and the stumble in his steps, Deacon could tell this was a guy on the edge. Maybe even the kind of guy who would blackmail the whole town.
“Cecelia Wood?” he asked, with a lopsided smile that revealed a mess of teeth inside. “Shoulda seen that one coming, right? Nobody is that perfect. Even a princess like you needs to be knocked off their high horse every now and then, right?”
Deacon stepped protectively between him and Cecelia. “Who the hell is this guy?” he asked.
“Adam Haskell,” she whispered over his shoulder. “He has a small ranch on the edge of town. I’m surprised he hasn’t lost it to the banks yet. All he does is drink anymore.”
The name sounded familiar from Deacon’s childhood, but the man in front of him had lived too many rough years to be recognizable. “Why don’t you call a cab and sleep that booze off, Adam?”
The drunk didn’t even seem to hear him. He was focused entirely on Cecelia. “You had it coming, you know. You can only go through life treating people like dirt for so long before karma comes back and slaps you across the face. Now you’re getting a taste of your own medicine.”
“Now, that’s enough,” Deacon said more forcefully. This time he got Adam’s attention.
“Look at Deacon Chase all grow-w-wn up,” he slurred. “You should hate her as much as I do. She treated you worse than anyone else. Used you and spit you out when she didn’t need you anymore.”
“Adam!” A man’s sharp voice came from the doorway of the club. A lanky but solid man with short blond hair stepped outside with a redhead at his side.
“Mac and Violet McCallum!” Adam said as he turned his attention to them, nearly losing his drunken footing and falling over. “You’re just in time. I was telling Deacon here how he’s made a mistake trying to protect her. She’s made her bed, it’s time for her to lie in it, don’t you think?”
Deacon’s hands curled into fists of rage at his sides. He was getting tired of this guy’s mouth. If he couldn’t get his hands on Maverick, Mr. Haskell would do in a pinch.
“All right, Adam, you know you’re not supposed to be here on the property if you’re not a member of the club. They’ll call the sheriff on you again. You can’t afford the bail.”
“Best sleep I ever get is in the drunk tank,” he declared proudly, then belched.
“Even then.” Mac came up to Adam and put an arm around his shoulder. “How about we give you a ride home, Adam? You don’t need to be driving.”
Adam pouted in disappointment, but he didn’t fight Mac off. “Aw, I’m just having a little fun with her. Right, Cecelia? No harm done.”
Mac just shook his head. “Well, tonight’s not a good night for it. I’m pretty sure the party is over. If you stay around here any longer, it might be a fist and not the vodka that knocks you out tonight.”
Mac was right. Deacon was glad the couple had intervened when they had or he might’ve had to get physical with the scrawny drunk.
“I can take anyone,” Adam muttered.
“I’m sure you can,” Mac agreed and rolled his eyes. “But let’s not risk it tonight and ruin Isabelle’s party any more than it already has been.”
Mac led Adam toward his truck while Violet stayed behind with Deacon and Cecelia. “I’m so sorry, Cecelia,” she said. “This whole thing with Maverick is getting out of hand. I can’t imagine who would want to hurt everyone so badly. And the way people reacted...it’s not right.”
Cecelia came out from behind Deacon, still clinging to his arm. “Thank you, Violet.”
The redhead just nodded sadly and followed Mac and Adam out into the parking lot. Cecelia watched her go with a heavy sigh. “There goes one of the five people in town who hasn’t turned on me.”
He hated hearing that kind of defeat from her. Cecelia was his fighter. He wasn’t about to let Maverick beat her down. “You know what you need?” Deacon asked. “You need to get away from here.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I’d like to go home if you don’t mind.”
Home wouldn’t help. Word about her would just spread through town like wildfire, and soon everyone would know. Her parents would show up lamenting how embarrassing this was for them and making Cecelia feel even worse. Her friends would drop in to commiserate and reopen the wounds she was struggling to heal. No, she needed to get the hell out of Royal for a few days.
“I have another idea.” Deacon took her hand and led her to his car. After the scene with Adam, he was too worried to leave her alone in case a partygoer came out of the club and had something nasty to say. When they got to his car, he opened the door and helped her in. “You’re not going home.”
She looked at him in surprise. “I’m not? Where are we going, then? To your place?”
Deacon shook his head and closed her door. He climbed into his side and revved the engine. He had bigger, better plans than just hiding her away at his wood-and-stone sanctuary. “I guess you could look at it that way.”
He pulled out of the parking lot and picked up his phone. He dialed his private jet service and made all the necessary arrangements while Cecelia sat looking confused and beat down in the seat beside him.
Finally, he hung up and put the phone down. “It’s all handled.”
Cecelia turned in her seat to look at him. “You said we were going to your place, but that’s back the other way. Then you have some vague conversation about going home for a few days. That doesn’t make any sense. Where are we going, Deacon?”
He smiled, hoping this little mystery was enough to distract her from the miserable night. “Well, first we’re stopping at your place so you can pack a bag and grab your passport.”
He turned in time to see her silvery, gray eyes widen. “My passport? Why on earth...?”
Deacon grinned. This was a turn of events he hadn’t expected, but it was the perfect escape. She needed to get away, he wanted to show her his crown jewel...it all worked out. By the time they returned to Royal, perhaps some new gossip from Maverick would crop up and make everyone forget about Cecelia’s birth mother.
“Yes, and once you’re packed, we’re going to the airport where a private jet is waiting to take the two of us to one of my other properties, the Hotel de Rêve.”
Cecelia sat in shock beside him. It took a few moments before she could respond. “Deacon, your other hotel is in France.”
He pulled into her driveway and put the Corvette into Park. “Yes. Hence the need for your passport. Pack for the French Riviera in the spring.”
She shook her head, making her blond waves dance around her shoulders. Cecelia had really looked lovely tonight, in a beautiful and clingy gray lace dress that brought out the gray in her eyes, but he’d barely had time to appreciate it between the mingling and the drama.
“No, Deacon, this is crazy talk. I can’t go to France tonight even if I wanted to. The Bellamy opens in two weeks. I have so much to do—”
“Your staff has things to do,” he interrupted, “and they know what those things are. You’re not carrying furniture and wiring lamps into the wall. You’re the designer, and most of your work is handled. Shane will oversee everything else, I promise. You and I are getting out of this town for a few days to let this whole mess blow over. End of discussion.”
The way Cecelia looked at him, he could tell it wasn’t the end of the discussion yet. “Couldn’t we just go to Houston or something to get away? Maybe New Orleans? No one would know where we were. We don’t have to go all the way to France, do we?”
Deacon disagreed. He turned off the car and got out, opening her door. “Yes, we do.”
“Why?”