“Take your time. Liza makes the best banana pudding on Earth. It should be savored.” His smile faded. There was no use in beating around the bush. “But I did wanna talk to you about something.”
She raised her eyebrows and swallowed. “Actually, metoo. Let me grab my recorder,” Brinton added. She nodded to her tote bag on a nearby bench.
“But not here,” he whispered. Damn, his throat was dry and his nerves danced up his spine. “Can we go somewhere more…private?”
Eyes narrowed, she set her plate on the table. “That’s not a good idea, Jamie. It might look like?—”
“Like what?” His throat tightened, and he spun his ring tentatively. “Did my father say something to you?”
She stepped backward, arms crossed over her chest defensively. Jamie’s heart dropped. This plan was going to hell in a handbasket.
“Were you spying on me?” Her accusation pierced him like a blade.
“I wasn’t—well, I saw you two talking. He can be a little…”
“Intense?” A shadow of a smile crossed her lips.
Was it an opening? God, he hoped so.
He laughed, relief buoying him. “Yeah, that’s putting it nicely.”
Brinton’s shoulders relaxed, her hands now loosely folded at her waist. “He’s really hard on you, isn’t he?”
He wasn’t always that way. He was a businessman first, playing for sold-out crowds and making the family name shine bright. That meant missing his fair share of Friday night football games and class graduations. But Jamie knew his father loved him, in his own way.
Although Jamie still replayed the memory from the horrible night his mother died, when the quiet comfort between him and his father shattered. Butthissimply wasn’t the time to dig up that grave. Or why it was all Jamie’s fault.
“My father has his reasons,” Jamie said instead. He prayed it was enough to talk her down from the invisible ledge. “But…are you okay?”
Brinton’s arms were cinched around her chest. Her eyes bounded around the crowded pavilion, settling on anything buthim. Whatever ground he’d gained while playing cornhole that afternoon had officially gone down the shitter.
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself,” she countered evenly. “And I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea if we’re sneaking around. I need to be taken seriously here. I know this article won’t change much about your life, but it means everything to me. So, whatever you need to say, say it here.”
Finally looking at him, her eyes brimmed with conviction layered with a pleading he knew all too well. Those captivating almond orbs, chocolaty brown and swirled with caramel in the center, enveloped him like a warm bath. He didn’t know why they called to him, but they were getting harder to shake.
As if pulled by an invisible string, he stepped closer. “It means a lot to me too. And believe me, I take you as seriously as a heart attack. I say it here because…”
He couldn’t find the words as insecurity set in. What if it was hopeless and high time he gave up? She searched his eyes, which made him inexplicably dizzy for a moment. His heart was a locomotive in his chest.
“Jamie, I really don’t have time to waste, so please…”
He had no choice but to tell her, right then. Right now.
Shit.
He just needed to stop stalling and say it. Get this over with. He leaned in closer, a feeble attempt at being subtle when he felt like he was about to drop an atomic bomb into a kiddie pool.
As he opened his mouth, someone gripped his shoulder from behind. The long, watermelon-red nails and old-money-yet-faintly-old-lady perfume—jasmine and orchidandprivilege—were dead giveaways. Jilted exes had a way of haunting you.
Jamie and Kendall Chase ended most parties at his father’s compound inside the darkened pool house, her legs wrapped around his waist and a pool noodle jammed into his back. But he didn’t want Brinton to think he was nothing more than his shitty public persona. He wanted her to get to knowhim. That couldn’t happen if Kendall got her way. Or if she got wind of his plans.
“Hey, stranger,”Kendall said, flipping her pin-straight, honeyed mane over her bare shoulder. She eyed Jamie like a marbled ribeye. She intended to devour him whole.
And why wouldn’t he let her? Kendall Chase was beautiful. No, she was a beauty filter come to life. In her strapless black mini dress—designer, probably French—her bronzed, Pilates-toned legs stretched on for eons. Her hair—extensions, definitely expensive—fell like silk down her waist.
Brinton adjusted the square neckline of her Zara tank top, scoffing silently. Jamie was going to ditch their interview now that someone better—someone he had a very storied history with—came along. She’d been so quick to let down her guard and look where it got her.
Whatever, it wouldn’t be the first time a man disappointed her.
