What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

“He’s not going to drive me away mid-auction, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m committed and I want to do this. And Tyler is not my first Tyler. I work for Riptide. Mark Compton, and even his mother, are both what I would call earthquakes—scattering people into nervous frenzies—when they walk into the room. Queen Compton does this quite loudly while Mark, much like Tyler, does it quietly.”

“Tyler officially has a new nickname. Earthquake. And it’s fitting.”

The doors ding and open. Dash is quick to hold them open, motioning me forward. I exit, and just outside, I pause and wait on him. “I can take my bag,” I offer.

“I’m in the garage, too. I’ll ride down with you and walk you to your car.” There’s an insistence in his voice, an absoluteness.

I’m charmed, but I also remind myself that he’s just being a gentleman. “Because you’re afraid I’ll drop everything again.”

“The bag broke,” he teases, “and then jumped right out of your arms. Why would I be worried?”

I laugh. “Yes. Stupid bag, but I also love it. I hope it can be repaired.”

“Never trust what has already failed you,” he says, a shift to his mood that is far more serious now.

I’m suddenly not sure we’re talking about the bag anymore and neither of us are moving. “Sounds like experience talking again,” I comment.

“It is,” he assures me, something dark in his expression, but there’s no time to press for more.

We quickly go from the lobby to the garage elevator, and then the actual garage. We exit and he motions to the rows of cars. “Where are you parked?” he asks, and whatever I just thought I saw in him seems to be gone. Or maybe it never existed.

I indicate left, and hit the button to ping the car as we start walking in that direction.

Once we’re there, he opens my door and then sets my bag in the back for me, “I’d say good luck with your meeting,” he offers, “but you won’t need it. Millie’s excited to get the event going. And after talking to me about your background, and my first impression, she’s excited about you. You still haven’t asked me about that.”

“About what?”

“My first impression of you.” His voice is low, warm, and there seems to be a hint of flirtation to his tone.

My heart flutters and I quickly say, “I still don’t want to know. And I’m getting in the car before you tell me anyway.” And I do. I climb into the car, set the MacBook on the passenger seat, and when I would look up at Dash, he’s squatting beside me. “Let me know when you’re ready, Allie.” With no further explanation, his lips curve and he stands back up, shutting my door.

Let him know when I’m ready?

My head is spinning with those words that I don’t understand.

I watch him walk away, and then he’s gone, but he’s made sure I will think about him. But will I be ready when I see him again?

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The charity Drive Sober and Safely is run from a small office space next to a Starbucks. It doesn’t get much better than that.

I arrive to the meeting just in time, and I’m instantly greeted by a warm smile and a handshake from Millie Roberts, the charity’s president. Millie appears to be thirty-something, quite stylish in a cream-colored tailored dress, with a mass of red curls spiraling to her shoulders.

We quickly move from the lobby to her office, sitting at a small, round conference table, and her eagerness and relief over my involvement all but vibrates from her. “We’re really counting on this event for next year’s funding. Dash told me about your experience and position at Riptide. It’s such a relief to have you involved.”

“I’m glad I can help and motivate,” I say. “Honestly, it’s almost as if it was meant to be. I’m here for just the right amount of time to get this done. And I’m passionate about making a difference. Tell me what I need to know.”

“Absolutely,” she says. “We’re lucky to have you.” She then launches into a great deal of information about who they are and what they do, which helps me to help her. She finishes with, “This is personal to me. My sister died in a car accident. A drunk driver hit her head-on. She was coming over a hill. She never saw it coming. So tell me, please. What can I do for you?”

My heart squeezes and I, in turn, squeeze her hand. “I won’t say I’m sorry. I know you hear that all the time, but my mother just recovered from cancer. That’s why I’m here. In some way, I hope my fear of losing her helps me help the cause.”

Her eyes soften. “I do believe it will and I’m so thankful that she recovered.”