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Chapter11
LANDON
“Is this a damage control meeting? Do you think your manager wants to meet because the wedding pictures and videos came out? I honestly can’t remember anyone recording us,” Harper said, rattling off questions and musings as she clutched the Volvo’s steering wheel.
He made sure his seat belt was buckled and held on for dear life as his lead-footed wife weaved through traffic like she was on the final lap of the Indy 500. The Volvo creaked and groaned, then ground to a halt at a stop sign.
He fought the urge to squeeze his eyes shut and pray. “I wish you’d let me drive,” he said through gritted teeth as she hit the gas, which, thank Christ, didn’t do that much. Blessedly, for his safety and that of everyone else on the road, this car’s get-up-and-go seemed to have got up and left. The engine grumbled and hissed as the vehicle heaved forward, barely building speed.
“You’ve been drinking. I haven’t. It only makes sense.”
“I had one beer, Harper.”
“Yeah, and I watched you drink it like you were trying out for America’s Next Frat Bro.”
This woman.
“And I’m concerned about your state of mind,” she continued.
“My state of mind?”
“You’ve got my panties in your pocket—or should I say the private lacy placemat doily?”
Dammit.
How was he supposed to respond?
He couldn’t tell her he’d been through hell this past week, and the only peace he’d experienced had come when he felt her panties in his pocket.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” he shot back.
She didn’t reply. She pursed her lips and stewed as the Volvo barreled through the streets of Denver like a burnt potato on wheels.
He braced himself. “Why didn’t you want to drive the Porsche?”
“Because I’m not insured on it.” She threw a dose of stink eye his way. “I’m not always a tutu party girl out to break every rule, heartthrob.”
Heartthrob.
Even when she yelled the moniker at him, his pulse kicked up.
“I’m actually quasi-responsible when I want to be,” she continued. “Like, if I married someone on a dare, I wouldn’t sneak out in the dead of night without saying goodbye or leaving a note.”
Shit.
He deserved that.
His actions had solidified her grudge against musicians, and she’d pegged him as an inconsiderate jerk.
But she was wrong.
Dead wrong.
The last thing he’d wanted was to leave her.
His heart broke the minute the suite’s landline rang. When he picked it up and heard Tomás’s voice, the bubble popped and reality hit with a one-two punch.
He didn’t want to leave, but he had to go.
