CHAPTER TWENTY

Vaughn

Straying hands was an understatement. Especially from Portia Conway, on her fifth glass of champagne.

Thank goodness she was called to the stage to help start the bachelor auction.

Vaughn had danced most of the night, hardly taking a break for water, let alone a breather, between all of the wealthy benefactors and society’s business emperors.

From one waltz to another, his ass had been discreetly groped more than a lap dancer. He’d quickly spin the woman out to put some distance between them, using that as the excuse to move to another partner. All in the name of the job to keep the party going.

Hopefully, the bids for the auction would be as lavish as Portia Conway’s gaudy feathered mask.

Despite all of the songs and wandering hands, he couldn’t stop thinking of Cora. Wondering where she was. What she was doing.

What kind of ruckus is she getting into?

He kept glancing at his watch, and hoping for his phone to vibrate. Anything. Whatever she was doing, he hoped she achieved her goal. And wasn’t causing any trouble.

The auctioneer sold off another business magnate with the sound of a heavy gong.

The applause grew.

Dorian made his way over to Vaughn, clearly winded. “My feet are killing me, and Lavender Lady over there spilled her wine all over my pants.”

“At least you’re earning more than enough to cover the dry cleaning bill.”

“Not worth it.” D wiped at his trousers.

Vaughn’s stare stopped on Duane, sitting at the bar and schmoozing another potential client into using his Knights.

He handed her his business card, pewter with white letters.

Vaughn had the same cards, just their name and number, with the Knights of Texas logo on the back. Interestingly, he hadn’t given out his card all night. Actually, he hadn’t given out a single card since that night with Cora.

“Looks like Duane is enjoying himself.” Dorian nodded in the direction of their boss.

He scoffed “Expanding his empire, no doubt. Trying to keep cliental as high-end as possible.”

“You can’t argue with the man’s tenacity. Kept his business thriving—”

“Off the backs of guys like us.” “It was our choice. He was right about the money. We’ve never gone hungry.”

Nope. Never been fully sated, either. Until Cora.

The auctioneer banged the metal gong once more, this time a major real estate tycoon sold to a middle-aged woman in a bright red gown a few sizes too small.

Vaughn checked his phone again—still no call or text from Cora. It was getting late, and he had no clue if she was safe. If her job was finished.

If it was, that would probably signal the end of their relationship as well.

His heart squeezed in on itself. This could be the end of their relationship. There was nothing else keeping her here in Dallas.

Except him.

As he looked across the dazzling room full of the wealthiest clients this side of the Mississippi River, he felt alone.

There was nothing keeping him here, either. Except for Dorian and Riggs, the job held no more attachments for him. The life had lost its luster. The shiny gleam now a mere facade.

Someone grabbed his ass, hard and piercing.

Vaughn stared into Portia’s drunken face.

“Hello, gorgeous.” She waved her long fingernails at him.

He forced a pleasant smile. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

“I am.” The older woman downed the rest of an amber liquid in a highball glass. “With the money we made tonight, I can afford another hour of your services. On a much more private level. If you’re available.”

A snort tried to climb its way up his throat, but he coughed it away.

The woman had more money than the devil’s lawyer. Her statement was almost an insult, since they both knew she could easily afford the rest of his natural born life and then some.

Could she have earned all that money off the artistry and possessions of Holocaust victims? That left a rotten taste in his mouth.

“I’m happy for your foundation,” he replied. “If you’re looking for more company tonight…” He pointed at his boss. “You can arrange a date with that gentleman over there. I believe you already know Duane Wilkes.”

Portia gave him a fake pouty lip. “I meant with you. Mr. Wilkes spoke very highly of your…abilities.”

The champagne churned in his stomach.

“I hope I didn’t put you in too much trouble with your boss after that whole ordeal at the last event.”

The urge to glare was almost too strong to resist.

“Are you sure I can’t entice you to volunteer for the auction? You’d go for top dollar with this crowd.”

Vaughn gave a pleading look to Dorian, desperate for a reprieve.

His buddy didn’t even blink. He cleared his throat. “Ms. Conway, how have you managed to pull together—”

Her phone shrilled. After digging in her purse, she answered. Within a few seconds, her seductive batting eyes turned, cold…calculating.

“Call the police,” she answered. “I’m on my way.”

“Is everything all right?” Vaughn asked.

She shoved her phone back in her purse. “My security system was just triggered. There’s been another break-in at my house.”

The transformation to a foreboding woman nearly stunned him.

“Excuse me,” Portia threw over her shoulder, and pushed through the crowd. “Get my driver!”

This can’t be good.

Vaughn glanced at his phone. Still nothing.

This is all Cora.

He dialed her cell, but couldn’t name the reason.

To check on her? Warn her?

It went straight to voicemail.

“Does this have something to do with Miss Repo?” Dorian gave him a hard look.

Probably.

“I have to go.”

D grabbed his arm. “Think hard about this. If you get involved again, you won’t come out clean. This is no cat fight on a cruise ship between two women’s bruised egos. No amount of fast-talking or hand-shaking will get you out of it.”