When I Say Yes (Necklace Trilogy 3)

“I didn’t think you spoke to your father?” he asks, confirming he does, in fact, know the story I told his mother before she hired me. Or at least, part of it.

“I don’t,” I say. “Gossip spills though. An agent told me about it. But as I mentioned, or I think I did—I’m not exactly myself right now—Brandon, my ex, wants revenge. He sees Dash as the way to get it.”

“How very predictable,” he says dryly. “What did he do to Dash?”

“Dash and his father are not on good terms.”

“Didn’t I just read about some big signing they did together today?”

“Not by choice. Brandon recruited Dash’s father as a client. Then he tricked both men into a signing together. He made a splash with the press so they couldn’t back out of the event, which was for a charity. The two of them together went very badly. The confrontation was inevitable, and that connected to a highly personal loss the two share, which drove Dash over the edge. Dash has an addiction, not a conventional one, but an addiction. One he promised me was over.”

“That’s not how addiction works,” Mark points out. “Not a true addiction.”

“I know. But he made it seem as if he fell off the wagon, so to speak, but it was under control. I don’t believe that now. He pushed me away the minute this fight with his father happened. And of course, I know why.”

“He needs his high,” he supplies.

“Yes. And this could destroy his career. And he’s going to act on this need of his now, tonight, while his father and Brandon are watching. I need to find him before they do.”

“What is the addiction?”

“Fighting. Underground fighting. Illegal fighting. There’s a place in Nashville I know he’s been to, but I don’t think he’ll leave the city before indulging in that high. He needs it too badly. He has film deals and a TV show in negotiation. If he ends up in the press over this—”

“It won’t kill the deal,” he assures me. “In fact, it will bring attention to the movies and the books. But that doesn’t mean it won’t kill him.” He picks up his phone from the table. “Lucky for you, I have the right people around me to get you the answers you need.” He stands and walks away.

I grab my phone and check for a message from Dash or Tyler, but there is nothing. I text Dash: Please call me. If you care about me even a little bit, you will call me.

My cellphone rings and I glance at the caller ID. It’s an unknown caller and I know that means Neil. I decline the call and text Dash: I’m not going back to Nashville, Dash. Not now and maybe not ever. So tell Neil to stop contacting me.

He doesn’t answer. I try to call him. It goes to voicemail. His phone is off. And I know why. He doesn’t want to talk to me. He doesn’t want to be stopped.

My phone buzzes with a text message and my heart leaps with the hope that it’s Dash. It’s not. It’s Tyler: No luck yet. Still working.

My lashes lower on a sigh, and a complete utter feeling of defeat. I can’t save him. Because he doesn’t want to be saved.

CHAPTER THREE

Mark leaves me at the table so long that I down my coffee and head to the bathroom, which is large and offers me the privacy to pace. And so, I do. I walk into the one-person bathroom and start pacing. It’s a four-step pace and turn, but it helps. After I’ve done about twenty laps, I wash up, freshen up, and check my phone for the hundredth time. With a deep breath, I exit the bathroom to find Mark and another man waiting on me.

My heart thunders in my chest with the certainty something is wrong. I step to the table and slide uneasily into my chair. The newcomer is blond, with ink down his arms and piercing blue eyes.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he says. “You look like I’m your worst nightmare. You don’t like ink?”

“Oh God no. I mean, yes. I mean—”

To my shock, Mark laughs. Mark never laughs. I didn’t even know he was capable of laughter. “This is Lucifer, Allie. He works for Walker Security.”

Walker Security is the company that runs Riptide’s security, but their reach is far and wide, worldwide in fact, and their skillset is far beyond what they do for us.

“Lucifer is more than a little comfortable in the underground boxing clubs. Which I know because I bet on a few of his fights. Now you know something dirty that you can hold against us if we burn you.”

I perk up. “Do you know Dash?”

“I do know Dash,” he says.

My heart sinks. “So, he’s been fighting? Often?”