Page 59 of I'll Keep Her Safe

“Good idea,” Bruce says, completely oblivious to her discomfort. “Scotch for me. Thanks, darling.”

She gives him a tight smile, then glances at me. I can’t tell if she’s asking what I want to drink, or asking me to rescue her, but I’m taking no chances, placing a hand on her elbow and steering her toward the bar. “I’ll join you.”

Poppy nods and turns away, but Bruce stops me before I can leave.

“Great little piece of ass you’ve got there, Mathers,” he says under his breath. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

I blink. Is he for real? Bruce is easily ten years older than I am.

“What the fuck did you say?”

Bruce doesn’t so much as flinch. “You have to admit she’s nice to look at.” He elbows me with a conspiratorial wink. “Bet you can’t wait to get her home.”

The rage that sweeps through me is unexpected, and I clench my fists at my sides. “Don’t talk about Poppy again. In fact, don’t even look at her for the rest of the night. Got it?”

Bruce laughs. “Come on, you can’t say you haven’t—”

“Got it?” I repeat through gritted teeth.

He lifts his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say.”

And with that, I stalk off to the bar. Poppy has already ordered us drinks, a glass of white wine for her and a bottle of Miller, which she hands to me with a strained smile.

“Friend of yours?” she asks, motioning to Bruce across the room.

“God, no. I won an award he was angling for a couple years back and he’s been trying to hone in on my work ever since.” I inspect her face. “He’s a creep. Are you okay?”

She smiles. “I’m good, but I didn’t want you to say something you’d regret.”

I grunt. For a twenty-five-year-old, she’s surprisingly mature.

“What about you?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine. “Are you okay?”

The blood drains from my face. Did she hear what Bruce said? What I said?

But Poppy clarifies, saying, “Are you nervous about the award?”

“Oh.” I take a pull of my beer, thinking. Nervous, no. When you’ve been to enough of these things you realize half of the fuss is about who knows who, who’s paid who off. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tiny dart of anticipation, being here with Poppy. Even with my feelings cooling toward my work lately, her palpable and contagious excitement lifts me up. “Not nervous. Happy to be here, with you.”

Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that, but the smile that curves her lips makes it hard to regret.

“Me too,” she murmurs. She smooths a hand down the front of her dress.

“And since I didn’t say it back at the house, you look…”Careful. Choose a word that’s appropriate. “Beautiful. Really beautiful.”

She glances up at me, almost shyly. Two rosy dots form on her cheeks, and she whispers, “Thank you.”

God, I need to kiss her. There’s something about being out with her, dressed up and away from home, that makes this feel magical. Like it would be stupidnotto kiss her. Almost like… it doesn’t count.

But I know better.

I look away. The MC asks us to take our seats, and we settle in as the ceremony begins and the lights dim.

The first few categories are over quickly, and Poppy is enthralled, commenting on the designs as they come up on screen. When it gets to my category, she looks at me, grinning, holding up crossed fingers.

“I probably won’t win,” I say, mainly to warn her. She seems a lot more invested in this than I am, and it’s making my heart do funny things. When was the last time someone cared this much on my behalf?

But she waves my comment away, staring at the screen. When my company is announced as a finalist and the design flashes up, Poppy sucks in a breath.

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