Page 33 of Nothing to Deny
“No charge,” Baer said, his eyes locked on hers.
Opening her purse, she took out a bundle of hundreds and handed them to him. “Tipping always helps.”
Donoghue whistled. “You have it made, Royal.”
“You have no idea,” Holly said just as the hosts skidded up at their side.
“Miss Dere—”
“Please…” she said, switching her hand from Donoghue’s arm to Holly’s.
Her cousin let go of her date, and they angled themselves in front of Baer, the man she trusted to keep her safe. She’d seen that body, through a tee-shirt, but she’d had her hands on it and… mm, yes, it was definitely capable.
Mind drifting, she zoned out of whatever the host and hostess were saying. Donoghue replied with something about a table, then they were being ushered upstairs to a corner, apparently their best.
Champagne was already there. Donoghue went in one way of the low-backed circular booth, while Freya went in the other with Baer at her back, Holly wasn’t far behind him.
“Miss Dere, if there’s anything else you—”
“Does anyone drink champagne?” she asked, checking with her companions. None leaped to the defense of the bottle in the bucket or the flutes around it. “Can you take it away, please? I will have Gin and It, my friend…” Freya reached over Baer to touch Holly’s wrist. “Will have a cosmopolitan.” Moving her fingertips to Baer’s arm, she met his eye. “What would you like? Beer? Scotch?” Turning, she glanced at Donoghue who pushed out his lower lip. “What’s your best Macallan?” The host just blinked. “Whatever you have of that, or the Dalmore, whichever is the best… We’ll have water for the table and whatever finger food you have… just give us a selection. Is the company aligned with a charitable cause…?”
“Uh, yes, Miss Dere…”
“If no one approaches this table for the rest of the night, except to provide refills, there will be a ten-thousand-dollar donation made to that charity in your name… Do you understand?”
Stunned, the host nodded and crowded his colleague out of the way to dash off.
Holly squealed. “And the heiress owns the night again,” she said. “I love watching you do that, Angel.”
“I know,” she muttered, sinking back in her seat, adjusting her earring.
People usually did, few recognized it as an act rather than her genuine self. She’d never understood why she was seen as more important than others just because she had access to money. Yes, it gave her security, but it didn’t make her inherently better than anyone else.
“Shit, baby, I had no idea you were worth a mint,” Donoghue said. “Why do they call you Angel?”
“Because she is an angel,” Holly said. “As fast as her grandfather can make money, she’s giving it away.”
“Not quite,” Freya said.
Though not far off. Her grandfather would no doubt echo Holly’s tease.
She should adjust her posture; slouching wasn’t ladylike. That shame was overshadowed by another. All she really wanted to do was pick up Baer’s arm and wrap it around herself to nestle in at his side and listen to the rumble of his voice in his chest. Pathetic. Just his heartbeat would soothe her. A yawn threatened her lips, she needed food and alcohol, and peace.
“Truman Dere,” Donoghue murmured like he was just figuring it out. Yeah, sometimes it took people a minute. Sitting up straight so fast he jolted the table, he gasped. “You’re Truman Dere’s granddaughter…” This kind of reaction was normal. “I thought he didn’t have kids.”
“He doesn’t,” she said, sitting straight to push the champagne bucket and flutes to the far edge of the table. “Hisson was murdered almost twenty years ago… right alongside his daughter-in-law.”
Sympathy bled from Holly. “Frey…”
She touched the edge of a line on the tabletop pattern. “It’s okay,” Freya said. “Nothing he won’t get from Huddle Hunt. I’m the only Dere left… After me, it’s…” Inhaling, the lights dancing on the sheet around their booth caught her attention. “Truman protects me because walking in to find nothing but blood where your family should be sticks with a person…” And she’d hung up on him. Guilt. Oh, it was heavy and sore. What was she doing? They had rules. Opening her purse to retrieve her phone, she rose to squeeze past Baer and Holly. “Excuse me.”
Pushing one curtain aside led to another. Disorientated, maybe she wouldn’t find her way back.
By a couple of tables in an unoccupied space, she quickly dialed her grandfather. “I’m sorry,” she said as soon as the line connected. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” Truman asked. “What do we say about not answering the phone?”
“I know,” she said, closing her eyes, pressing a finger to her opposite ear when the music distracted her. “I said I was sorry… I’m calling now. Tell me why you called.”
