Biting Nixie by Mary Hughes Page B

reception? No, he’d bore any potential donors to death. What, then? Not the beer tent. Not the corn ’n wienie roast. Definitely not the kiddie games—that was just a lawsuit waiting to happen. I couldn’t think of a damned thing.
    I felt frustrated. Not only because I couldn’t think of anything that would keep Ruffles happy, yet out of the way.
    I was also frustrated because of Elena’s and Bo’s crabby faces. Because I didn’t like how I was behaving. I didn’t like cornering friends into running stupid contests. It would serve the mayor right if I just quit. Just because he’d known me since diapers…just because he’d offered my band the break of a lifetime…I didn’t ask to run this foozley extravaganza. I especially did not ask to corner friends to run an extravaganza to pay for an overpriced, overrated, snooty lawyer .
    As if the thought brought him, the office door clicked open. Julian Emerson strode in, all graceful power and authority. His cool eyes flicked over the room. Disdain curled in that arrogant gaze. The mighty big-city attorney looking down on our tiny cop shop. Stupid Boston blue-blood. The fact that Julian exuded waves of barely contained sex appeal only made it worse.
    All my frustration and self-disgust channeled itself instantly at Julian. It burst through my system as a big, bad mad. “WTF are you doing here, Emerson?”
    â€œI’m here to walk you home.” So cool. So confident. So fucking sensual.
    My jaw kicked up. “You going to carry my books, too? And I’m not going home .”
    He kept coming. Didn’t stop until he was standing practically on top of me. He was so close I could have put my nose between his impressively huge pecs. Wickedly, I thought about the smudge of makeup I’d leave on his old school tie.
    But my quarrel wasn’t with his tie. Well, it was, but right now I was picking a fight with him. I tilted my head so I could glare directly into his eyes. My neck started to kink. I ignored it. “You don’t have to stunt, Emerson. I can walk by myself. I am not a child!”
    Brightly, Dirk said, “You look like one, Nixie. A child, that is. Next to Mr. Emerson. Him being so tall and you only reaching up to his armpits. Well, not even his armpits—”
    â€œI am not a child!” I said, stomping my foot.
    My cheeks burned like a fire when I realized what I’d done.
    It was all Julian Emerson’s fault. Damn the man! His cool arrogance brought out the very worst in me. He was everything I hated. Puritanical and rigid (which my parents called stability). Pigheaded stubborn (which my parents called tenacity). Stifling anything creative (consistency) or fun (soberness). Julian Emerson was the epitome of rigid, stubborn, boring old male. Sober. Conscientious. Reliable.
    No—pigheaded! Pigheaded Julian, fixated on my not being alone at night. Feening on walking me to the auditions, like I was some little kid who’d lose her way.
    â€œNixie…think about what happened earlier,” Elena said reasonably. “You really should let Julian walk with you.”
    â€œSafety in numbers,” Bo agreed.
    Julian, damn him, simply grabbed my elbow. “Are you finished here?” It didn’t help that, with our extreme differences in height, he had to look down his nose to see me.
    But here was a drama-llama question. Did I defy Julian’s smug arrogance and stay? Or did I escape with him—before Dirk cornered me into putting him in charge of something?
    In the meantime, Julian’s square, competent fingers were branding a hole in my skin.
    â€œI’m finished.” I yanked my elbow loose. Julian, unfazed, simply put his strong hand on my waist.
    Even though I wore layers upon layers of clothes, his heat burned.
    It propelled me into motion. “I’ll get back to you later about the pageant,” I called to Bo and Elena as I escaped.