off the rush of anger and sadness at what her friend had experienced, Violet gripped Gabriella’s hand, desperate to hang on to something solid. “She and Reed found each other and Cassidy and Tucker did as well. It is a good thing.”
Gabby squeezed back before she offered up a small moue of disgust. “As beautiful as this place is, the catering needs a serious overhaul.”
Her friend’s dig had Violet refocusing on the event. The hotel was doing the formal catering, but they’d brought Gabby along as extra arms and legs. “Please don’t tell me you snuck into the kitchen.”
“It wasn’t sneaking.”
Violet ignored the delicate sniff and only pressed harder. “Gab—”
“My cousin’s best friend works here, and I wanted to say hi.”
Violet knew Gabby was a walking connection to half of Dallas, either as family or as friends of family. But none of it hid the fact that she wanted eyes on the kitchen. Her own catering business had been on the rise, but the competition between the local caterers and the large hotels had gotten fiercer in the last few years.
“They put a swimming pool of sauce on the beef entrées,” Gabby hissed. “You know as well as I do there’s only one reason a kitchen does that.”
“To hide the quality of the meat.”
“Exactly!”
“Who made you mad, Sexy Sanchez? I see that lovely Latin temper spiking.”
Violet’s back went as straight as the surface of Lilah’s fondant, as that dark, husky drawl interrupted Gabby’s moment of triumph. For a large man, Max Baldwin’s ability to materialize out of nowhere was unsettling.
And damned annoying.
“The kitchen’s subpar.” Violet’s voice was as prim as a nun’s habit, and she was oddly gratified at the corresponding spike of annoyance in Max’s vivid blue gaze.
“Like that’s a secret.” He pulled Gabby close in a side hug. “Besides, if we’re comparing other food to Gabby’s, the White House would lose out in a cooking contest.”
“Max!” Gabby hugged him back, her natural ease with people evident in the soft lines of her smile. “That’s so sweet.”
“He’s—”
Max interrupted her before Violet could finish the thought. “And I’m not buttering her up for a week of leftovers after she finishes tomorrow’s cooking.”
Violet snapped her lips closed as Max guessed her next jab. Over the past few months, Gabby had begun bringing any of her catering leftovers to the businesses around the Design District. She’d claimed it was a loss leader—she was only going to throw the food out anyway—and this gave the local businesses exposure to her work and more opportunities to keep her in mind.
As a business strategist, she was brilliant.
But it was her spirit of generosity that made Gabby truly stand out. Quite unexpectedly, the weekly food offering had begun to make their little neighborhood a community. A small, close-knit group of business owners who looked out for each other and depended on each other.
It had been humbling to realize how much that sense of family mattered.
“I wasn’t suggesting you were.” Violet cursed herself for the prim attitude—hell, why did she even feel the need to answer?—and avoided looking directly at Max.
“It doesn’t change the fact I want in on those leftovers. Especially if you have those little beef Wellington pastries.”
“I do, and you’re first on my list because of them.” Gabby giggled before she patted Max on the arm. “And since I just saw one of the servers attempt to put a few cookies back on a plate that fell on the floor, I’m going to go make a nuisance of myself.”
“Where?” Violet’s gaze swung in the same direction as Gabby’s. “I can do it.”
“Nah. I feel the need to whip up a fuss. It’ll make me feel better about the beef.”
Before Violet could insist, Gabby was off, her long strides through the ballroom drawing more than a few appreciative stares from the wedding’s guests.
“It’s a good event. You, Cassidy and Lilah have done an amazing job.” That husky voice slid over her like a warm bath.
“Thank you.”
“Since it’s running smoothly, maybe you can give me more than a cold shoulder.”
Violet held the sigh and shifted her stance so she could see Max yet still keep an eye on the ballroom. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Reed’s on watch over Lilah, and Cassidy and Tucker have the ballroom entrance. You can take a moment and talk to me.”
Violet did sigh this time, more for herself than because of his request.
Why was she so prickly around him?
Although she knew she was leery of opening up to others save close friends, she was a fundamentally kind person. And she liked other people. Heck, her business was about working with a wide variety of individuals, and she was good at it.
So why did Max Baldwin put her back up?
The man was an annoyance. That was all.
He was too big. Too loud. And far too grumpy for her taste.
He also had broad shoulders that tempted her to touch him whenever he got within fifty feet. Her fingers practically itched every time she took in the sandy-blondish hair that got darker as her gaze followed the short cut to the crown of his head.
Since her gaze did just that, a heated, appreciative rush swamped the pit of her stomach.
Damn hormones.
“I do appreciate you and the guys being here.”
“Tucker and I wouldn’t miss it, and Reed’s still struggling with the news. I think the sense of purpose and activity helps.”
Violet nodded, the reality of what Detective Reed Graystone had endured still a raw wound for all of them. Assigned to their case by someone inside the Dallas PD, Reed had only just uncovered that that connection—and corresponding corruption—had its roots in his powerful stepfather, Tripp Lange.
“Lilah’s been keeping a close eye. She said he’s holding up.”
“Graystone’s tough. He’ll hold up because he has no choice. None of it changes the fact that with what he’s exposed, the danger’s still out there. Still lurking.”
“But Tripp’s in jail.”
“For how long?” Max turned toward her, his eyes alight with fire and a mix of—concern? anguish?—before he pressed on. “The man’s got connections layered beneath connections. You think he’s going to sit in a cell for very long?”
“I think this case is too big and too strange not to catch the eye of someone who will ensure it gets solved.”
“Then you’re more naive than I ever gave you credit for.”
* * *
Satisfaction filled his chest as the barb struck Violet square in hers. She actually sputtered before she caught herself. “I’m far from naive.”
“Then start acting like it. Tripp Lange will be out of jail before any of us can blink. I’m surprised he’s still there.”
“He’s been exposed as a major criminal. He’s got to be under tight supervision.”
Max fought the urge to gently shake some sense into her, the concerns he’d harbored since discovering the cache of jewels in the floor of Violet’s business only getting stronger and more forceful by the day. Violet was the practical one of the women