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“Stop panicking, Jailbait.” Booker straightened and looked down at her. Flour lightened his eyelashes and brows. For some crazy reason she found it endearing. “You’re fine. We were overdue for this conversation. Now that we’ve had it, you can calm down.”
She propped herself up on one arm. Panic gave way to something else. He’d manipulated her. “Don’t tell me to calm down. You deliberately made me jealous—”
“No.” He shook his head. “You did that all on your own.”
“Really? You wouldn’t have thought anything of it if I’d been the one snuggled into a corner tonight, whispering in someone else’s ear.”
He chewed on that for a moment, and then inclined his head. “Arden’s dealing with unwanted attention from an as yet unidentified person, or persons. She asked me about our progress with the investigation. That’s what we discussed.”
Shit. The scene replayed in her mind, with the distortion of her overheated emotions removed. Details took on a new cast. Arden’s unsmiling expression hadn’t been seductive, but anxious. She’d held onto to his arm out of a need for reassurance. “I didn’t realize…” She felt like an ass.
“It’s not public information.” He smoothed his thumb over her cheekbone. “For various reasons, we want to keep it that way. Tonight’s party wasn’t the right time or place to discuss the matter. I hadn’t planned to. I’m sure she didn’t either, because generally, she views the whole thing as a nuisance, but I think the crowd made her uneasy.”
“Understandable.” But dammit, a lack of justifiable outrage left her defenseless. “Forget I said anything. In fact”—she tried to slide away and get to her feet—“forget everything I said.”
He didn’t move. “Not a chance. You said it. I heard it. We move forward from here. Try to be a little brave.”
She shoved at him, harder, because the walls were closing in. The air itself threatened to crush her. She could stuff her own feelings into a box and lock them away where they couldn’t do any damage—hardly any. She’d practiced the skill her entire life. But this? Nothing had prepared her for this.
“Booker”—she gestured between them—“this is a bad bet. I’m a bad bet.” The words spilled out fast, with a manic edge that was pure Denise. The risks felt too close. He felt too close, but for whatever reason, her hands didn’t get the memo she was pushing him away. Her fingers curled around the lapels of his tux and held on. “My life is completely fucked up. Every part of it—you don’t even know—and, yes, I’m scared the mess will splatter onto you, and I’m going to fuck you up, too…”
His mouth closed over hers. His tongue swept aside the warnings she wanted to give him. When he drew back, he framed her face in his hands and waited until she looked him square in the eye. “I’m not so easy to fuck up. Trust me.”
He didn’t pose it as a question. He expected her trust, end of story. And she did trust him. But there are things you haven’t told him, and the moment to speak up came and went a long time ago. If he ever finds out, he’ll see it as a betrayal. She let out a breath and sagged against him. “Booker, it’s not you. It’s me I don’t trust.”
“Work on that.” He lifted her off the island. “This is real, and I’m not going to let you fuck it up.”
…
“Hey, Babycakes, my bonus is back on track.”
“Woo-hoo!” For once, Laurie didn’t try to temper her enthusiasm. She switched her phone to her other ear and took the withdrawal receipt the ATM spit at her, ignoring the anemic account balance listed there. The bonus was good news. Why not have a little faith in the powers of good, and embrace it?
“Better still, I’ll be in Montenido day after tomorrow,” Chelsea added.
“You’re right. That is even better.” She walked down Ocean Avenue, away from the bank, slowing her steps as she passed an empty storefront with a For Lease sign in the window. “When do you arrive? We need to celebrate.”
High rent district, she warned herself, but still ended up peering through the glass. It couldn’t hurt to look. If her insurance company paid out, plus Chelsea’s bonus…
Her imagination immediately filled the shop with an order counter and a couple display cases while her best friend ran through her itinerary. Chelsea’s flight arrived tomorrow night, but she had work-related plans that evening. Not a problem, because Laurie had Kate and Aaron’s rehearsal dinner. As they talked through the logistics, it hit her how much their lives had changed since they’d last seen each other. Chelsea Wayne, people-pleaser and queen of leading with her heart, was neck deep in a no-strings fling with Rafe St. Sebastian, while Laurie Peterson, the queen of guarding her heart, was in an honest-to-god relationship. Granted, the more she listened, the more Chelsea and Rafe’s no-strings arrangement showed signs of at least a few tethers, but Chelsea wasn’t ready to hear it.
Laurie sympathized. Chelsea’s ex had bruised her heart, and protecting herself from another battering was a normal response. Laurie’s heart had been bruised at birth—probably earlier—which might explain why it had taken losing the thing she cherished most to finally force her to lower the shields and reach out. Maybe the universe had been trying to teach her an important lesson? Namely, she wasn’t alone. When she’d needed help, people had come forward. Chelsea, with the bonus. Her friends at Las Ventanas, with the extra work.
Booker.
She’d definitely lowered her shields where he was concerned, let her heart lead, and inconceivably, she hadn’t fucked things up.
Yet, the voice in her head—the one that sounded like Denise—insisted on adding.
She shushed it. Yes, there were things she hadn’t told him, but she was starting to believe that everything would work out, even if she kept a few sketchy details to herself. According to the insurance adjuster, the check was all but in the mail. They only awaited the investigator’s final report in order to pay her claim.
Chelsea signed off with a promise to meet up the day after tomorrow—Valentine’s Day—and check out the potential new location for Babycakes.
Babycakes by the Beach. She liked the sound of that.
So stop expecting everything to turn to shit.
Determined to follow her own advice, she took down the realtor’s name and number from the For Lease sign. Her phone rang as she was inputting the contact information. She hit connect and brought it to her ear. Either her scrupulously organized friend had forgotten some detail, or she was ready to talk about the situation with Rafe. “Miss me already?”
