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“Yeah.” He leans back and takes a deep breath.
“Obviously my father knew, though.”
“You figured it out, then?” he asks with a cute smirk. He means the man who helped him get on his feet, of course. The light inside of him grew brighter when we arrived at the center, and I gasped. I could hardly believe my eyes. When he said he made a few calls, I never once considered how elaborate he might’ve gone to give back to the community he hurt today.
“I think he was trying to set us up that night at the gala.”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean, he was insistent about us meeting. He talked about you a lot—even before that night—always talking you up. I thought it was weird. Why would he push so hard for me to meet someone in the industry? I couldn’t figure it out, but now, after hearing your story. I get it.”
“Damn, and to think I opened my mouth and stuck my foot in it,” he chuckles. It’s a pleasant sound. Deep. Rumbly. I want to hear more.
“I won’t argue with you there,” I reply dryly, ignoring the way my nipples have hardened from the sound. “You were a dick.”
“I’m sorry I was such a dick to you. Believe it or not, I was nervous as hell, and if I’m being honest, a little intimidated.”
“Intimidated? By who? Me?” I exclaim, never thinking I’d hear that come from his mouth. Or anyone’s mouth. There’s nothing intimidating about me.
“Yeah, I mean, have you looked in the mirror?” His question hits me in the gut,
“Don’t do that.” I shake my head, losing the merriment I had been feeling. “You don’t have to talk me up, Maverik. We can be friends without all the fake compliments.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowns.
“There’s nothing special about me.”
“Bull shit.” His hands reach for me, but he checks himself and pulls them back, fisting them in his lap. “You were the most beautiful woman in that room. Hell, in any room.”
“Maverik, I’m serious—”
“So am I,” he cuts me off, his brow furrowed with frustration and disbelief. “How can you think so little of yourself?”
“That’s not it,” I start, trying to find the right words to explain. “I’m simple, a plain Jane, if you will. I barely wear makeup. My hair color is natural. I don’t care about labels and shop for my clothing at secondhand stores. The dress I wore that night at the gala was a combination of two I found. I redesigned them for a more modern look. I’m not a Hollywood starlet.”
“You don’t need to be a Hollywood starlet to be beautiful, and you are not simple. If only you could see yourself through my eyes.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed and bewildered, and remind myself to breathe. I sense no malice in his words. And the way he’s looking at me like… I don’t know, like a man who’s determined to make his point, no matter what he must do or say to make me believe him.
Shit.
Do I want him to look at me like that?
Do I want to believe him?
Do I want him to think I’m beautiful?
“Take me home, Maverick,” I whisper, pulling my eyes away from his because I am suddenly afraid to answer that last question. He has me wanting something I know I can’t have—shouldn’t want—and if I don’t put some distance between us… I might not be able to stop myself.
He says nothing, and I try to keep my focus on my hands in my lap, afraid to watch him from the corner of my eye. I can’t risk looking at him.
“I want to go home.”
Seconds tick by and I hear him exhale slowly before feeling the vehicle purr to life.
* * *
MAVERIK
