Mr. Mitchell Billionaires' Club Book 2 - Raylin Marks Page 0,107

Mitch. Mitch stuck with Addy.”

“Oh shit.” Ash laughed. “Well, hopefully, if Jake meets your daughter, he won’t die laughing when he hears her calling him Mitch.”

“So, how did Mitch become Jake?” I asked.

“By saving my dad’s life.” I could see her eyes glow with passion. “He nearly died, and who would’ve thought that my one-night-stand was the surgeon who would save him from his heart attack that night. It took some time—mainly time for me to get over myself—and Jake and I realized we just couldn’t push away the attraction we had for each other.”

“I love that. What a special story,” I said.

“It’s pretty crazy, though. It all happened so hard and so fast. It took me a while to understand I was in love with the man. It’s sort of hard to accept that word, you know? For me, anyway.”

I looked out into the crowd and saw Jim standing with his brother and a group of men. Earlier I thought I was gawking and obsessing over this new side of him, but could it be that Ash was onto something I wasn’t daring to admit to myself?

“It is,” I answered. “It can be such an overused word, I think. It’s the commitment, the pull toward someone, and you just can’t resist it even if you tried.”

“Yes,” she said, and as we were getting through the small talk, she was cut off by a man to my right.

“Dirty martini?” I heard a low, humorous voice, a little too close to my ear, say.

I pulled my eyes from Ash’s narrowed ones and turned to face the robust man with blond hair, sporting a suit that most likely cost a few pretty pennies.

“And I’m about to order another,” I said. “Are you here with the medical groups?”

“One might say that.” His grin broadened. The man was pretty damn fine looking, a neatly trimmed mustache and beard—yet I instantly didn’t like him.

“I’m not asking what one might say, I’m asking what you say,” I said. I hated it when men in bar situations tried to play coy. “You’re either with the group, or you’re crashing this place for free booze,” I said, looking at his gin.

He smirked. “Maybe there was a stunning woman I caught a glimpse of, and I decided to crash it for her instead.”

“Are you hitting on me?” I must’ve had the most bewildered look on my face because I couldn’t believe something so ridiculous was happening at such a stylish event.

“Going to report me, blue eyes?” he said, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine as he sat on the stool next to the one I took moments ago.

“I might. You probably shouldn’t hit on the girl who’s with the man who could have you thrown out.”

I saw one of the men who’d been assigned as security detail to Ash and me take notice of what was happening. He was dressed sharply in an all-black suit, and he had one of those curly plastic earpieces that people in the secret service wear.

“Is this gentleman giving you a problem?” the man asked as he approached and stood protectively by Ash and me. “He can and will be removed if that’s the case.”

I glanced around to see that Jim’s eyes were locked on where Ash and I sat. I’d like to say this was that jealousy thing in him that he was talking about earlier, but his dark gaze—the scorched-earth look—was telling me he wasn’t a fan of the random dude in a suit who was talking to me. I smiled at him, letting him know it was all good at the bar. He nodded, did some lethal eyebrow arch toward the man at my right, and I could tell he was doing his best to remain in conversation with the group that surrounded him.

“I’m fine,” I smiled at the secret bodyguard, and then to Ash’s playful grin. “I’ll handle the trash in here. I’m sure you get paid to handle the real men.”

The man nodded and backed off.

I turned back to the idiot that I could instantly tell Jim didn’t like, and I was sure it wasn’t because the douchebag was flirting with me. “Looks like your ass is hitting on the wrong girl,” I said, hoping to move him on.

He smiled and leaned against the bar counter. “Trash, huh?” He covered his heart. “This Tom Ford suit tells a different story.”

“Tom Ford, Henry Ford, who really gives a shit? And the suit may tell a different story to you,