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"Here?" I glance around as if Jovich is stupid enough to march him through my club. To be fair, Jovich is pretty stupid, but even he knows better than that.
He laughs and licks his lips. "Dimitri will take you to him. He should fold pretty easily... I warmed him up for you."
"Watch the girls," I command. "I don't want them out of your sight. And don't let them bring anyone home."
"Of course."
I clap him on the shoulder and make for the corner, buttoning my suit jacket and taking the steps two at a time as I descend the stairs. I take the door that leads out into the back alley. Dimitri is waiting at the curb in a nondescript black car, and before I get in, I turn back and look up at the roof.
Claire can't see me, but I can see her. The moon hangs full and low behind her, illuminating her just enough that I can see her silhouette as she paces back and forth. I can't make out any kind of facial expressions, but as she leans over the railing, she seems to be trying to let go of her frustration.
That makes two of us.
Chapter eighteen
Claire
Remy disappears entirely after that. No matter how many covert glances I toss around, I don't spot him again. I do, however, notice Jovich watching me rather intently. Loyal though he is, something about Jovich doesn't sit right with me. It’s an intuitive feeling of unease that I can’t shake. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I’m sure he's killed people as effortlessly as I dress in the mornings. Or perhaps it is just that he doesn't trust me, so I don’t trust him. Whatever it is, it leaves me on edge.
To be fair, even Remy seemed to doubt my intentions when we'd first met. It’s sad that nobody can trust that I might actually be a real friend to Rhea without an ulterior motive. But then again, we are halfway across the world to attend their father's funeral. In the three years that we've been friends, I never met Rhea's father. That tells me all that I need to know about the Boudreaux family.
Rhea can't shake Jovich's prying eyes the rest of the night, either, until we make it back to the house and he strides away to answer a phone call. I turn to Rhea and sigh my relief. "Is it just me or was he extra overbearing tonight?"
Rhea laughs, tilting her hair back so that her multi-colored curls tumble down her back. The caramel pieces catch the light. "It isn’t just you. I think Remy told him to make sure we didn't bring anyone home."
I roll my eyes. "He doesn't have to worry about that."
"No." Rhea agrees, studying my face. She purses her lips thoughtfully. "But should I?"
"Should you what?"
"Be worried about you."
I bite my lip with the sneaking suspicion that I know where this is going. But I can't admit as much, even if Rhea will call me on it. "I don't know what you mean."
She appraises me coolly, and then turns away, leaving me to watch her a moment before I catch up. Rhea turns into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator while I climb, none-too-gracefully, onto one of the barstools. When she turns back and sets two bottles out on the counter, the look on her face says it all. "I noticed you disappeared for a while tonight... with Remy."
Even having this conversation with my best friend doesn't stop me from turning red as I realize what she’s getting at. I try to play it off, shrugging. "And?"
"And that's got ‘bad idea’ written all over it." She twists her bottle open and tips it back for a long moment before facing me again. "I love my brother, but he is not good for you."
"I'm not looking for ‘good for me’. I'm not looking for anything." I shrug again, hoping to sell her on my indifference. But that’s a lie. That kiss left me looking for a whole lot more.
"Remy is not your type." Rhea warns. "And for that matter, you aren't his type either."
"I have a type?" I muse. "Do tell."
Rhea shrugs like she’s giving me a hard truth. "Your type is the smart and driven humanitarian. The good to the core, wholesome, ‘just wants to love and be loved’ type. Like Wes."
I laugh. I'd nearly forgotten about Wes. With his charm, good looks, and manners, Wes probably is my type. We only met once, and who's to say what may have come from it? I'd planned to see him again until Remy had sneaked up on me and erased all thoughts of other men from my mind. "Wes." I repeat, trying to keep a straight face. "Is this about Ryan? You want to date best friends, don't you?"
"Ugh." Rhea shudders in disgust. "I do not want anything to do with Tristan Ryan, and now that we're here and I'll likely never see him again, I don't have to coddle his feelings. Which is great, because I met someone tonight, actually."
"Why am I not surprised?" I laugh, wondering how she could have fallen for someone in less than three hours. And yet, I’m not sure I’ve been able to put thoughts of Remy out of my head since we met the other night, so who am I to judge?
"Because you know me better than I do." She smiles. "And I know you better than you think I do. Please, Claire, just... be careful with my brother."
"I won't hurt him." I tease. "Besides, you said it yourself: I'm not his type."
