Chapter 150
Chapter 150:
Dallas crouched down in front of her. He took in the bottle on the cart, the tumbler in her hand, the way she was listing gently to one side.
“You’re drinking,” he said.
“I’m coping,” she corrected him, raising a finger toward his chest. Her aim was slightly off; she poked his shoulder instead. “I’m erasing him. One sip at a time. It’s… efficient p>
Dallas said nothing. He simply stayed crouched in front of her, steady and unhurried, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read — the same patience she had seen earlier when he’d handled Azalea’s tantrum with a quiet blend of sternness and barely concealed amusement. The patient protector behind the ruthless CEO. A side of him she hadn’t expected.
Dallas’s jaw tightened. He reached out and gently pried the glass from her fingers.
“No more,” he said.
“You’re no fun,” Eliza pouted, her lower lip trembling. “You’re just like… like a statue. A very handsome, expensive statue p>
She tried to stand, but her legs refused to cooperate. She stumbled forward and collided with his chest.
He caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her waist to steady her. She felt small against him, fragile in a way she would never allow herself to be when sober.
𝖡𝖾 𝘵h𝘦 𝘧ir𝘀t 𝘵о 𝗋e𝗮𝘥 𝗼n ѕ.com
Eliza rested her cheek against his shirt. He smelled of sandalwood and starch — clean and grounding, cutting right through the bourbon.
“Why are you so hard?” she mumbled, poking his chest through the fabric.
“Muscle, Eliza,” he said dryly, holding her upright.
She looked up at him. Her eyes were swimming, filled with unshed tears that magnified the hazel flecks in her irises.
“I hate owing people,” she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Anson made me feel like a beggar for ten years. Every meal, every dress — it was a debt. Now I owe you p>
“Taking care of my wife isn’t a debt, Eliza,” Dallas said firmly, his voice a low, possessive rumble. “It’s a fact p>
“Screw the facts!” The sudden volume startled even her. She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. “Oops p>
She lowered her hand slowly. “I just want someone to be on my side. For free. Not because of a deal. Not because of pity p>
Dallas looked down at her. If she were sober, he might have told her that he had been on her side since the day he saw her reading in the garden, five years ago.
“I am on your side,” was all he said.
Eliza studied his face, searching for the lie. She didn’t find one.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up onto her tiptoes. “Prove it p>
She drew his face down toward hers. It was clumsy and uncoordinated. Her lips landed on his cheek, then slid to the corner of his mouth.
Dallas went very still. Every instinct in him roared to kiss her back, to close the remaining distance completely. But not like this. Not while she was trying to drown a ghost in bourbon.
“Eliza,” he said, his voice strained. “You’re drunk p>