Page 99 of Salvaged Hearts

“I’d like to get biblical tonight,” he whispered, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps down my neck as my face flushed.

“What do you think I bought this dress for?” I breathed back.

He was still smiling as he slid into his seat, clearing his throat. “Glad everyone is having fun.”

“But not too much fun,” Miranda said, lifting her strawberry lemonade.

“Alas, the limitations of motherhood,” Royce lamented playfully. “You ladies spy anything worth bidding on?”

“An Irish getaway for four, or the session with Miley Cyrus’ photographer,” Miranda supplied.

“I’m with you on the getaway,” I said, wrinkling my nose at the idea of yet another voluntary photo shoot. Personally, I was shuttered out for a hot minute. Our server arrived, pouring water refills as she made her way around the table, but her eyes kept going to Greyson. I’m not generally a possessive alpha-woman, butmy god, woman, I’m right here. She was pretty, too. Kinky chocolate curls draped over her slender back, fair skin, and dark brown eyes.

My phone buzzed inside my clutch, but I ignored it, opting to set my arm across the back of his chair, playing with the ends of his hair as she looked between him and me. That’s about the point at which she fumbled Royce’s glass, sending it careening into his merlot and subsequently across the table. I’d just rocketed upright as it poured onto my lap.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” In her haste to help, the woman set down the pitcher of water but managed to knock the entire thing over when she rushed to sop up the spilled wine. “Oh!” she yelped. Royce set his hand on her frantic one as she rushed to mop up the disaster.

“You’re alright,” he assured, which would have been sweet, except he made it awkward hanging onto her hand a beat longer than comfortable. Still looking terrified, she slowly removed herself from his grasp before glancing between me and Greyson.

“Mistakes happen,” Greyson added, dipping his chin to meet her terrified eyes. She smiled weakly, nodding as she hurried to clean up. More staff arrived to assist, and her trepidation seemed to increase as she looked up to me.

“Mrs. Hart, I apologize; if you come with me, I’ll help you save your dress.”

I glanced at Greyson, and when he nodded, sucked down a breath, and moved to follow. “Thank you.” Irritated with myself, I realized I’d been so swept up in Miranda and Royce and finally not feeling so alone that I hadn’t taken note of her name. I didn’t have a chance to ask as she wove us between tables and out the side room before we walked down a long hallway. I motioned to the bathroom, and she shook her head.

“A water line burst in that one,” she explained. “The staff bathroom is open, though.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I memorized the way back as the chatter of the auction faded. This place was a gothic-era labyrinth full of stone and stretching shadows, complete with beautiful golden faux torch lights jutting from the walls.

“It’s really okay,” I reassured, glancing down to the Burgundy staining my bold gold gown. Unless she was a secret sorceress, there wasn’t any saving this.

“I’m probably getting fired either way, so I might as well make it right,” she murmured, a waver in her voice as we hurried around a corner.

“I assure you, if it comes to that, Greyson will speak with your employer and make sure your position is secure.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Hart. Thank you, though.” Petrified, flecked coffee-brown eyes found me over her shoulder.What in the hell had her so spooked? Her anxiety was palpable, and somehow, my instincts said it was way worse than the prospect of losing a job. She held open the door to a two-stall bathroom, and I stepped in, looking around. She rushed to fetch a rag from the cabinet and wet it. “Oh, this isn’t working,” she muttered so quietly I barely heard her, shaking her head as she dabbed away at the inevitable disaster of Burgundy. “I have a stain remover in the other room. Give me a moment, Mrs. Hart, and I swear I’ll work miracles.”

With a sympathetic smile, I nodded and said, “I needed to escape to a restroom anyway.” The moment the door closed behind her, I sighed, studying the ridiculous space. It really was an exceptional imitation of ancient castles. The only thing out of place was the modern ventilation.

I hurried to use the restroom and wash my hands, sadly glancing down at my ruined dress. Not that it would have survived Greyson tearing it off me tonight. Anticipatory jitters rocked through my belly. We’d yet to decide what it meant, but my mind was in no rush to disrupt a dynamic we both seemed to think was working. I rotated to study the art hung against the stone walls, running my fingers over the dark wood trim dividing rock from wood. I’m not sure how long she intended to have me wait, but I didn’t want to worry Greyson with an extended absence.

Hushed voices pulled my attention from the intricate painting of the Italian countryside—what looked like a field of poppy flowers hedged by slender towering trees—and I turned, scowling, until I realized they were coming from the air vent.

Ears straining, I heard a male timbre say, “He has no idea. I promise we’re secure.”

Chills ghosted down my spine, and my intuition prickled as I stepped into the stall below the vent, attempting to get closer.

“The wife?” A low, sardonic laugh. “His diversion tactic is clueless. I said I’ll take care of it.”

What the actual fuck? Interest more than a little piqued, I scrambled up onto the back of the industrial toilet, praying my pointed heels wouldn’t lead to my untimely demise as I scaled higher, using my hands on the stall wall to balance. My phone buzzed in my clutch, and I hurried to silence it, precariously teetering on the porcelain. “It’s sent.” A brief pause, followed by a word that sent my stomach sinking with confirmed suspicion. “Passcode—Trah.”

Trah. Like T-R-A-H? Hart…backward? Had I heard him correctly? That couldn’t be a coincidence. Simultaneously, it felt idiotically obvious.

Oh shit. Glancing down to my phone, I had no less than fifteen texts and five missed calls from Max. Scrambling, I climbed off the toilet and headed for the door with no regard for my dress. Only, as I turned back the way we’d come, I heard the men’s bathroom door creak open on squeaky hinges. Seriously, did they have the creepy castle vibes installed on purpose?

Ducking into an alcove, I pressed myself into the wall, praying the room behind me wasn’t the one they were headed for, as two sets of male footsteps softly filled the hallway. Muttered voices culminated, and the three paths branched off before one set of footsteps continued on the path, and the other grew closer. Heart in my throat, I held my breath, praying the concealment of shadows hid me where I stood. My hand flew to cover my mouth as though that would silence my panic as I watched the distinct figure of Reggie Hart rush past me back toward the auction. The sound of the second pair of footsteps faded down the opposite hallway.

Son of a bitch.

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