The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

“You should treat me with a little respect,” my ex-stepfather huffs.

I flinch, not because he’s trying to call me on the carpet, but because I just said pretty much the same thing to Sophie. And I don’t want to have anything in common with this asshole.

“What do you want? More money? Wasn’t the thirty-five million you got for the Pollock enough?” I ask, needling him.

“How did you know… You know what? Never mind. No, I’m not here for money. I need to talk to you about something important. I’ve been calling for weeks, but you refuse to take my calls or return them, so I decided to come see you, in person. As luck would have it, I saw you in here as I passed by.”

He’s been calling for weeks? I had no idea. I guess I have Scotty to thank for that. Thank God.

“I have no desire to hear anything you have to say,” I say, turning away from him.

“Don’t turn your back on me, son,” he seethes, his hand clamping down on my shoulder.

My hand balls into a fist, and I prepare to smash it into his face, but a familiar voice stops me before I can act.

“Excuse me, sir, but this is a private party. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Harrison and I both look up to see Sophie standing before us, her arms crossed over her chest. Two security guards loom behind her, mimicking her stance. Harrison sputters indignantly, but luckily for him, he has enough sense to take his hand off me.

“You have no right,” Harrison says darkly. “I’m here to see my stepson.”

Sophie’s gaze meets mine, and she must see the anger banked there, because she turns to the guards behind her and nods. They move forward, each taking Harrison by an arm, and drag him away. He yells my name over his shoulder, and I can feel the eyes of several bystanders watching me.

I need to get out of here. I need a moment to calm down before I explode.

Reaching out, I wrap my hand around Sophie’s. She doesn’t try to pull away as I stalk toward the back of the restaurant. Pushing through the swinging doors, I pull her along behind me as I hurry through the busy kitchen to the manager’s office in the back corner.

Once inside, I release Sophie, close the door, and pace back and forth in front of it. She lifts the hand I’d been clenching and rubs it with the other one like she’s trying to erase the sting of my touch. I pause, opening my mouth to apologize for gripping her so tightly, but she beats me to the punch.

“I’m sorry, Jared.”

It’s the first time I’ve heard my name on her lips, and it freezes me on the spot. She’s called me “Mr. Hart” and “sir,” but never by my first name like Scotty does.

I like it.

Maybe too much.