But this was the new Harm, the one who actually thought about the consequences of her actions. The one who was trying to get her own cooking show and knew she couldn’t afford any bad press. The one who wanted Dalton to be proud to have her on his arm.
It was that last thing that had her slipping away without causing a scene, even as she cursed herself as a fool.
She spent the next hour dodging Dalton. She helped the servers clear dirty dishes, helped the caterer load trays, even opened a few bottles of champagne when the bartenders came under fire for being too slow.
Through it all, she was conscious of Dalton watching her, and conscious of the clock ticking down between them. She’d figured she had until the end of the party to get her shit together, but somewhere around eleven thirty, Dalton lost his patience. And his cool.
She’d turned her back on him for a just a minute to chat with a couple of the players—men so big they had tree trunks for necks. They were talking about why instant grits should be outlawed in every state south of the Mason-Dixon line, then suddenly he was there, his hand on the center of her back as he guided her toward the closest bank of elevators.
“Where are we going?” she asked, trying to pull away from him. “People are going to notice—”
“Fuck people. They can notice whatever the hell they want.”
The anger in his voice annoyed her, considering she’d spent the last for hours doing her level best to be the best hostess he could possibly ask for. She’d been pleasant, helpful, and as nice as she could possibly be … even when several men made innuendoes to her. Even when one of the defensive linemen got grabby with her ass.
The elevator doors slid closed behind them, and Dalton turned on her. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She took a page out of her mother’s book called ignore what you don’t want to talk about. Now wasn’t the time to have this out—she just wanted to get through the party and go home.
“Bullshit,” he growled. When the elevator dinged at the top floor, he grabbed her elbow and started dragging her down the hallway to his office.
That kicked her anger up another notch. And even though she bit her tongue, even though she told herself to keep her shit dialed down, the second he all but pushed her into his office, she lost her shit completely.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” She was so damn tired of toning it down. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She expected him to fire back—he was so pissed, his green eyes were blazing—but the second she snapped, he seemed to calm down, at least a little. He didn’t fire back. Instead, he leaned against the nearest wall, crossed his arms over his mountain of a chest, and said, “I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Oh, don’t pull that smug male bullshit on me. Tonight isn’t my fault.”
“I never said it was.”
“I’ve been on my best behavior.”
“I know you have.”
“I’ve put up with so much shit from so many men who thought it would be funny to ask if they could see my vagina in real life since they’d already seen it on TV, when all I really wanted to do was deck them.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Of all the things he could have said, that one hadn’t occurred to her. “Excuse me?”
“I said, why didn’t you deck them? I’d be pissed that you didn’t get me to take care of it, since most of these guys are people I work with, but I know you don’t need me for that shit. Five-Alarm Harm is more than capable of taking care of herself.”
“Don’t stand there and pretend you’d be okay if I shoved my foot up some guy’s ass in the middle of your cocktail party.” Because that was definitely not toning it down.
“If that guy was being an asshole to you, damn straight I would. If I’d heard someone talking to you like that I would have put my fist through his face, party be damned.”
That gave her pause, but not for long. Because the double standard was such bullshit. “So I have to tone it down and be a good girl while you get to go all Neanderthal? In what world is that fair?”
“First off, you can go Neanderthal too, you know. I totally believe in equal opportunity for knuckle dragging. Second of all, when have I ever told you you had to be a good girl? I would never say that to you—I value my balls way too much to ever make that mistake.”
“You’ve been telling me some variation of that all night. All week, really. ‘Tone it down, Harmony. Maybe not so much, Harmony. Maybe if you just showed them a little less, Harmony.’ And don’t even get me started on the hideous dress you sent me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Any trace of amusement was gone, and Dalton was in full-on defense mode. “I’ve never said any of those things to you, ever. I don’t give a shit how wild you are—I like you wild, in case you haven’t figured that out by now. I thought you liked the dress. It’s fucking gorgeous on you.”
“Now it is. After a friend of mine deconstructed the whole thing and came up with this out of that high-necked, overly frilly potato sack you sent me. Why would you do that, anyway? If you weren’t interested in changing me, why the hell would you send me the ugliest, most modest, most ridiculous dress on the fucking planet?”
“I never saw the dress.” He blurted the words out in a rush.