What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

“I guess I did,” he replies. “And how did that happen? Are you a new client of the firm?”

“Oh gosh, no,” I say, waving off that idea. “I don’t need legal services, and I’m not an entertainer. I don’t act any way but badly, and I’m the worst singer ever.”

“I’m going to have to wrestle you for the title of worst singer ever,” he teases.

“I’d still win,” I promise him. “Thus why I know to keep my creativity behind the scenes. What about you?”

His eyes light with mischief. “Some might call me creative. Others, not so much.”

“Do you call yourself creative?”

“No,” he says, still appearing amused. “I don’t think I’m creative at all.”

Now I’m really curious—beyond curious, really—but before I can push for more, I hear, “Ms. Wright.”

My gaze shifts to find Tyler Hawk standing beside us. I straighten. “Mr. Hawk.”

The man from the elevator, whose name I still don’t know, straightens as well and gives a slight incline of his chin to Tyler. “Tyler,” he greets.

“Dash,” he replies dryly. “You’re here, I see.”

Dash, I repeat in my head.

The name is familiar, but before I can fully digest why, Tyler eyes me and says, “Please tell me he wasn’t boring you with ghost stories.”

My brows dip, and I glance at Dash. “Ghost stories? What does that mean? Who are you?”

“A dead man walking,” he says, his lips curving ever so slightly before he eyes Tyler and then backs up, walking away. Gone. And I don’t want him to be gone.

“Pain in my ass, that one,” Tyler murmurs. “If he wasn’t a bestseller—”

My brows furrow, and I glance at Tyler. “Wait. Bestseller?” Realization begins to hit me. “Is that—who is he?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” I say. “He didn’t get a chance.”

“Dash Black. He’s the author of—”

“The Ghost Assassin,” I supply, my heart fluttering excitedly. “Also known as The Dead Man Walking,” I add. “My God. He’s not just a bestseller. He’s an international phenomenon. There are two movies about his character, Ghost. And I—” I cut myself off before I admit that I edited one of his books. Granted, I was a junior editor at the time, doing a simple copy edit, but I binged his entire twelve-book series after doing so.

Tyler arches an arrogant brow. “And you what?”

“I—just don’t know why he didn’t tell me who he was.”

“Because he’s Dash,” he says, whatever that means. He doesn’t explain. He moves on, and suddenly his full attention is fixed on me. And while Dash holds a rugged appeal, Tyler is refined, more classical in his good looks, but there is also something almost predatory about him, something that I find both familiar and uncomfortable.

“What business did you have with Allison, Ms. Wright?” he asks, making it clear he knows exactly who I am and how I came to be here tonight. “I must tell you right off the bat that she’s taken a leave of absence and I’m afraid our December auction is in jeopardy.”

This announcement jolts me to full attention. Allison is not here, nor will she be here, and I’m still in possession of her necklace. “Do you know how I can reach her?”

“I’d rather you focus your attention on me, Ms. Wright.”

And while I find no blatant invitation in his words, there’s a distinct shift in the energy between us that I can’t quite explain. But he’s also watching me a bit too intently, expectantly, I think.

This is the moment when I could tell him about the package meant for Allison, but I hold back, tormented by the idea that this is a personal item that belongs to her and her alone. This man is her boss. Or, what if—what if he’s actually her lover? What if me telling him that I know about the note and the necklace has a negative impact on a Riptide partnership?

And as guilty as I feel about my motives, I can’t help but consider my financial situation as well. Therefore, I stick to business, and business only. “I’d hoped to talk to Allison about your auction.”

“Which you know about how?” he asks.

I blink at the unexpected question that sends me into yet another mental scramble. “I found out from a friend of Allison’s,” I say quickly, telling myself it’s not a lie. I hate lies. I’ve lived with their bite and I don’t like how it feels. But Allison’s “friend” sent me the necklace and that led me here and technically to the auction. And because he could push for more, I quickly sidestep, ignoring his question. “As you might or might not know, the Riptide name alone pushes up price tags.”

Thankfully he allows my diversion, staying on the current topic with, “I’m also aware that Riptide is neither fast nor cheap.”

“We’ll make up our commission and then some,” I argue, certain I am correct. Riptide is the most elite of auction houses, as Dash Black is the most elite of suspenseful fiction.