Free The Tycoon by Anna Jeffrey

for her, but couldn’t keep her from landing on her knees in the doorway.
    He dropped to a squat and began to check her for injury. “Jesus, Donna. Are you all right?”
    “Some sonofabitch tripped me.” Breaking into tears, she pushed herself to a sitting position. “Who tripped me?”
    “You caught your toe on something.” He slid an arm around her waist. “Let me help you get up.”
    Her body was limp as cooked spaghetti and he struggled to lift her to her feet. Just as he succeeded, a mutual acquaintance strolled past, accompanied by a woman Drake didn’t know. “Jimmy, you cocksucker!” Donna yelled at his back.
    Drake’s jaw clenched. Adrenaline zoomed through his system. The din surrounding them ceased and people stared. Jimmy stopped, turned and opened both arms in a “who-me?” gesture.
    Drake tightened his grip on Donna’s waist. She lunged toward Jimmy, but was unable to escape Drake’s hold. “You tripped me, you little fucker,” she yelled.
    “Jesus Christ, Donna,” Drake said sotto voce , using his strength to restrain her. “Shut your mouth. Just shut up.”
    “God, Donna, I wasn’t anywhere near you,” the accused said, a stupefied look on his face. The woman with him stood slack-jawed and wide-eyed.
    “Sorry, Jimmy,” Drake said. “She didn’t mean it. Please excuse us. We’re going home.”
    Donna’s mouth twisted into a snarl. “Fuck both of you.” She jerked away from Drake.
    “The only place I’m going is to the bathroom. I gotta piss.” She stumbled away from them.
    Before Drake could grab her or follow her, Jimmy looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Drake. But I don’t think I tripped her.”
    “No, no, you didn’t,” Drake said. “She caught her foot on something. It’s all good, okay?” He gave Jimmy a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Have a good night, okay? I’m going to go check on her.” He headed toward the ladies’ room, grabbling for his own composure.
    Just then his mother appeared. Like a heat-seeking missile, she came straight at him.
    Great. Just what I need.
    She halted in front of him, placing her hand on his arm and looking up at him. “Son, are you and Donna quarreling?”
    Drake’s brow crunched into frown so tight, his temples ached. “I’m not quarreling,” he answered, looking across the room rather than at her, trying to keep Donna in sight. “Yet,” he added.
    “What does that mean?” his mother asked.
    He redirected his attention to her. “Don’t worry about it, Mom. It’s no big deal.”
    “There’s so much noise. Maybe no one important heard what she said.”
    Barron Wilkes, his mother’s boyfriend—even after seven years, that phrase still sent a fingernails-on-a-chalkboard shudder over Drake—came from somewhere and placed his hand on her back.
    Barron proffered his right hand. “Good evening, Drake. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
    Drake accepted Barron’s handshake. “I’ve been around.”
    Wilkes angled a sly look at him and smiled. “Talk is you’ve got something going on with windmills and some West Texas boys. Find that more profitable than building shopping centers? Or drilling for shale gas?” He followed up with a low, knowing chuckle as if he and Drake were confidantes.
    “Look, you’re going to have to excuse me,” Drake said, clapping Wilkes’ shoulder with one hand. “I need to help Donna. She needs to go home.”
    “Oh, of course,” his mother replied. “I’ll talk to you later. Maybe we can do lunch next—”
    Drake left her still talking and started across the room.
     
    ****
    With the party in full swing, Shannon drifted from one group to another listening to snippets of conversation but offering little comment of her own. Sans the small-scale brinkmanship with the Lockhart star, she was reminded that many of the rich were boring. God knew she had escorted enough of them through houses and over vacant building lots to develop that opinion.
    She hadn’t seen Jordan in a while. Once