As Richard grabbed his shirt, Jaclyn said more sternly, “No!”
Dylan shoved Richard’s grip away, returning his sinister gaze to Jaclyn. “Tinkerbell’s not gonna rescue you, bitch.”
The waitstaff and manager approached, but Richard waved them back. Jaclyn had given him her marching orders, an unconditional demand nothing more than a single word and a glance so compelling, he had to give in. He caught her drift, so he backed off and forced everyone else to as well.
This was her fight. Not theirs, and not his.
Dylan made a wild snatch for her ponytail, toppling back onto the table as he stared with horror at a handful of hair in his clutch. He’d ripped it clear off her head: a clip-on.
Jaclyn whipped her head back and smirked at Dylan. “Oh, I don’t need rescuing.”
“What the fu—”
She yanked Dylan’s wrist and whipped him around, slamming him facedown onto the table. Shoving her forearm into the back of his neck, she pinned his hand high between his shoulder blades. His struggles and threats were no use. She’d restrained him with the grace of a dancer and the power of a woman pushed too far.
“Wow, Richard, you were so right. Pricks are predictable. The smaller the prick, the dirtier they play.” She leaned down hard on her elbow, and an agonized moan spilled from Dylan’s throat. “And boys will be boys. Toss a ponytail in your face, and all you want to do is pull on it.”
Richard’s clenched hand tightened with the untimely thought of having her long hair wrapped in it. My turn next.
He relaxed a bit. Jaclyn had it all under control, and he didn’t mind the show. She rocked a curve-hugging cocktail dress and six-inch stilettos, all without taking any of this lowlife’s shit. In a world full of lookalike Barbie girls, she was unbelievable. Unbreakable. A breath of fresh air.
Taking a step back and scanning the room, he dropped his admiring smile when he realized they had more pressing matters. They had a growing audience, and he needed to get Jaclyn out of here.
Well, in a minute. He took a few seconds to pull out his phone and send a quick car request, and she needed just a little more time to make her point.
“Regardless of who someone is or where they come from,” Jaclyn said grimly as she leaned on Dylan, “no one deserves to be tricked or trapped, or goddamn tortured for the sick pleasures or societal gains of another.”
Richard cleared his throat, giving her an insistent look of his own. Neither of them needed the scrutiny of the eleven o’clock news, and red police lights were already strobing through the slatted blinds of the windows.
Jaclyn shoved her weight into Dylan one last time before pushing off. Richard handed her purse and coat to her, taking a second to lean over and say a few choice words in the scumbag’s ear. Then he rested his hand on the small of her back and ushered her quickly away to the far side of the room.
Like the hands of a clock chasing each other, he led Jaclyn across the opposite side of the bar as the police barged through the front entry. The two breezed out the side door, arm in arm like any normal couple, and slipped into their waiting Lyft.
Two minutes. Right on time.
The ride back remained quiet. No small talk. No engagement at all. Instead, Jaclyn gazed out the window, slowly removing the pins holding every strand of her real hair tightly in place. She ran her fingers through it, loosening her locks and letting them cascade over her shoulders.
Richard searched his mind for everything he knew about her, piecing together shreds of knowledge from her history. What would she need from him in this moment?
Struggling with the right thing to say, he eventually broke the silence with, “It’s okay to cry.” Immediately, he regretted the words as they came from his mouth.
Jaclyn responded with a slow and very subtle shake of her head, keeping her faraway focus out the window.
Maybe she’s hiding her face because she’s already crying. He rolled the dice and went with it.
“I’ve got an exceptionally dry shoulder you’re more than welcome to,” he said with a splash of charm and a sensitive tone.
She gave him a quick glare, her eyes filled with too many pissed-off emotions to leave room for despondence. “I’m not crying on your fucking shoulder, Richard.”
So, you’re on the fence?
With her annoyed gaze boring into him, he knew now what he only suspected back at the restaurant. Exactly what she wanted, and precisely when she wanted it. Right now, she demanded his silence, so he kept his mouth shut but nudged her with his eyes.
Come on, Jaclyn. Let me in.
With any other woman, this would have been his cue to squeeze her hand, pull her in, and press a sweet kiss to her temple to show how much he cared. Even when he didn’t.
It wasn’t that he was an asshole. Well, at least not as big of one as some women made him out to be. It was just that most women walked into his world with a limited shelf life. His relationships, when he bothered with them, barely lasted longer than his latest carton of milk. Girlfriends were less of amour and more of a chore.
Hey, lonely nights. Healthier than average libido. Ladies fawning over me by the truckload. Do the math.
This, however, wasn’t about a one-night stand. It was about betting the bank on staying power, on staying tethered to her side. And figuring out what a ball-busting woman needed when she was pissed the fuck off.
Wisely, he remained silent. A misstep this early in the game might call for his elimination. Figuratively, he supposed.
Although, hell hath no fury. . .
Ignoring him, she continued to stare out the window, opting to isolate herself in her seat.
When the car rolled up to her hotel, Richard pushed open his door and headed to her side, but the valet beat him to it. When her door opened, she stormed away without a word.
Eight
“What the hell were you thinking?”
Jaclyn watched as her father, Everett Long, paced before the expansive floor-to-ceiling window in his skyscraper office bright and early Monday morning.
At six foot four, he never had to be particularly loud to get his point across, but today he insisted. His presence alone usually exuded enough power to intimidate the best of them. But today, his booming voice seemed intent on trembling every wall, and shaking the very core of a woman who never rattled easily. Despite Jaclyn’s bold stance and defiant demeanor, his scolding threatened to shake her rock-solid resolve.
“Dad, I can expl—”
“Explain?” His volume shot up. “Explain this!”
He turned up one of three enormous screens on the wall. On the left monitor, the financial news silently looped with ticker symbols racing across a ribbon along the bottom. The right monitor flipped between the Long Multinational logo and still shots of their various holdings across the globe.
But in the center was Everett’s on-demand replay of whatever he needed to view, loaded by his personal assistant. He turned up the volume, playing the latest video clip featuring none other than his chief operating officer. His daughter.
Jaclyn choked on her remorse as she watched the wrestling match, captured by a random cell phone in the crowd. She couldn’t deny it. It was her. Well, her and that asshole Dylan. Richard had apparently escaped the shot. Thank God. His presence would be a little harder to explain away.
Her initial posture, filled with the confidence of a hard-charging CEO-to-be, drooped to a cringe as she scrutinized the looping video. Her cute little couture dress couldn’t hide the dominant stance required to keep a two-hundred-pound goon facedown on the table.