Follow Me Darkly (Follow Me 1)

While I’m staring at the post, I get a like from Tessa’s sister, Eva. One so far. If I were Addison, I’d have about a thousand by now.

I put the phone away and take another sip of my drink. To my astonishment, it’s gone. I need to pace myself a little better. I take a quick sip of Tessa’s daiquiri. Ugh! Way too sweet. I turn toward the bar and motion to the bartender. “Another Wild Turkey, please.”

I’ll drink it slowly. Very slowly. But I need to have something to do. I can’t just stand here staring blankly at the dance floor. I have to do something with my hands. Hence, the drink.

He delivers the drink, and I take a sip. Then another.

Tessa finally returns, wiping her brow. “Garrett can really move!” She picks up her daiquiri and downs quite a bit of it. It’s probably mostly sugar and juice anyway.

“Ready to go?” I say.

She laughs. “Good one, Skye.”

Yeah, I’m not kidding.

“Finish your drink,” she says. “We need to get out there. This music is great.”

“But I—”

“No excuses, babe. Just down it.”

I down it like a shot. Not my usual MO, but I can handle two drinks after a big dinner. No big deal. We head to the dance floor. I’m not the world’s best dancer, but I can hold my own. I’m feeling pretty confident at the moment, having two Wild Turkeys under my belt.

Garrett and a friend join us, and we dance as a foursome through the next four numbers.

“Sorry, I need a break,” I say.

“Need a drink?” Garrett’s friend asks.

Before I can tell him no, he grabs my hand and leads me to the bar.

“I need a Guinness Draft and…” He lifts his eyebrows at me.

“Wild Turkey, right?” the bartender says.

“I don’t—”

“Right,” the friend says, throwing some bills in the tip jar.

So I’m on my third drink after dinner. Not a big deal. “What’s your name?” I ask my companion.

“What?”

Exactly why I don’t like the night life. The band is loud, and I can’t hear myself think. “What’s your name?” I ask again, louder.

“Peter. You?”

“Skye.”

“Nice to meet you.” He hands me my drink.

Peter is brown-haired with hazel eyes. He’s very handsome in an almost pretty way, muscled, but a slighter build than Braden.

And why am I thinking about Braden? I have a good-looking guy who seems nice right in front of me, and he just got me a drink.

Screw Braden. I take a sip of my third Wild Turkey, still determined to go slowly.

“What do you do, Peter?”

“What?”

This is getting old. “What do you do?” Louder.

“I’m an architect. I work for my father, also an architect. You?”

“I work for Addison Ames.”

“The heiress?”

“Yeah. I’m her personal assistant, but I’m really a photographer at heart. That’s what I want to do full-time eventually.”

“What?”

I repeat myself. Loudly.

“Cool,” he says.

Okay, we’ve effectively run out of things to talk about.

“You want to dance again?” I ask.

“Sure.” He grabs my hand and then appears to change his mind. “I’m sweating. You want to get some fresh air first?”

I’m about to respond when someone else answers.

“No, she does not.”

Chapter Seventeen

Braden fucking Black.

He’s here. At this event. Wearing a black tux and looking like he stepped right off the runway and into GQ.

All the other men here are wearing tuxedos, but I feel like I never saw a tux in my life until this moment.

Braden Black in a tux is something to behold. Something unique and one of a kind, like the Mona Lisa or Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

“Keeping you from getting yourself into trouble.”

I want to be angry with him. I am, in fact. Except all I can think of is how amazing he looks standing next to Peter. Peter’s a nice-looking guy, but no contest.

Peter goes rigid next to me. Is that a spark of recognition in his eye? “Nice meeting you, Skye,” he says, turning.

“Wait! Aren’t we going to dance?”

“Another time.” He disappears onto the dance floor.

“Come with me.” Braden pulls me out of the ballroom, through the hallway, to the hotel lobby. My heels clack on the marble floor as I run to keep up with his long strides.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you from sneaking into someone else’s bed.”

“Seriously?” I huff.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“You don’t know anything about me. I’m not drunk. I never get drunk. And I can sleep with whomever I want. How did you find me anyway?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Instagram.”

Right. My selfie with Tessa, and Braden now is following me because I confirmed his request.

“I’m going back in,” I say.

“Not without me.”

“Do you even have a ticket to this event?”

“Do you think I need a ticket?”

I shake my head. Pointless question. He probably made a six-figure donation at the door. “Fine, come along, then. I can’t leave Tessa in there alone.”