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Mrs. Bachman shoots me a little smile. “I’m going to go take a tour of the back. For nostalgia’s sake. Can you keep an eye on things for a moment?”
“Of course,” I say.
Her Hermes purse hangs delicately from her forearm as she sashays off toward the door with a plate on the front that says Office.
Paisley comes up to me, smiling as she looks down at her ring. “You know, I heard something really funny. My mom said that the night in the library when she and my dad were asking if you would head up security for the trip, for a moment—that you thought you were being asked to marry me.”
“Yeah. Your dad messed up his wording,” I say.
She grins. “And you’re still alive?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask.
“I would’ve thought you’d have died of a heart attack. You don’t seem like the marrying type.”
She’s referencing the night I met her. I was in a mood. Pretty sure I let it slip that I hate all things love- and marriage-related. “I survived. Barely. No offense.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, leaning back against the counter. “She also said you’ve never had a girlfriend that they know of.”
“Who?” I ask.
“The Beauties,” she says.
Gossip queens.
“I do okay,” I say.
She lifts a brow. “Well, I’m glad being my security guard isn’t as revolting to you as being my husband.”
“You’re not revolting.” God, this conversation is going the wrong direction. I try to clarify. “The idea of marriage is. Again. No offense. It’s just not for me.”
“Mm,” she says.
“Mm?”
“Nothing. Just mm.” She unfolds her arms, slowly walking past me as she admires more jewelry. Even though she’s already looked at every single piece in this store.
“I could ask you a few questions about your dating life,” I say.
“What dating life?” she laughs.
“How far have you ever gone?” I ask. I love watching that blush rise in her cheeks.
“You’re infuriating. You know that?” She turns to face me, leaning back against the counter. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is if you’re going to keep asking me for these favors of yours.”
She blushes, remembering my vibrator and belt from last night.
I take a step closer. Putting a hand on her shoulder, I guide her to the corner of the room by the office door. Out of sight of my men and the store clerk I slip a finger just under the strap of her dress. “I need to know how far you’ve been. How far you’re willing to go.”
Completely ignoring my words, she looks down at the ring, trying to change the subject. “What do you think? Are we sure this is the one?”
I take her hand in mine, holding it low where no one can see. If anyone were to look at us, we appear to be just talking. Waiting for her mom. I close my fingers around hers. “I’ll tell you, but first how far have you gone?”
The pink already resting in her cheeks deepens.
“Let me guess.” I stare at her lips. “Nod if I’m right. Shake your head if I’m wrong. Got it?”
