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“You have a reputation where the tarnish goes so deep it’s going to take my sparkly one to help you.”
“So we’re dating now?”
“Would that be so hard to believe?” Her intriguing mouth curls up in a smile that’s sweet and sarcastic and vulnerable. “If I said, yes, we are dating.”
“What’s this?” My mother is there, eyes big, expression cool as she takes us in. “Dating?”
I expect Elliot to fall apart, flounder, but she doesn’t.
“You must be Faye Sinclair,” Elliot says, pulling her wrist from my light grip. “So pleased to meet you. I’m—”
“Mother, this is my girlfriend, Elliot Perry.”
I get a sharp look from both of them. Like I’d just announced I’m secretly a serial killer. Usually I’m way smoother than this, smoother than silk. But Elliot has a way about her. I don’t even know if she was planning on going this way, but hey, I might as well have some fun since I don’t exactly have any other outlets for the next few weeks.
“Girlfriend? You, Ryder? She looks out of your league.” Then she smiles up at Elliot. “He’s a good boy, but you could do better.”
I narrow my eyes at my mother and grip Elliot’s waist a little harder and I try not to think how good she feels beneath my palm, how warm and alive and vital.
“He’s on a thin rope right now. Although I can’t hold him too accountable for things that happened before we met. Can you believe he wanted to hire my PR company?”
“He could use it.” Amusement plays over my mother’s face.
“But he just finished explaining how that woman kissed him last night.”
“One thing he isn’t, is a liar.”
“I am here,” I say.
They both ignore me. “Perry? Don’t tell me you’re related to the Cape Cod Perry’s. Anastasia?”
“That’s my mother,” Elliot says.
And my mother is off, launching into how she knows Elliot’s mother through a network of friends—not close, but they move in similar circles. Then she asks Elliot about various people and it hits me she is related to them. Including an ex-quarterback who owns a team, and a model that I haven’t had the…er…pleasure of meeting.
But I’m looking at Elliot in a different light. Not because she comes from money—I do, too. It’s how she doesn’t seem to come from money. From the sound of it, her family is sprawling and she’s in the middle. I study her.
Elliot deflects with the kind of mastery that makes her the perfect mirror. Right now it’s a little deliberate, but I can’t shake the feeling it’s inherent in her, like she lets the rest shine.
After they finish chatting, my mother takes us around and she does Elliot’s work by letting it be known we’re together. Kingston is there and he just raises a brow at me, and the way he slides his gaze over Elliot annoys me on a level I don’t understand.
For some reason I don’t go over, and when my mother is distracted, I pull Elliot to a corner and shove a glass of champagne in her hand and lean in. “Was that your plan?”
“My plan was to save you from yourself. Hence the slap. It also felt good.”
I take the champagne I just gave her and swallow some down, before giving it back. “Yeah? It didn’t hurt.”
She looks at me, then at the glass, and turns it from where I drank from and then takes a delicate sip. I grab it again.
“It wasn’t meant to, Ryder. But it still felt good. The symbolism.”
I point the champagne at her. “I should fire you.”
“You should. But then you’d be without all those pretty little things you want, like the Sinclair jewels. And your family company.”
“It might be worth it.”
She smiles. “Then I’ll make everything come back and bite you hard on the ass. And I’ll sharpen its teeth first.” She shrugs. “I’ve put a lot of effort into you the past couple of days. Don’t fight the gift horse.”
