a grin. “Seriously, I’m the one going overboard with this Gatsby theme. I want you there, and I want you to look so good Dawson won’t be able to deny you a moment longer.”
Yuriko’s head jerked up from the drawing. “Wait, our Dawson?” She eyed me, a sneaky smile appearing on her face. “Ah. You’re the woman they were talking about.”
Jada and I both frowned. “Who?”
Yuriko laughed, a tinkle of sound that reminded me of bells. “Dax and Dawson were here earlier looking at the tuxedo designs you had me create. The entire time they were here, Dax kept harassing Dawson about some woman he was trying to impress. It’s you, right?”
I flushed. I couldn’t help it. God, the teenage girl inside me wanted so badly for it to be true. For me to be the woman Dawson wanted to look good for, but he’d had two chances to kiss me and hadn’t, so I wasn’t sure I could assume I was the one. It didn’t prevent Jada from squealing as if she’d just heard the best thing in her life.
“I told you. By the party at the latest!”
I didn’t deny her. I let her have her moment while the little girl in me wished upon the brightest star.
After we left Yuriko’s, we headed to the spa where I finally saw Jada start to unwind. She had a massage while I had my nails done sitting in a chair near her. She talked nonstop about the party, and I realized how much she needed it to fill her time with something other than thoughts of Ken’Ichi and her father.
By the time we got back to the penthouse, Jada’s smile was real, and her eyes were twinkling. She was almost dancing as we entered the drawing room, but it disappeared once she saw the two men waiting for us. Dawson and Ken’Ichi were sitting in armchairs across the coffee table from each other, and the tension in the room was palpable.
Jada’s back tightened, and she flung her bag on the couch, heading directly to the liquor cabinet in the corner.
“It’s empty,” Ken’Ichi said quietly.
She ignored him, only to find the cabinet bare when she opened it.
“What the hell?” she said, spinning toward him, eyes flashing.
“Your father and I are concerned about your alcohol intake. Thus, we’ve removed the temptation.”
“This isn’t your home! You can’t just throw out Obaasan’s alcohol as if it’s yours!”
Ken’Ichi stood, moving toward Jada, backing her up against the wall.
“Your temper is both enticing and aggravating, Jada-chan,” he said, palm surrounding her neck. “I can’t wait to break you of it.”
“Don’t call me that.” It was a low growl in her throat.
It was as if we weren’t even there. He didn’t care that he had an audience. I started across the room toward them, but Dawson beat me to it. He leaned his shoulder on the wall next to Jada.
“Man, sorry to tell you, but we don’t live in the Shogun era. You might want to take it down a few notches.” He looked at Ken’Ichi with a grin that I knew to be false. Behind it, Dawson was as tight as Jada was.
Ken’Ichi turned slightly to look at Dawson, dark eyes traveling over him with contempt, but the distraction allowed Jada to escape. She grabbed her purse and headed for the drawing room doors.
“I suddenly have an enormous headache. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning for the shopping spree I promised you, Baioretto.”
She hadn’t promised me any such thing, but her words were somehow another dig at Ken’Ichi that I didn’t understand. She disappeared up the stairs, and Dawson stepped away from the wall toward me.
“Since the old man here has dried up the place, let’s go get a drink,” he said, pulling me with him toward the door.
“Don’t forget the appointment you have in the morning,” Ken’Ichi’s voice trailed after him. “I’d hate for you to lose before you’ve even started.”
There was a warning in his voice that Dawson didn’t respond to.
We left the penthouse, stopping at the elevator doors, and I said, “I don’t think we should leave her alone with him.”
“He’s going out,” Dawson said.
“How do you know that?”
“He got a call just before you showed up.”
The doors opened, and we got in, our shoulders brushing and causing the slow burn inside me to ignite once more. I pushed the feeling―and the accompanying trail of combustion formulas―aside in order to growl out, “What the hell is going on, Dawson?”