Page 404 of Summer Heat
Two managerial types and a security guard came charging past to yank Connor off the man. Marcus swept in soon after spouting some legal jargon to a stricken restaurant employee while his ‘personal assistant’ started anxiously talking on two cell phones at the same time.
Nearby, the tiny woman was still screeching something in her own language and throwing her sleek stiletto heels at the sausage-fingered asshole, who’d begun puking all over his designer suit. And throughout it all, Abby saw that half the patrons in the dining area were still eating and carrying on like it was beneath them to even bother to look their way.
Abby shook her head. She so did not belong in this world.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CONNOR HAD NEVER BEEN more terrified in his entire life.
When he saw that drunken man throw Abby like a ragdoll, Connor had just plain lost it.
Even now, he could barely piece together what had happened immediately after. If not for the half-dozen or so witnesses who’d managed to fill in his rage-filled blanks for the police report, there was a good chance he would’ve been arrested for lack of cooperation during the follow-up interrogation alone. Because honestly, he’d been unable to answer most of the police questions definitively, save one: Abby had bum-rushed a man easily twice her size to protect a woman she didn’t even know.
Who does that? Who is that good of a person?
Abby.
After he’d taken her home, he’d simply held her the entire night, not sleeping a wink. Over and over in his head, he replayed the sight of Abby being slammed into that wall, imagined what would’ve happened had he not gotten there in time.
It could’ve been so much worse.
As it was, Abby was sporting a bruise covering half her arm, outlined in the shape of each of the sonofabitch’s fingers.
Connor fisted his hands in reflex and winced—his right fist was scabbed ragged all across the knuckles, while the left was the one that was still swollen and bruised.
A charming look with his tuxedo.
Flexing his fingers to ease the ache, he looked around the ballroom, still in disbelief that Abby had convinced him to attend the charity ball. He hadn’t wanted to leave her side all week; tonight was no exception. But she’d reminded him about her prior commitments for the evening and urged him to go.
So far, he was having a lousy time.
And reason number one was sitting right beside him.
“Poor baby, do you want me to ask the waiters to bring some ice for your hands?”
He rolled his eyes. Had Gabriella’s voice always been this annoying?
“No thanks, I’m fine.”
He couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d slept with her, let alone dated her for an entire month. She was fake, vapid, and dull as dirt.
The anti-Abby.
“Do you want me to kiss it and make it all better?”
Ugh. Baby talk? Really? “I’m going to go get a drink.”
He stalked off, glad that she finally caught the hint and chose not to follow.
Seeing Victoria at the other end of the bar, he beelined it over and cornered her with a scowl. “I can’t believe you abandoned me tonight.”
“Can you blame me?” She pointed out her date, aka the manchild at her table who probably modeled underwear for a living. “That is one fine specimen of a man.”
“The guy’s half your age, Victoria.”
“I know.” She beamed. “Thank Marcus again for me, will you?”
Wait, what? He grabbed her elbow. “My father arranged this date of yours?”
