The Meat Market

Dane

Fucking fundraisers. Fucking women with their fucking dancing. Fucking brother taunting him by dancing with fucking Lila.

Fucking fucking motherfucker.

Fuck.

Teeth gritted against the rage that threated to pour out of his mouth, Dane ushered Regina Harley back to her table, along with her inch-long nails that he'd swear had left holes in his tuxedo jacket, and politely shook his head when her colleague approached with that gleam in her eye and asked him for a turn on the dancefloor. "I'm very sorry, ladies, but I have commitments to see to tonight. Thank you for the lovely dance, Regina," he said. He figured out he hadn't really covered his anger well with both women's eyes widened. But they were polite and forced gentle smiles and patted his arms. They made the appropriate noises about his commitment to his work, then let him go. He couldn't walk away fast enough.