Briggs - A Carolina Reapers Nove - Samantha Whiskey Page 0,33
Who the hell was he? A donor? An investor? What had he said that was that damned funny?
Damn, she looked good enough to eat tonight. Her dress was strapless, leaving her shoulders bare, and I would have bet a year’s salary that the emerald green gown made her hazel eyes lean toward that shamrock shade.
“Earth. To. Briggs.” Sterling tapped my shoulder, and I whipped my head in his direction to find both him and Brogan staring at me like I’d grown another head.
“What?” I snapped, yanking at the collar on my shirt. Logically, I knew it fit—Bristol had it custom-tailored to me since it was her design, but the shit felt tight. My entire body felt tight and had since I’d seen her in New York last week.
“Are you okay?” Sterling asked, knitting his eyebrows. “Because you’re staring at that guy like you’re about to take him apart?”
“Fine,” I answered, throwing back the last of my ginger ale and wishing it was something a hell of a lot more alcoholic.
“You’d think you’d be a little more relaxed after beating the shit out of Los Angeles this afternoon,” Brogan added, a corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “But I can see why you might still be a little high-strung.”
Bristol laughed again, and I wasn’t sure if the sound really carried that far across the ballroom or if my mind was just playing tricks on me.
“Is he a fucking comedian?” I grumbled, raking my hand over my hair.
Chill. She’s allowed to talk to or flirt with whoever the hell she wants.
The sane, reasonable part of my brain was doing its best Gandhi impression.
Fuck. That. The primal, possessive side of me was going all caveman. Awesome.
“You could just go talk to her,” Sterling suggested, taking a glass of champagne from the waiter as he made his rounds.
“Talk to who?” Maxim asked, joining us with his arm wrapped around not one—but two women’s waists.
“None of your business,” I barked.
“Someone needs to get laid.” He scoffed, then glanced across the ballroom. “Oh shit, you and McClaren?”
“I would leave that subject alone if I were you,” Brogan warned, but the asshat was still smirking.
“Seriously, you’ve been glaring at every guy she’s talked to for the last two hours, and she’s looked over here so often I’m starting to think her head might permanently swivel to the left,” Sterling noted.
Bristol reached into her clutch and took out a card, handing it to the guy.
Is she giving him her damned number? Ice raced through my veins. I was losing it. “I need a damned drink,” I said, turning for the bar.
Something wet and cold splashed all over my chest, soaking through my shirt in an instant and turning the pristine white fabric a mottled shade of tan.
“Oops!” One of the women with Maxim slammed her hand over her mouth. “OhmigodI’msosorry,” she blurted from behind her fingers, the phrase turning into one long word.
“Damn,” Sterling muttered.
“Well, at least you have a drink now.” Maxim cringed.
“It’s okay,” I told the woman, then closed my eyes slowly and took a deep breath, counting to ten as I turned back around. When I opened them, Bristol was striding her way toward me, her mouth wide open.
“Here we go,” Sterling whispered. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” he added, slapping me on the back.
“What the hell is that?” Bristol’s voice pitched high as she gestured at my soaked shirt and—yep, the tie was a loss, too. Her eyes were wide, with a subtle hint of panic.
“Nice to see you, too, Bristol,” I said, putting my empty glass on the nearest table. There was something to be said for having both hands free when it came to this woman.
“Is that…” She leaned forward and sniffed. “Amaretto on my thousand-dollar tuxedo shirt? Oh, God, that tie is silk!” She yanked the fabric free, holding it up for examination.
“I was right. That dress makes your eyes look green,” I said softly.
Her gaze jumped to mine. “Amaretto isn’t exactly your drink of choice,” she countered, leaning to the right and glaring past me to where the women stood with Maxim.
“It was an accident! I’m so sorry!” The one who had spilled her drink on me exclaimed.
“He smells like a bachelorette party!” Bristol snapped before grimacing and then letting loose a long sigh. “It’s okay. Accidents happen.”
“I can just take off the tie—” I started.
“Let’s go,” she interrupted, nodding toward the door. “I have another shirt in my room upstairs.”