have lost not just my thought, but the use of my vocabulary.

  I hold my breath anticipating whatever is coming.

  But seconds tick by, and he says nothing. He’s just looking at me, staring at me, and then, “Let’s get you back,” and I can all but feel a wall slam between us, but I’m not sure why. He steps back and motions me toward the door.

  I feel like I should say something, defuse the tension with some brilliant joke that I just can’t come up with. Forced to accept the awkwardness, I start walking.

  We exit into the hallway and head for the lobby, and his pace is quick, our path through the hotel quick with it. Once we’re outside, the wind, fiercer than earlier, pounces on us but he doesn’t react. He is truly more stone than man right now and I don’t understand how the easy laughter between us transformed and became as chilled as the weather. Stealing a peek at him, I search for a sign of the former, but there is nothing to find but hard lines and obstacles.

  We are winding down on our path to the Hawk building, and I fear our goodbye to be as cold as this walk. At this point, we’re a few feet from the Hawk entryway, when unexpectantly, Dash catches my arm and pulls me behind one of two towering statues of guitars. His hand that so quickly scorches me with his touch, is just suddenly gone, and now presses above my head. But he is close again, so very close, the earthy, wonderfully male scent of him, teases my senses. Every part of me is aware of this man.

  “You’re vulnerable right now, Allie,” he says roughly, “a lamb in a lion’s cage. Go back home before you end up hurt.”

  I blanch, shocked at what I can only call a dismissal and one that I do not expect. “What? I—I don’t understand. You said Tyler needs me. You said we’d work together, not that I need you to do that, but I’m—I’m just very confused right now.”

  There is a flicker in his eyes I cannot read, and even as I try, his lashes lower, seconds ticking by, dark shadows flirting across his expression before he says, “Go home,” and when he meets my stare, whatever I’d thought I’d seen before, is wiped away. “Before you get hurt,” he adds.

  “By Tyler or by you, Dash?” I challenge.

  He captures my waist under my jacket, his touch branding me, and pulls me flush against him, all of my softness molded to his hard body. A hot fire burns in my belly as his warm breath fans my face. His gaze lingers on mine and then drops to my mouth. I think—I think he’s thinking of kissing me and I can barely breathe. I want him to kiss me like I have never wanted to be kissed before and that need, that absolute need, expands in my belly.

  Seconds tick by and neither of us move, speak—we barely breathe. I don’t know what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling. I don’t know if it’s anger, lust, regret, but I do believe I crave any and all of it with this man. But then Dash breaks the moment before anything can be realized, at least for me.

  “Go back to New York, Allison,” he orders, and with that he releases me, and then he leaves. He walks away.

  I collapse against the statue, trying to catch my breath, confused, so very confused. And Lord help me, I can still feel his hands on my body, still feel the warmth from where our bodies had melded together. He accused me of being vulnerable, and I can’t argue that point. He’s not wrong. I’ve had that very thought myself. I am vulnerable, and it’s not the first time I’ve found myself feeling as such, but I’m also stronger than I was before. I’m here, and it feels like part of my journey and my growth.

  And I’m not leaving my mother, or Nashville, until I’m ready to.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  By the time I’m inside the Hawk Legal building I’ve admitted to myself that I not only feel judged by Dash, I was judged unworthy. At least I think that’s what happened. I’m honestly not all that sure. And I’m not sure how any of this impacts my job. It’s Dash’s choice of charity this year and I’m the head of that project. Or I was. Maybe I’m not anymore.

  Stepping into the elevator car, I jab angrily at the button for my floor, not sure why I’m so upset. I barely know Dash. He has no idea what I can and cannot do and I have another job waiting for me at Riptide.

  I am not a lamb in a lion’s cage.

  Been there, done that, will never do it again.

  Dash Black is wrong. And an asshole.

  I might not know what I’m doing with my life right now, but I’m not lost. I was wrong about that. I mean, not really. I certainly don’t need to be found. I’m simply keeping doors open and options plentiful which means that I need to click with Tyler and Hawk Legal.

  The elevator arrives at my destination, and I face facts. I might not be able to leave my mother and go back to New York City. That means a job with Hawk Legal long-term could work for me, even if the other Allison does come back. With this in mind, I turn right and head toward Tyler’s offices, entering the receptionist area to find the desk empty again. I hook a path down the hallway and make a beeline for Tyler’s office.

  His door stands open and I knock on the frame but he doesn’t answer. Peeking inside the room, I find him absent. Sighing, I turn around and decide to walk down the hallway to my right. I end up in a media room complete with leather chairs and TVs lining the walls. Tyler is standing in the center of the space watching a golf game. I’m struck instantly by how he all but punches a room with power, just by being in it.

  At present, Eddie V., the hottest golfer on the scene, is center stage—so hot that I know him and I don’t know golf. The next Tiger Woods, he’s being called.

  “Is he a client?” I ask, stepping into the room and joining Tyler.

  “He is,” he replies, glancing over at me for the first time since I entered the room. “And it won’t matter if he wins or loses, I have to be ready to game his position.”

  “I don’t think I realized your team operated like agents to the extent you obviously do,” I comment, interested in this side of the Hawk Legal business, as publishing has set me up to be comfortable in these types of relationship dynamics.

  “And I don’t think you realize that you work for me, not Dash Black,” he replies, turning to face me, thus I turn to face him. “Do I or do I not own you for the next three months?”

  He owns me.

  Those words and the force of his blue eyes, scream of dominance and demand, that hits about a dozen personal triggers me, and therefore borders outside the lines of professional and becomes personal.

  I fight the urge to push back and push back hard, but I’m not sure that would be about him, and this moment, or me and those that I’ve known before him. For this reason, I choose to discreetly share my view on his role versus my own role here at Hawk Legal.

  “I know that I work
for you, Tyler, but I need direction.”

  His eyes glint with what I believe to be amusement, and to my surprise, what I believe to be just a hint of respect, but his reply is no less demanding. “And I’ll be happy to give you all the direction you need, Ms. Wright. Me, not him.”

  This is where I should probably tell Tyler that Dash told me to go back to New York, but somehow that doesn’t seem a vote for me to keep my job. Maybe Dash is testing me. Maybe he just wants to know I won’t buckle and run. No. No, I’m not going to run or tell Tyler about my confrontation with Dash.

  “I expect to know what’s going on,” he adds.

  To which I say, “All right then. The venue is a fail. I think we should ask for a refund. It’s cold and plain, and cold and plain doesn’t do justice to the Hawk Legal name. And it lacks a vault system. Dash suggested we hold it on the rooftop here and use your vaults. In my opinion, an exclusive intimate event works.”

  “I’d rather hear your opinion,” he says, in a clear rebuff of all things Dash Black. “Have you seen the rooftop?”

  “I haven’t yet. No.”

  “Then get back to me when you make the same suggestion. What else?”

  “Can we use the vaults here?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll need armed guards on hand,” I add.

  “Make it happen. What else?”

  “We need a few high-profile auction items and we need them quickly. I’m working on donations but if you can get me a few items to tease the event that would help.”

  “You’ll get what you need,” he says simply.

  I don’t know what that means but he’s proven to be a man of his word. “How much are we going to charge Riptide to sponsor the event?”

  “What do you suggest I should charge them?”

  “I suggest we should pay them to authenticate the items. I believe I can get them to discount that service if they’re the official sponsors at no charge. That’s a win for both parties.”

  He just looks at me, his stare hard and flat, unreadable. Unbidden, it rattles me, and I am forced to recognize how much I actually want to please this man. But I’m not sure that need is really as much about Tyler and it is a broader view of my life, and the men I’ve encountered along my way. Powerful and demanding men. Men like Tyler. It’s a problem for me and I know it.

  And because I’m suffocating in my own head, I choose to do exactly his bidding. I take the bait of the silence and end it myself. “Do we have a deal?” I press.

  “Yes, Ms. Wright,” he says, his voice transforming to a softer tone, his eyes sharper now on my face. “We have a deal. What else?”

  It’s the third time he’s asked that, but I hesitate with where I want to go which is to Allison, again. I want to know about the house, and what happens if I move in and she comes back. I want to ask who would send her a necklace. I want to ask so many things, but bringing up Allison when he’s still chewing on Dash doesn’t seem smart. Instead, I say, “Thank you for taking my need for help seriously. I like Katie and I think she’ll be helpful.”

  The crowd on the television feed blows up with excitement over something his client has done but his focus stays on me. “I’ve emailed you a budget for the event that I expect you to manage and a schedule of events you’ll be attending.”

  “I’ll look it all over right away,” I say. “I need to call the clients of the firm and ask for donations. Am I allowed to do so?”

  “I’ve already introduced you to the firm by email. The attorneys are talking to their clients. They’ll connect you. At that point, yes, you may talk to the clients.”

  “Time matters,” I argue. “And your attorneys are busy with other things.”

  “Everyone here has clients who need tax write-offs,” he assures me, effectively tying my hands on communication. “You will have that need,” he says, “my voice on the matter, and the party, on the side of progress.”

  I’d argue that I need all those things and a voice of my own, but I obviously need to earn his trust. Therefore, I simply say, “What else do you need from me?”

  That’s when he sideswipes me. “I trust you’ve accepted the offer to live in my rental house?”

  “Yes, about that,” I say and seize my window of opportunity he’s now presented, “what if Allison returns?”

  I expect him to tell me I have a contract. Instead, he simply says, “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

  “Does she know I’m staying in the house?”

  There’s a tic to his jaw and something sharp in his eyes that’s there and gone in a blink of a moment. Not for the first time, I wonder if Allison is personal to him. “Are you staying in the house or not, Ms. Wright?”

  “It’s a generous offer,” I reply. “Thank you. I packed to move in tonight.”

  “Good. There’s wine in the cellar. The only bottles off-limits are in the vault.” His cellphone rings and he snakes it from his pocket, glances at the caller ID, and then me, “I need to take this. Keep me informed and remember who you work for.” His lips twitch with the obvious reference to our “own” versus “work for” exchange. He heads for the door and I turn to watch him exit the room, but he pauses and looks back at me. “There are many things I need, Ms. Wright. I have yet to determine if I need them from you specifically.”

  I blanch, not sure he’s actually talking about the job. I mean he is talking about the job, but that little smile gives me the distinct impression he wants me to wonder.

  He disappears out of the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  After discarding my coat and bags in my office, I head for the office Katie’s presently using as her own. I find her sitting behind her desk, finger deep in the icing on top of a cupcake. She grins when she sees me and licks the icing from her finger. I laugh and she says, “This is the best icing I’ve ever had. Thank you for the cupcakes.”

  “I’m glad you like them. And I love that icing, so much.”

  “We should order these for the auction,” she suggests.

  “My thought as well,” I say, “and on that note, how about showing me the rooftop, please? I’m thinking of using it for the auction.”

  “What happened to the hotel?”

  “It’s very cold and average.”

  “Hmmm. Yes. I couldn’t agree more.” She takes a bite of her cupcake, gives me a thumbs-up, and then reluctantly leaves her sweet treat for later.

  A few minutes later, we’re inside a spacious rectangular room lined with windows that allow for a stunning view of downtown Nashville. There are cozy seating areas speckled throughout the space, a high-end restaurant-worthy bar, and a food service area. Televisions are strategically located near seating areas.

  “This is really quite perfect,” I approve. “Do you know where the vaults are located?”

  “On this floor,” she says. “Just down the hall. But how do we get out of the hotel reservations? Didn’t we put down a deposit?”

  “I assume we did,” I concur, “but if I can make this happen, I want to. We need this to be more intimate, more exclusive.” I step to the window, staring out at the bright colored lights marking the dark night, and one could say New York City has a bigger, better skyline. But not everyone. Maybe not me.

  Katie steps to my side. “It’s an addictive city, don’t you think?”

  “It is,” I agree, glancing over at her. “Are you from Nashville?”

  “Texas,” she says. “I went to school in Knoxville but I fell in love with Nashville. When I graduated two years ago, I landed here.”

  “And Allison was here then?”

  “She started after me but she was a favorite quickly.”

  “Favorite?”

  “Of Tyler’s,” she explains. “She had it made. That’s why I’m shocked that she left us like she did and really truly, kind of high and dry for this auction. I mean, she had it made here. We all knew it. She knew it, too.”

  “What do you mean? She knew?”


  “She just knew. It’s hard to explain.”

  “She worked closely with Tyler, almost more his assistant than his assistant is.”

  Interesting, I think, but there’s no proof they were involved. I don’t ask about that, either. I just don’t know Katie well enough to know how that would travel through the office.

  “One day she was here,” Katie adds, “and the next, she wasn’t, but she was acting weird the week before she left, withdrawn, and edgy when that just wasn’t her. Clearly, she had something personal going on.”

  Considering the necklace delivery, Katie is probably exactly right on that. “Maybe it was man trouble,” I comment, fishing for a name.

  “Maybe. She went on a week-long trip to some tropical island with a rich guy right before she quit. That’s what was so weird about all of this. She was only back a week and then she was gone.”

  “Maybe her rich man proposed and she took time off to get married.”

  “There was no ring and she wouldn’t tell me his name. I think he must have been married.”

  Married, I repeat in my head. Considering Allison’s sudden departure, and weird behavior, that sounds rather ominous.

  And considering what I know of my father’s wining and dining of his mistresses with expensive gifts and fancy trips, the necklace definitely falls into form. Unfortunately, my mother not only found out about those gifts, but one of the other women told her he used those lavish gifts to take the sting out of the other woman, whoever she was at the time, being the other woman. This all comes together and reminds me of a book I once edited. The mistress ended up dead. I don’t like where my head is going right now.

  “I do believe I like my version of the story better,” I reply, glancing over at Katie with a growing urgency to erase the silence between me and the other Allison. “Do you happen to have Allison’s phone number?”

  “I do,” she says. “I left her a message earlier today just to talk about the auction, but it went to her voicemail. She hasn’t called me back and I really don’t know if she will. We were more casual work friends than real friends.” She indicates her phone. “I’ll text you her number. Then you’ll have mine and hers.”