What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

I don’t have time to deal with this now.

My cellphone rings and I glance down to find Tyler on my caller ID. Great, fabulous. Wonderful. I answer with, “Hi,” my definitive way to prove I’m intelligent and on the ball.

“Where are you, Ms. Wright? I’d have assumed you’d want to be here early, not after the guests have arrived.”

“I would have been but Milton Ryder, the CEO of Ryder Electronics, called me as I was walking out the door. He donated a comic book to the auction worth a pretty penny. But I’m dressed and ready to go. I’m about to call an Uber now.”

“Where is your car?”

“Apparently it’s ready for the graveyard. It’s my old college car my mother refused to let go.”

“I’ll send a driver. Be ready.” He disconnects.

I scowl at the phone. I guess any discussion on the topic is over.

With a sigh, I hurry to the front of the house where I wait for the car, which arrives with remarkable quickness. I’m then driven to a nearby location. The high-end ritzy side of Belle Meade, where we enter through a security panel-controlled gate and follow a round drive. The center of the grounds, which are quite expansive, sports a round waterfall, while the house itself is modern looking with several levels, almost like two rectangles stacked unevenly.

I’d expected Tyler’s home to be stunning. I wasn’t wrong.

Nor am I surprised to find a valet parking cars. The driver pulls me to the door, and the valet attends to my exit. Soon, I’m walking several levels of steps to the double frosted-glass front doors. I’m greeted by a doorman who opens the door for me and invites me inside. My coat is taken from me and I wonder who the party is for since Tyler didn’t tell me and I didn’t know if I was allowed to discuss it elsewhere. Not when everything could be a test.

I ease into the room where the floors are dark wood and the room is all clean lines, with the fireplace as the modern centerpiece. The furniture is brown, rich, masculine leather. I’d expect nothing less from Tyler Hawk. The kitchen island is a brown and cream combo of my dreams with fancy designer lights hanging low. But the most impactful part of the room is the double doors opened to a spectacular pool area while at least fifty people inside and out mingle about.

It’s a stunning home.

I accept a glass of champagne, which I sip, just in time to have Tyler appear in front of me.

He’s in a suit, of course, because he’s Tyler. He probably sleeps just like he is right in this moment. Or naked. Not that I want to find out. Tyler might be the kind of powerful man I’ve been drawn to in the past, but never again. Of that, I firmly vow.

His blue eyes narrow on me, almost as if he can hear my thoughts, and then slide up and down my body. The blatant inspection that follows heats my cheeks and ends with a burning look of approval and command. “Come with me.”

He turns and starts walking.

I quickly keep pace, praying I don’t spill the drink I should have declined. Our destination is the center of a group of people near the fireplace, and Tyler easily parts the crowd. I join him and suck in a breath, as I find myself standing directly across from, the one, and only, Dash Black.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

My heart is racing.

Tyler is talking to the group, about me, I think, but I can’t process what he’s saying. Not really. Not when Dash is standing right in front of me looking like sin and seduction in jeans, a sweater, and a sleek black jacket he’s paired with boots. And when my eyes meet his eyes, he’s looking at me, too.

I expect to find anger or contempt in his stare at my presence, but that’s not what I find at all. There’s an instant, intense punch of awareness between us that steals my breath and quakes the ground beneath my feet. In my mind, we’re back at that guitar statue, and his hands are on my body. Heat rushes over my skin.

“Meet Allison,” Tyler says, jolting me back to the group. “She’s heading up our new annual charity auction this year.” And then he’s introducing me to people, and I’m shaking hands with one man, then another, then a woman.

The woman, Susie, fifty-something, in a red dress, with light brown hair, eyes Dash. “The charity is your choice this year, correct?” She grins at Tyler. “See? I really read your emails.”

“Nice to hear,” Tyler replies, “though I doubt that’s true. You’re too busy directing mega film projects to read my emails. I suggest you heard about the auction here tonight.”

“It is my charity choice,” Dash replies, and there’s no missing his cool confidence, and comfort in himself, something that contrasts Tyler’s wicked arrogance.