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He looks toward the building and pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s having some sort of internal battle with himself. But finally, he takes my arm. “Come on then. Let’s go find it.”
I look at him, tears filling my eyes. “Th-thank you,” I whisper, not surprised when he says nothing in return.
He doesn’t hold on to my arm like I’m a child, but walks directly next to me as we head back inside the event. Everything looks exactly like how we left it. One thing is for sure: no one here noticed that I’d left for those ten minutes.
As we walk around the room, I sigh. “This is useless. There are too many people in here. We’ll never find it.” I shrug. “Can you bring me back here tomorrow maybe? Once the place clears out?”
Still, he doesn’t make eye contact, but keeps his blue eyes straight ahead. “Did you go into any other rooms while you were here? The restroom perhaps?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But I did go into that back room. The one that has all the pictures of the past and present presidents of this place on the wall. There’s a small office there. Enzo went inside it for a meeting and left me in the main room.”
“Lead the way,” he utters, waving his hand.
Heading toward that room, I push the door open and sweep my eyes around the floor. And that’s when I hear it.
“Fuck … yesss,” a female voice cries out. “Fuck, Enzo. You’re so big.”
“That’s right. Keep fucking my cock like the greedy little whore you are,” Enzo growls back.
When I look toward the office, the door is open just enough for me to see him sitting in the chair and the girl from earlier straddling him as she moves up and down, riding him.
“Dove,” Hudson whispers, and I’m too caught off guard by the whole encounter to overthink why he’d call me that. “Let’s get you out of here.”
Looking up at him, I nod, not really knowing how to even feel right now. No part of me is jealous. Nor do I give a shit who that man sticks his penis inside of. But I’m not okay with him sleeping around Italy, catching God knows what, and expecting to fuck me too.
As we head out of the room, a glimmer on the floor catches my eye. When I look down, I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. Or the relief that fills my body. Bending down, I pick my bracelet up quickly before exiting the room and beelining it back outside toward the car.
Once I climb into the back seat, Hudson comes next to the door and reaches for me. Taking the bracelet from my hand, he smoothly flips my hand over and clasps the bracelet around my wrist. His touch alone makes my skin erupt in goose bumps, and I chew my lip nervously.
“There,” he mutters, stepping back. “Let’s get you home.”
This time, it’s me who has nothing to say. Because the man who I thought was ruthless … just helped me find my bracelet.
Closing my door, he gets back into the driver’s side. This time, he wastes no time tearing out of the parking lot. My stomach grumbles, and I look down at it and frown.
“Um …” I chew the inside of my cheek nervously. “Would it be a bother to, like, stop at a drive-through? Is McDonald’s a thing here?”
Aside from traveling with Beckett and Natasha a few times, I haven’t traveled at all. And when I’ve been with them, they certainly don’t hit up McDonald’s even though they don’t know what they are missing.
His eyes shift to mine in the rearview, but only for a split second. “Did you not eat, Ms. James?”
“There wasn’t really time,” I answer more quietly than intended. “This dress was too tight, so they had to fix it, and then I had to go to the event and wait in the corner during a meeting …” I pause, suddenly nervous that he’ll think I’m being ungrateful. “I’m not complaining about that. I … appreciate Enzo bringing me.” Yeah. Right. “There just … wasn’t really time to eat.”
He’s quiet for a moment before his lips part. “So … you just saw your fiancé railing some random woman at an event. And now, you want McDonald’s?” The words come out more like a thought. Like he’s confused as hell and he had to say it out loud.
I consider pretending like I care—like, deep down, it matters to me—but then I realize it really doesn’t matter if I care or not. This man isn’t dumb; he knows marrying a man like Enzo Romano isn’t my life goal.
“I mean, whether he’s screwing someone or not, I still need to eat,” I answer shyly. “Besides, I’m sure you know by now that this arrangement isn’t out of love. So … I don’t really care what he does with his willy or who he does it with.”
His eyes fly to mine, a crease in his forehead forming. “Uh, all right then.”
I don’t say anything back, and I sort of expect us to drive back to the house in silence, where I’ll inevitably have to raid the cupboards and find something to put in my stomach. Instead, after about five minutes of driving, he pulls into the parking lot of a McDonald’s and heads toward the drive-through.
“What do you want?” he grumbles before we reach the speaker.
“Oh, well, I want a Big Mac, a large fry, and a Coke.” I pause. “Oh! And an apple pie if they have them. Do they have apple pies here? Are the McDonald’s the same?”
He stares at me in the mirror, frowning, before he pulls up and orders everything I rattled off. I should be embarrassed to stuff my face in the presence of such an attractive man. But to be honest, I’m too hungry to care. Besides, he’s working for Enzo and Beckett. Despite what they all might think, both are my enemies. So, I don’t really give a shit if I look like a pig in front of this man.
