at the contact, but she dismissed it as a histrionic reaction after the disturbing phone call from Chad. Still, Dutch’s warmth and strength engulfing her took the chill away from her bones, nonetheless.
He held her, his arms banding tight around her in a comforting embrace.
“You came,” she gasped.
Stroking her hair, he said, “All the work and worry you were putting into this event, how could I not come?”
She pulled back, regaining her composure, and looked up at him.
The relief in seeing his face and beaming smile was like a gift she’d prayed for but had given up hope on ever getting.
“When I walked in, you sounded upset on the phone. Who were you talking to?”
Isabel dropped her gaze to her peep-toed shoes. “No one worth discussing.”
Brenda shimmied through the crowd and slid up next to her. “We just sold the last painting to that Hollywood producer.”
“That’s great,” Isabel said, her voice flat and devoid of excitement.
“What’s wrong?” Brenda asked.
“She just got an upsetting phone call from a sick pervert,” Dutch said to Brenda while putting a comforting arm around Isabel.
Brenda’s jaw unhinged and her eyes went wide. “The nerve of him.”
“Him who?” Dutch asked.
“Chad Ellis,” Brenda said. “Her ex.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Isabel rolled her pearls through her fingers and remembered the disgusting things Chad had said to her. Was he still watching her? She lowered her hand, smoothing down the bottom of her Herve Leger crisscross bandage dress. “I think I need to get out of here. Would you mind if I cut out early?” she asked Brenda, hating to abandon her friend, but she needed to leave the gallery, needed air.
“Not at all. This soiree is almost over. I’ve already roped the gorgeous party planner into helping me close and we’re going to have drinks after. Go somewhere with Dutch.” Brenda shifted her gaze to him. “Do you promise to take her somewhere fun and make sure she gets home safely?”
“I can handle that.”
“You don’t have to,” Isabel said. “Really. I can just go home.”
“It’d be my pleasure to take you out,” he said.
“There. It’s settled.” Brenda kissed her cheek. “You deserve a break. You did awesome tonight, working the room and convincing people to open their wallets. Get out of here.”
“Are you up for dancing?” Dutch asked.
“Sure.” It might be a good distraction. “My uncle owns a nightclub in downtown LA. We could get a VIP table and a bottle of whatever you want.”
He shrugged, not looking the least bit impressed. “Sounds like a lot of unnecessary fancy stuff if you ask me. All I need is you and some good music. You game?”
She was so accustomed to using the perks of her lifestyle to ingratiate herself with other people that she didn’t know how to respond when Dutch shot down her offer.
He frowned. “If going to your uncle’s club makes you more comfortable, then we—”
“No. It’s just surprising. Most people jump at the chance to have VIP treatment.”
“I’m not most people.”
No, he wasn’t. He was a beautiful anomaly.
“I’m game,” she said. “Just give me a minute.”
After saying a few quick goodbyes, she grabbed her clutch from the bottom drawer of the desk. Since she hadn’t realized the Pacifier required twelve hours to charge, all five were plugged in at home, juicing up. Rather than needing to lug a tote-size bag, she opted for something small and sparkly to match her shoes. It was only big enough to hold her driver’s license, credit card, lipstick, pepper spray and EpiPen.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise.” Dutch took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers, and hauled her out of the gallery.
“Do I need to call for my car?”
“Nope.”
Being led off into the unknown by a man she’d met two days ago should’ve felt reckless and risky, but it didn’t. She didn’t know Dutch well. His body was lethal, his face hard and rugged, but she was certain of two things. He was kind and considerate, and that made him exactly what she needed.
“Dutch, you’re so right,” she said, swallowing the words almost perfect, “that there must be something wrong with you. What is it? You don’t have split-personality disorder or any other type of condition, do you?”
“I assure you, I’m as sane as you and Brenda.”
Well, that wasn’t saying much. Some days she was insane-asylum-batty, and Brenda was far from normal, in a wacky sort of way, but neither of them were psycho. Like Chad.