Taking What's His (Shillings Agency 4)

Lydia looked. Sure enough, a brown haired man watched her. As soon as they made eye contact, he smiled and held up his drink. “Want one?” he mouthed.

He was attractive enough, if you were into that totally-hot-in-a-movie-star way type of guy. Which every woman in America was. But for some reason…she didn’t want to go over there. Didn’t want a drink from him. “He’s cute,” she said noncommittally.

“Cute?” Gianna rolled her eyes. “He’s beyond cute. He’s perfect. Go over there.”

“But—”

“We’re not here to ignore cute boys. We’re supposed to be having fun. Forgetting all about responsibilities and job offers. So stop thinking.” She pushed Lydia forward. “And go.”

Lydia stumbled forward, glaring over her shoulder at her friend as she went. When she reached the guy’s side, she smiled at him. He was even cuter up close, but his eyes weren’t right. And his hair was too light. And he didn’t have g

lasses on.

“Whatcha drinking, baby?” the guy asked.

She flinched. That’s what Holt had called her that night she’d gone home with him. At the time, it had seemed hot. But from this guy, it felt lazy. “Cranberry vodka, please.”

He turned to the bartender and ordered the drinks. As he did so, she scanned the crowd for Gianna. She was off chatting to some guy Lydia didn’t recognize. Just as she started to sweep her gaze back toward her drink partner…she saw him. Holt sat four seats down, next to some blonde chick who easily could have been Barbie.

And from what Lydia could see, Barbie was way too ready to go home with him. Every time he said something, she tossed her head back and laughed hysterically.

No one was that funny. Not even Holt.

He watched the other woman, his lids lowered and his expression bored. He looked as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. Or maybe that was what she was feeling, or wishful thinking. Because seeing him flirt with some bimbo was definitely high on her list of things she didn’t want to do. Or see.

“Here you go,” the guy next to her said.

She forced herself to look away from Holt, whose attention had dipped even lower on Barbie’s body, and smiled at the guy. Suddenly, it seemed highly important that she give this guy a fair shot at being cool. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

“Paul,” he said, his focus securely locked on her boobs. “Yours?”

“Lydia. What do you do, Paul?”

He pressed his lips together. “I’m in between jobs right now, but I’m in marketing.”

“Oh, cool.” She took a sip of her drink, and without permission, her eyes peeked at Holt. He’d spotted her, and was glaring at her over Barbie’s head. She looked away quickly, her heart racing. “Uh…”

She couldn’t think of a darn thing to say to this guy.

He didn’t seem to mind. After tossing back his whiskey, he swiped a hand over his mouth and smiled. “Want to dance?”

She squinted at Holt again. He leaned into Barbie, and spoke slowly into her ear. Barbie shivered and rested a hand on Holt’s thigh. Lydia was two seconds from storming over there and forcibly removing it, but then she remembered that he didn’t want her to be his. She hadn’t even seen him since he’d told her he wanted to be her friend, saved her from Sam, and then left. So he was free to do what he pleased.

And so was she.

“Absolutely.” She downed her drink way too fast, then stood on her feet. The room spun, but she didn’t care. She needed to do something to take her mind off of Holt and all the things that came with him. He’d obviously done the same to her. “Let’s go.”

Paul grabbed her hand and brought her out on the floor. The second he found an empty spot he was on her. He danced, but his hands roamed places they didn’t need to. Nothing crazy or improper, but close enough to make her tenser than she should have been. Maybe it was because of the earlier encounter with Sam, or maybe it was because somewhere behind her, Holt was hitting on Barbie…but for some reason, she wasn’t feeling it.

Determined to stick it out through the dance, she matched the guy’s moves. He was actually a pretty good dancer. And by the time they’d finished the first song, she’d changed her mind about leaving. She was actually having fun, and she hadn’t had fun in way too long. But she wouldn’t be going home with the guy. He was a distraction from real life, and nothing more.

The next song cued, and she grinned at Paul. “This is fun,” she shouted.

“Yeah, it is!” he shouted back, slipping his hands behind her back. “You’re a good dancer.”

His fingers rested right over her butt, but didn’t touch. He kept it PG-13. And, really, once she was over the disappointment of him not being Holt, he seemed like a pretty cool guy. Too bad his touch didn’t light her on fire like Holt’s. Leaning in, she replied, “Thank you. I—”

“Excuse me,” said a voice she knew better than her own. “May I cut in?”