ass.
He says it with such command and authority—and the girl seems so completely entranced—that I expect that to be the end of it. But then Francesca makes a satisfied little snorting noise and the blonde completely loses her shit.
As two waiters hurry over, the blonde leaps across the table, knocking over the wine as she lunges for Francesca’s throat.
I leap to my feet out of pure shock, and when I tear my eyes away, I see that Damien is tapping a text into his phone.
“What are you—”
“This is going to get ugly fast. I’m having Edward pull the limo around.”
“We’re leaving?”
He meets the eyes of the other men. “If you two don’t mind, I think it would be a good idea to get out of here. And to take Dallas and his date with us.”
Oh
.
Wyatt and Frank both nod agreement, and I have to concede that it’s not only a good plan, but one that Dallas will surely appreciate. Especially since as I watch, Francesca loses the battle to control her temper and slaps the blonde hard across the face.
Immediately, Dallas starts to hustle her toward the exit as the two harried-looking waiters try to urge the blonde to leave through the kitchen. Damien stands to flank Francesca’s other side as Dallas passes, keeping me beside him the whole time.
He tells Dallas that we have a car waiting, then murmurs something to the flustered owner as we pass, the man nods sympathetically and then smiles broadly when Dallas assures him that he’ll come by in the morning to cover any damages.
I fully believe him, but the owner and I both know that Dallas has brought more cache to Q than the most expensive publicity and marketing campaign could ever hope to rally. Frankly, the owner should be paying Dallas.
Wyatt and Frank follow, and I can’t help but be a little mortified. None of this was my or Damien’s fault—and it really wasn’t Dallas’s, either—but I still feel like a terrible hostess.
One of Q’s young valets is holding the limo door open, and Damien ushers Dallas and Francesca inside, then motions to Wyatt, who shakes his head.
“You go ahead. I only live a block away, and you have plenty on your hands. But we should talk more,” he adds, turning to Frank. “Can you come by my studio tomorrow around ten-thirty? Nikki has the address.”
“Of course,” Frank says.
As Wyatt walks off, Damien and I follow Frank into the limo, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the valet closes the door after us and Edward pulls out into traffic.
“Wow,” I say.
Damien twines his fingers with mine. “At least it sounds like Frank’s found a studio space,” he says, looking between me and Frank. “So I say we count the evening as a success.”
“For you, maybe,” Francesca says with a little sniff. “My dress is ruined. Not to mention my evening.”
Dallas has been watching Frank, but now he turns his attention back to Francesca and slides his hand along her thigh. “Baby, I was going to ruin this dress anyway. And as for your evening, just think of how much press you’re going to get out of tonight.”
Her mouth curves into a pretty pout. “My managers will be furious.”
“The hell they will. I predict you’re going to be the top trending story on Facebook and Twitter within the hour.”
The thought clearly pleases her. “Really?”
“Hell yes.”
She presses her hand over his, then slides it higher up her leg before she turns to smile at Damien. “Will you take us to Dallas’s hotel?”
I lower my head to hide my grin as Damien assures her we will.
“How about you, Frank?” he asks. “Where are you staying?”
“The Beverly Terrace,” he says. “It’s on Doheny. Is that out of your way?”
“Not at all,” Damien says. In fact, Frank’s hotel is only about ten minutes from the Stark Century Hotel, the newly acquired and remodeled hotel where Dallas is staying.
Traffic is light, and it doesn’t take long to get from Santa Monica to Century City, which is a good thing,
He says it with such command and authority—and the girl seems so completely entranced—that I expect that to be the end of it. But then Francesca makes a satisfied little snorting noise and the blonde completely loses her shit.
As two waiters hurry over, the blonde leaps across the table, knocking over the wine as she lunges for Francesca’s throat.
I leap to my feet out of pure shock, and when I tear my eyes away, I see that Damien is tapping a text into his phone.
“What are you—”
“This is going to get ugly fast. I’m having Edward pull the limo around.”
“We’re leaving?”
He meets the eyes of the other men. “If you two don’t mind, I think it would be a good idea to get out of here. And to take Dallas and his date with us.”
Oh
.
Wyatt and Frank both nod agreement, and I have to concede that it’s not only a good plan, but one that Dallas will surely appreciate. Especially since as I watch, Francesca loses the battle to control her temper and slaps the blonde hard across the face.
Immediately, Dallas starts to hustle her toward the exit as the two harried-looking waiters try to urge the blonde to leave through the kitchen. Damien stands to flank Francesca’s other side as Dallas passes, keeping me beside him the whole time.
He tells Dallas that we have a car waiting, then murmurs something to the flustered owner as we pass, the man nods sympathetically and then smiles broadly when Dallas assures him that he’ll come by in the morning to cover any damages.
I fully believe him, but the owner and I both know that Dallas has brought more cache to Q than the most expensive publicity and marketing campaign could ever hope to rally. Frankly, the owner should be paying Dallas.
Wyatt and Frank follow, and I can’t help but be a little mortified. None of this was my or Damien’s fault—and it really wasn’t Dallas’s, either—but I still feel like a terrible hostess.
One of Q’s young valets is holding the limo door open, and Damien ushers Dallas and Francesca inside, then motions to Wyatt, who shakes his head.
“You go ahead. I only live a block away, and you have plenty on your hands. But we should talk more,” he adds, turning to Frank. “Can you come by my studio tomorrow around ten-thirty? Nikki has the address.”
“Of course,” Frank says.
As Wyatt walks off, Damien and I follow Frank into the limo, and I breathe a sigh of relief when the valet closes the door after us and Edward pulls out into traffic.
“Wow,” I say.
Damien twines his fingers with mine. “At least it sounds like Frank’s found a studio space,” he says, looking between me and Frank. “So I say we count the evening as a success.”
“For you, maybe,” Francesca says with a little sniff. “My dress is ruined. Not to mention my evening.”
Dallas has been watching Frank, but now he turns his attention back to Francesca and slides his hand along her thigh. “Baby, I was going to ruin this dress anyway. And as for your evening, just think of how much press you’re going to get out of tonight.”
Her mouth curves into a pretty pout. “My managers will be furious.”
“The hell they will. I predict you’re going to be the top trending story on Facebook and Twitter within the hour.”
The thought clearly pleases her. “Really?”
“Hell yes.”
She presses her hand over his, then slides it higher up her leg before she turns to smile at Damien. “Will you take us to Dallas’s hotel?”
I lower my head to hide my grin as Damien assures her we will.
“How about you, Frank?” he asks. “Where are you staying?”
“The Beverly Terrace,” he says. “It’s on Doheny. Is that out of your way?”
“Not at all,” Damien says. In fact, Frank’s hotel is only about ten minutes from the Stark Century Hotel, the newly acquired and remodeled hotel where Dallas is staying.
Traffic is light, and it doesn’t take long to get from Santa Monica to Century City, which is a good thing,
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