Instead, I’m thinking about my conversation with Blake and his advice to stay alert. I grab my phone from the table next to me and punch in his number. “Hi, Candace,” he greets lightly, and just his tone assures me Savage is fine.
“He’s fine?” I ask hopefully.
“He is,” he promises. “I don’t know his ETA, but soon.”
“Oh good,” I breathe out, wishing this news would get rid of the knot in my belly, but it hasn’t, which is why I confess, “I’m still feeling a bit edgy.”
I can almost see his brows dip as he asks, “Did something else happen?”
“No. I’ve been at home, nice and safe. But what you said about staying alert feels like good words of advice. I’m going to a meeting here in a few minutes, it’s for the museum project I’m bidding on. I’m being introduced to a potential investor.”
“The deal you were excited about, but it fell apart?”
I blink. “How did you know that?”
“Savage brags about you more than you know.”
This warms my heart. “Ah, that man needs to come home to me now.”
“Like I said,” he replies. “Soon. And as for tonight, I’ll send you a car. How soon do you need to be there?”
“I don’t want to turn Walker into my babysitter, Blake.”
He swats down that idea with a stern, “Nonsense. I’ll send Smith with a car.”
Smith being one of the members of Walker who is frequently teamed up with Savage. A nice guy. Quiet. Dedicated. Savage likes him. “Surely he has better things to do than this,” I argue.
“He’s right here with me and heard the conversation. He offered. He’ll be there in a flash and meet you out front.”
Relief washes over me. I really didn’t want to go out tonight. “Thanks, Blake.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m snuggled into my coat, waiting at the door of our building when Smith pulls a familiar Walker-owned SUV to the curb. I hurry forward, climb inside the front with him, and buckle up. “Thank you, Smith.”
He waves me off. “I was off tonight and had nothing to do. I don’t mind at all.”
That translates to he didn’t want to be alone, when I know for a fact he has women chasing him. Just not the right woman. Smith is a good-looking man with a muscular build and sandy brown hair. He’s also in love with a woman that married another man.
“Well, I appreciate this so much,” I say. “I’m just a tad on edge. Savage leaving and the wedding. There’s just so much right now.”
“I heard what happened last night,” he says. “And I think you made the right decision to call Blake. I know Tag is dead, but I was a part of that war Savage had to win you back and kill that bastard. I don’t like anything connected to him. And it sucks to have this happen when you two are about to get married and put the past behind you.”
“God, it does,” I say, “and thank you for voicing that, all of that. It makes me feel a little less paranoid.”
We chat a bit more about Max and Tag, but the ride is short. Soon Smith is pulling to the door of the hotel where the bar that is my destination is located. “I’m going to park and I’ll be in the bar with you,” he says. “But you won’t know I’m there.”
“That’s not necessary, Smith,” I say quickly.
“A guy walks into a bar and gets a drink,” he says. “That’s not one of Savage’s stupid punchlines. That’s my real story.”
My lips curve. “Okay. As long as you want that drink. I’m fine.”
“See you inside,” he says and winks.
I exit the vehicle and hurry through the automatic doors to enter the fancy, high-end lobby with a shiny white floor. Turning to the right, I enter the bar, where heavy carpet softens my steps and a pretty blonde hostess greets me. I’m then led through the dimly-lit bar with bright blue booths and a fancy blue and silver half-moon-shaped bar. Our destination is a table in the corner occupied by Robin and a man in a suit with neatly cut dirty blond hair. Robin pops to her feet to greet me. She’s an ambitious, driven thirty-three-year-old. I’d discovered her age, not by asking, but rather being at the museum a few months back when her staff surprised her with a little party. Tonight, Robin, ever the picture of casual elegance is dressed in a navy blue dress with a cute flare at the bottom, her red hair is a silky short bob, and her freckled skin has a spray of beautiful sunshine across her nose.
“So happy you made it so last minute,” she greets, grasping my hand.
“Excited to be here,” I assure her, and she motions to the man who is also on his feet, awaiting his introduction. “This is Kirk Long. He’s a real estate investor whose father was a renowned archeologist.”