Page 11 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Something’s bothering her.

Before I can figure out exactly what, Brooks comes down the hall, sans suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened…

And there’s a smudge of lipstick on his collar.

“You’re late,” he says.

“And you’re glad I am,” I reply, deliberately flicking my gaze to the lipstick stain.

Across the kitchen, River snorts unexpectedly. I glance at her, and though she’s still intently focused on whisking the contents of that bowl, I can’t miss that one half of her mouth is curved up.

Pride tears through me.

I made her smile.

Halfway.

But God, I’d pay a million dollars to see that smile in all its glory.

Hell, I’d give up all of my businesses if only to make her do it again.

“That smells good,” Briar says as she emerges from the hallway with slightly mussed hair and a kiss-swollen mouth.

“Well, I didn’t swap sugar and salt,” River replies nonsensically.

“Why would you do that?” I ask, my brows dragging together.

But my question is masked by Brooks and Briar’s uproarious laughter.

Whatever.

I loosen my tie slightly and move toward the kitchen, hating that River immediately clocks the movement and goes stiff—though she doesn’t stop whisking.

That shouldn’t bother me.

But it does.

I want her to look at me, to smile at me, to want me.

Fucking stupid.

“What are you making?” I ask…or maybe it’s more of a rasp that draws everyone’s focus—including River’s for one brief, blazing second.

Her whisking halts. “Brownies.”

“You seem angry about it.”

That earns me a sharp look. “I’m not.”

I glance at the violently abused batter. “Right.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Fucking hell,” Brooks mutters under his breath.

River sets the whisk down harder than necessary, sending splatters of batter onto the counter. “Dammit,” she hisses, glaring at me as she goes to wipe them up.

I snag the towel from her hand, clean the mess myself.