“You’re not upset?”

“No,” she replied with complete honesty. “Just uncomfortable. Give me a few minutes to collect myself and I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll give you five.” He gazed at her worriedly. “If you’re not back by then, I’m coming after you and we’ll leave. We can go to that little Chinese restaurant you love so much.” A genuine smile lit his face then.

Alright, now she was upset. But not at him. At his world. At his father. At everything that kept Connor tethered to the toxic things that were poisoning his life.

She rushed off to the restroom, knowing Connor would make good on his offer to whisk her out of there if she showed him even a hint of the anger she was feeling. But she didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction. Even now, from where he sat across the room, Marcus Sullivan was visibly laughing at her discomfort in the most mocking, condescending way possible.

How a man like that managed to father two of the best men she’d ever known was a complete paradox.

Pulling open the ornate door to what was the most extravagant restroom she’d ever seen, Abby flipped on the water at the marble sink and stuck her wrists under the cold stream. Slowly, eventually, she felt some of her tension wash down the drain. She could do this. She wasn’t going to let Marcus win. She was going to go out there with her head high and have a great night.

And if she accidentally keyed his car enroute to her own, oh well.

She smiled wryly at her reflection, knowing she’d never in a million years ever do anything like that.

“You’re way too nice,” she accused her reflection.

Before her reflection had a chance to reply, the sound of small commotion outside had her scrambling to the door. Had her five minutes lapsed already?

“HEY!” she yelled, when she opened the door and saw that the racket out in the hall had nothing to do Connor at all, but rather, a very large man shoving around a very small woman.

The second she saw the man start to rear back his arm, Abby set off on a dead sprint.

“Leave her alone!” She rammed herself right into the man’s side, effectively budging him about two inches. He was a big man.

“What the hell?” The man swayed on his feet and glared at Abby. “Who the hell are you?”

She ignored him but kept one eye trained his way as she checked on the woman—good lord, she was tiny. The man could’ve snapped her like a twig. “Are you okay?”

The woman spewed out a long hysterical sentence.

In a foreign language.

Okay, that helped Abby not at all.

Sausage like fingers clamped onto her arm. “Hey, nosy bitch.” He spun her around like a top and Abby went flying against the wall. “Mind your own f—”

The loud crack of a fist connecting with his face stopped that f-bomb from landing.

Connor.

The man went down. But Connor wasn’t done. He laid in two more punches before Abby realized he was planning on beating the man to a pulp.

“Connor! Stop!”

He didn’t. And then all hell broke loose.

Two managerial types and a security guard came charging past to yank Connor off the man. Marcus swept in soon after spouting some legal jargon to a stricken restaurant employee while his ‘personal assistant’ started anxiously talking on two cell phones at the same time.

Nearby, the tiny woman was still screeching something in her own language and throwing her sleek stiletto heels at the sausage-fingered asshole, who’d begun puking all over his designer suit. And throughout it all, Abby saw that half the patrons in the dining area were still eating and carrying on like it was beneath them to even bother to look their way.

Abby shook her head. She so did not belong in this world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CONNOR HAD NEVER BEEN more terrified in his entire life.

When he saw that drunken man throw Abby like a ragdoll, Connor had just plain lost it.

Even now, he could barely piece together what had happened immediately after. If not for the half-dozen or so witnesses who’d managed to fill in his rage-filled blanks for the police report, there was a good chance he would’ve been arrested for lack of cooperation during the follow-up interrogation alone. Because honestly, he’d been unable to answer most of the police questions definitively, save one: Abby had bum-rushed a man easily twice her size to protect a woman she didn’t even know.

Who does that? Who is that good of a person?

Abby.

After he’d taken her home, he’d simply held her the entire night, not sleeping a wink. Over and over in his head, he replayed the sight of Abby being slammed into that wall, imagined what would’ve happened had he not gotten there in time.

It could’ve been so much worse.

As it was, Abby was sporting a bruise covering half her arm, outlined in the shape of each of the sonofabitch’s fingers.

Connor fisted his hands in reflex and winced—his right fist was scabbed ragged all across the knuckles, while the left was the one that was still swollen and bruised.

A charming look with his tuxedo.

Flexing his fingers to ease the ache, he looked around the ballroom, still in disbelief that Abby had convinced him to attend the charity ball. He hadn’t wanted to leave her side all week; tonight was no exception. But she’d reminded him about her prior commitments for the evening and urged him to go.

So far, he was having a lousy time.

And reason number one was sitting right beside him.

“Poor baby, do you want me to ask the waiters to bring some ice for your hands?”

He rolled his eyes. Had Gabriella’s voice always been this annoying?

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

He couldn’t for the life of him remember why he’d slept with her, let alone dated her for an entire month. She was fake, vapid, and dull as dirt.

The anti-Abby.

“Do you want me to kiss it and make it all better?”

Ugh. Baby talk? Really? “I’m going to go get a drink.”

He stalked off, glad that she finally caught the hint and chose not to follow.

Seeing Victoria at the other end of the bar, he beelined it over and cornered her with a scowl. “I can’t believe you abandoned me tonight.”

“Can you blame me?” She pointed out her date, aka the manchild at her table who probably modeled underwear for a living. “That is one fine specimen of a man.”

“The guy’s half your age, Victoria.”

“I know.” She beamed. “Thank Marcus again for me, will you?”

Wait, what? He grabbed her elbow. “My father arranged this date of yours?”

Her brows snapped together. “He told me you were fine with it.”

At Connor’s exasperated sigh, she thunked her drink on the counter. “Oh shit, you didn’t know, did you? I thought it was weird you and Gabriella both showed up dateless.” Now she looked genuinely apologetic. “Connor, you know I’d never knowingly play a part in one of your father’s schemes, right?”

No, Victoria was many things, but a backstabber of the people she cared about wasn’t one of them. “Don’t sweat it. My father’s up to something. There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Still. I can’t believe that asshole used me. Me.” Victoria’s eyes narrowed on the asshole in question at the other end of the room.

Connor smiled. If he weren’t already planning his own confrontation with the man, he’d be more than happy to sic Victoria on him. That was one woman you did not want to mess with.

He took his drink over and sat down in the empty seat beside his father, shoving Lynn’s personal assistant necessities—aka the purse with all the condoms and the little blue pills—to the side. “Why are you trying to surgically attach Gabriella to me?”

Marcus nodded approvingly like a—gag—proud father. “She’s a lovely woman isn’t she?”

“Cut the crap. I asked you a question.”