She took a breath, then faced her father. "You know what, Daddy. Do it."
His eyes went wide. "Very well." He started to rise.
"But know that if you do, I'll fuck you up so good you'll never be elected to the bench again. Hell, you'll be lucky not to be disbarred. Every line you've pulled, every threat you've made, I'll make sure it's out there. And in case you haven't noticed, I have access to television and social media now. I have a platform, Daddy. Don't give me a grudge to go with it."
She stood, then aimed her best smile at him. The one he and her mother had paid for, actually. "I'm going back to work now, but feel free to order a drink before you go. I recommend the Jalapeno Margaritas. They have one hell of a kick."
Chapter Twenty-One
Spencer had seen Brooke only in glimpses on Tuesday, and he was smart enough to know that was intentional. But whether it was because she was giving him space or had washed her hands of him, he wasn't entirely sure.
He hoped it was the first. He'd been an asshole Monday night--he knew that. Hell, he probably would have picked up on that little detail even if Brooke hadn't done such a damn good--and thorough--job of calling him out.
He had no excuse, only explanations. He'd been burning up with jealousy, as potent as any fever he'd ever experienced. Foolish, probably. Hell, Spencer didn't know Parker Manning from Adam, but the guy had definitely gotten under his skin. Because Parker had class and breeding and money. Not to mention the kind of clean-cut good looks that landed on billboards and magazine pages.
What Spencer had forgotten was what Parker didn't have; Parker didn't have Brooke. Spencer did.
And that's where his second explanation-not-excuse came into play. Fear. Because Spencer had looked at Parker and had felt a cold wave of debilitating fear rise up with the knowledge that while Brooke might be his right then, there was no guarantee that he could keep her. Hell, he'd lost her before. And God knew there were a hell of a lot better men in the world for her than him. So why the fuck should he be the lucky one?
She swore he was. Maybe she even believed it.
But he was having hell of a hard time believing it himself.
"Hey, you guys!" Mina's cheery voice cut through the din in the back bar that was being used as a staging area for the guys. Behind her, he could hear the muffled chatter of the emcee, an indie film star that Jenna considered an absolute coup for the contest.
"So the way it works is that you'll walk down the red carpet, climb the stairs, and then you can say a one-liner if you want. Like A vote for me is a vote for hotness or whatever. And you really ought to take your shirt off," she added, grinning as she pointed a finger toward a still-reluctant Cameron.
"Then you strut your stuff back here until everyone's gone. Then you'll all come back, line up on the stage, and the audience will cast their votes. Then you all get to mingle once the ballots are collected until we announce a half hour or so later."
She turned her attention to Spencer. "Since you're last, you don't have to come back. Stay on the stage, and these guys will join you."
"You got it."
In the main bar, the music started, and the first of the twelve started that direction. Some of the others gathered in the doorway to watch, but Spencer didn't bother. He wasn't nervous; he'd had too many years in the spotlight for nerves to catch up to him now. But he wished he was. Nerves would give him something to think about other than Brooke.
As much for the distraction as for friendship, he eased over toward Cameron. "They finally talked you into it, huh?"
Cameron shrugged. "I figured I'd never live it down if I didn't do it. But I'm doing it my way."
Spencer nodded slowly, not sure what the kid meant. "Your way? I'm guessing you're not taking your shirt off."
A sly grin touched Cam's face. "Wait and see."
That, at least, gave Spencer something to ponder for the rest of the wait.
Cam was number eleven, and as the kid headed up the red carpet, Spence moved to the doorway so he could watch--and the first thing he saw was Brooke, a few yards away and moving straight toward him.
"Hey," she said, when she reached the staging area's doorway.
"Hey, back."
A smile flickered on her lips, and she reached into the room, her hand extended for his. He took it, awareness coursing through him. This was Brooke. And, dammit, she was his.
"I wanted to wish you luck," she said. "And if you fall off our amazing new stage, I'll have to kill you."
He laughed, a little bit more than the joke deserved, but it felt so damn good to be civilized.
"Listen," he said, but he never got any further, because the entire room had burst into laughter and applause.