“Not in Bristol,” I said icily. “In Bridgeport. I have a demolition company, and Brig was kind enough to put me in touch with his sister.”
Slow, imperious nodding that conveyed every bit of his skepticism. “Really?” His tone was packed with sneering, patronizing contempt, and I realized that whereas the others were a walking, talking ad for frat boys in Sin City, this man was an arrogant snob. He reminded me of the very worst parts of my life when I was growing up, and I had a visceral reaction to him. I wanted to punch him as hard as I could in his smug, entitled face. If Locryn were here, I could imagine his reaction. I could even hear him in my head. “Who the fuck names their kid Digby, anyway? I’ll bet you a hundred bucks everyone called him Dickbag in high school.” Amused, I grunted instead of reacting, which was a good thing.
“You have a demolition company.” His gaze traveled from my face, down the length of my body, and made the return trip with absolute disdain. “You do. You.”
Only a flicker of Jared Colter, his face in my head for an instant, kept me from taking Brig’s friend’s legs out from under him and putting him back on the ground.
“Give him a break, Dig,” Brig ordered his friend, smacking him gently in the abdomen before taking hold of his shoulder. “Just because he got the drop on you is no reason to be an ass.”
Staring at me another moment, he then turned and announced to everyone that he was taking them to a private party at another club. I heard Astor make a sound beside me as she slipped her arm through mine.
When the others cheered the new plan, clustering around Digby, she leaned in close as Nolan stepped around the other side, the two of them flanking me.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with him, Croy,” Astor whispered. “He’s a real prick.”
“Oh no,” I said quickly, covering the hand wrapped around my bicep. “I’m sure he’s just annoyed that––”
“Don’t make excuses for him,” Nolan said, biting out every word. “He’s a liar and a bully, relentlessly vile, and worse, a ridiculous dilettante. But Brig loves him, which tells you what kind of horrific judge of character my brother is.”
Looking back and forth between the two of them, what I realized then was how much Brig Stanton missed, both the minor and obvious details, about everyone in his life. Small wonder that his father felt he needed someone to watch over him. Were I his father, I would have too.
As we walked through the casino and outside into the cold, heading across the street to Caesar’s Palace, I had to jostle for position to stay close to Brig. Chase and Digby both clung to him like a couple of limpets, while the others filled in the space around him. We arrived at the bank of elevators to find a cluster of people there, waiting, and it was clear that we weren’t all going to fit in a single car when it arrived.
“We can get the next one,” I stated, taking hold of Brig’s bicep at the last second, yanking him off as the doors closed on his friends’ protests.
“Sorry,” Brig said sheepishly. “That was dumb.”
“Yes,” I agreed, glancing at Dallas, who had somehow gotten separated from Digby.
He was squinting at me, looking like he was trying to put something together.
“So, how long have you known Dig?” Brig asked, making conversation.
“Just a couple months,” Dallas replied, those storm-washed blue eyes of his narrowing, still focused on me even as he answered Brig. “I’m actually here to talk to you about Lane, and since I knew you’d never talk to me without an introduction, I asked Digby if he’d do it.”
I took a step closer to Brig. Just because I found the guy insanely attractive didn’t mean I could dismiss the possibility that he might be trying to kill Lane Stanton, or her brother, for that matter.
“I’m very interested to know how you feel about her side hustle.”
Brig crossed his arms, studying Dallas. “What side hustle?”
His grin was wicked and accentuated the way his full bottom lip curled up in the corner and made his dimples pop. That, combined with the dip of his head and the slow lift of his gaze to Brig, as well as the accompanying arch of an eyebrow, left no question that he knew his effect on people. When he rubbed the reddish-gold scruff on his jaw with the back of his fingers, I couldn’t help but notice the burnished cream of his skin or, again, how broad he was through the chest and shoulders. There was no doubt about it, Dallas Bauer was a beautiful man.
“C’mon,” Dallas prompted, edging closer to Brig, his tone playful, intimate, like they were friends. “We both know what you’re letting her do.”