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Butterscotch
I head for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Jake asks.
“To change clothes. And then back to the party.” I still need to pay Magnolia for my plate, and I’ll stick around to help clean up, like any ‘good girlfriend’ would do. Not to say I’m thrilled about it, though, after I just face-planted in front of them.
He slides off too, and his eyes glint with something like mischief. “I was about to change too.”
My lips part, anticipating another scolding. He needs to stop with the sex jokes. But what he says next surprises me: “You go first, and then wait for me at the front door?”
“The front door?”
“Yeah. Let’s get away for a little while.”
I just look at him, unsure what he means.
“Ruby said the party is almost over anyway. Dinner won’t be for a while, assuming we decide to stay that long. And there’s a place I want to show you.”
I shift on my feet. This sounds like a bad idea—him taking me somewhere. Just the two of us. So, naturally, I say, “Like where?”
“Go get changed and I’ll show you.”
I sigh. “Jake, I don’t—”
“Could you just quit being a stubborn ass for once and go get changed?”
I…Did he just…?
Fine.
“You mean independent woman,” I counter as I turn. And ironically do as I’m told.
As I head up the stairs to change, he laugh-whispers, “Yes, I know.” But I don’t think he means for me to hear.
I changeinto something similar to what I already had on—a clean pair of jeans and a tank top. And then wait by the front door.
Time for a pep-talk before I’m alone with him again.
No matter where he’s taking me, I’m in control. I have a say in what happens. I know what his endgame is…I think. So, even more reason to keep my walls up.
Keep them up.
Stephen’s voice chimes in. Keep them up, bitch!
A butler walks by and politely nods. Continues down the hall.
He opens a door, and I peek around the corner. He’s going down to the creepy surgical room. Probably to clean up. How many things have these butlers seen over the years? How much blood? I imagine they all have to sign NDA’s. Maybe that’s why Frederick was so tight-lipped last night.
Another door opens. I scurry back into place. It’s likely Jake, but I don’t want to chance anyone seeing me spy.
Boots fall heavy down the hallway. It’s him.
When he appears around the corner, he’s wearing a cowboy hat and is all cleaned up in a fresh white shirt. His eyes soak in my jeans and tank top, and his grin quirks to one side, exposing the dimple. “You ready?”
I press my hand against my stomach to calm the fluttering. Damn, that cowboy hat. “I guess,” I say, fighting a smile in response. I look down at what I’m wearing. “Will this work for where we’re going?”
He heads toward me, slipping past to open the door and purposefully leaving inches between us. I step back to get some distance. “You look perfect,” he says, giving the door a tug. And then slides on his aviators beneath the rim of his hat. “As always, Ms. Reed.”
