Free Bringing Down Sam by Leslie Kelly Page B

understand why. It wasn't as if he'd brought the model to the party because he wanted her for himself; well, beyond the instant lust any man would feel in her company. But it didn’t go any deeper than the surface.
    Yeah, right.
    Okay, sometimes when the almost plastic mask shifted and he caught a glimpse of the real woman underneath, the attraction went way deeper. Still, she seemed determined to keep holding that mask in place by the tips of her pretty fingernails. If he didn’t like it, she’d probably move right on to another man who would. Which meant he might not be the one to bring her home. But the thought of Robbie being the man in Eve's bed sent a chill down his spine.
    Admit it, the thought of anyone else going home with her tonight is pretty nauseating.
    Sam stopped swirling the mixed drink he held in his hand. He stopped pretending to listen to his father as the older man rambled on about some new major purchase the company had just made. Because, suddenly, a realization hit him.
    He cared. For some reason, he cared who Eve Barret might end up with. He cared who she danced with. That unfamiliar pang in his gut was called jealousy. He was jealous of his own cousin, poor old knock-kneed Robbie, over a woman he hadn't so much as kissed, had barely spoken with, and thought was a brainless tease.
    Okay, he conceded, he knew behind those silly stares of hers she was more cunning than she let on. There was depth to her. He'd heard it in her voice once or twice, when she'd dropped her guard and her stupid accent. Still, he hadn't even cared too much when one old girlfriend had cheated on him. Why, then, did he care about Eve? He couldn't begin to think of a reason.
    "Did you hear what I said to you?" his father said, obviously noticing Sam's inattention. 
    Sam shrugged. He hadn't heard a word. “Nope.”
    The older man actually growled. “Would you take your eyes off that female and pay attention to me?”
    “That female has a name. If you’d remembered your “Be Polite” lesson from kindergarten, you might have learned it.”
    The older man had the grace to flush slightly. Because, while his father was a bossy blowhard, he wasn’t usually rude, especially not to complete strangers. Or beautiful women.
    “This is important,” he insisted.
    “Okay then. Why don't you just cut to the chase."
    His brief instant of remorse fading, the old man suddenly looked overconfident, self-satisfied, and Sam felt an instant of misgiving.
    "I've been trying to tell you, Samuel. I've just closed a deal I've been working on for a long time. The Kenneman Corporation has bought out a large chunk of Wilshire Publications."
    It took a minute to sink in. The name was familiar. Then he understood. Wilshire Publications was the logo in the upper left corner of his paychecks from His World magazine.
    "You've bought the parent company that owns His World ."
    "Not the whole company. Just some of its more troubled holdings."
    Sam didn't have to ask. The hint of pleasure in his father's eyes told him what he needed to know. He simply shook his head.
    "Yes, Sam, including the poor rag you've been working for."
     
    Eve had to concede that Robbie was a good dancer, and he was pleasant company. Unfortunately, he hid a series of veiled personal questions in his seemingly nonchalant conversation. She found herself defending her privacy with each reply and breathed an audible sigh of relief when the music ended.
    "Thank you for the dance, Mr. Kenneman. Perhaps we should go back inside now," she said, not waiting for his reply as she pulled out of his arms. He didn't protest as they returned to the reception hall.
    As soon as they entered, Eve spotted Sam and his father, nearly nose to nose, obviously involved in some kind of confrontation. Robbie tried to slow her down, but Eve slid her arm out of his and continued walking. Three different men approached her, asking for a dance or offering a drink, but she looked straight ahead, not paying them