Page 6 of Holiday Interference
“Get the quartet off the floor,” I say. “Cue emergency candles and battery uplights at the coat check. Let’s glow them out if we can’t light the way.”
“On it.”
The room begins to buzz again—movement, coats, chatter. I keep my shoulders straight and my pace calm as I cross toward the front. The staff’s already mobilizing, just the way I taught them.
Everyone moves quickly and a little over an hour later, all the guests have been sent home. I’ve checked in with Sloane’s building staff about closing up The Pit, sent Jules and my team home, and I’m stepping out into the cold, snow-filled air.
Pulling my gloves on, I assess the situation from the entrance of the arena, and I don’t like what I see.
“Don’t.”
The voice comes low and right behind me. I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
I also don’t need my pulse skittering like it is at his low tone either.
“It’s cold; you shouldn’t have waited for me.”
“When I didn’t see you leave with the rest of your team, I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.” He pauses, then steps beside me. “You shouldn’t drive in this.”
His presence is quiet, but solid. Like a wall that won’t move unless you ask nicely and, even then, only if he agrees.
“I grew up in Michigan. I got this,” I say, not looking at him.
“You’ve got heels.”
“I’ve got backup boots in the trunk.”
“The trunk you can’t get to because it’s buried under six inches of snow and a poorly parked Escalade.”
I finally turn to face him.
His expression doesn’t change. Just calm, steady logic. It shouldn’t feel like care. But it does.
In a way that makes my ribs feel too tight.
“You shouldn’t be alone out there,” he adds, and it’s so quiet, I almost miss the way his voice dips. Like he’s not just talking about road safety.
The air between us stretches—warm, tense, breath-visible.
I don’t have time for this. I don’t haveroomfor this.
But when I look out into the parking lot, I know he’s right.
The snow’s coming down harder. The side roads are full of red taillights from where people are stuck in traffic that doesn’t have a prayer of moving.
I close my eyes for a second. Just long enough to admit it: I don’t want to be alone out there either.
When I open them, he’s still watching me.
Not like I’m fragile.
Not like I’m in charge.
Just…watching.
“I live two blocks from here,” he says. “You can wait it out at my place. Just until the roads clear.”
My brain fires off all the reasons I should say no.
