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It didn’t make sense–if you were a cold-blooded shark who only saw the bottom line. Was that how Willow saw me? Anger flushed through me. I was glad I hadn’t told her the whole truth–that it hadn’t been a choice, exactly. I’d seen her, white as a sheet, lips bloodless, and I’d forgotten Michio existed.
It was a truth I wasn’t entirely comfortable admitting even to myself, because I didn’t know what the fuck it meant.
“Next time you need me to save your life, I’ll check the quarterly reports first,” I said coldly, standing up to put some space between us. I looked over and saw that the mob was finally breaking up. Someone had gotten on a microphone. The event security was pulling people back, layer by layer.
“Hey.” Willow followed me, even though she still didn’t look like she could handle being on her own two feet. “I said there won’t be a next time.”
I fought the urge to tell her to sit down and finish her damn mini muffins. “Good, because I need someone who can handle their shit no matter what,” I said, my voice deliberately harsh. Partly because I wanted to keep the fire lit underneath her–it was doing more for her pallor than the carbs had. Partly because I needed to piss her off, needed that space between us again. When her defenses were down, it was too easy to focus on her beauty, to admire her give no fucks given attitude.
Too easy to let my eyes linger on her mouth and remember how she’d felt pushed up against me in the crowd.
Sparks shot out of her eyes at my words. “I’m sorry if nearly getting crushed to death by a mob is out of my comfort zone, but rest assured, I can handle shit,” she snapped.
“Crushed to death?” I repeated condescendingly, even though that was exactly what I had been afraid would happen when I saw her in the thick of it. “Maybe you’re on the wrong side of the camera, sweetheart.”
As expected, fury drove out the last dregs of fear. Her chin went up, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glittered. “I think I’d rather be crushed to death than spend another minute talking toyou.”
I waved my hand toward the crowd with a negligent gesture. “Be my guest, but don’t expect me to drag you out again.”
She stalked off–though not into the crowd again, I noticed. Miller and Michio made their way out of the mob eventually. Michio looked bemused, as if he couldn’t fathom what had just happened. Miller looked pissed and exhausted. He cheered up marginally when he saw the camera in my hand. “You kept shooting?”
“Of course.” I handed him the camera to see for himself, and he grinned widely.
“I didn’t know you had it in you, Lewis.”
“That shit was…” Michio trailed off, shaking his head and blowing out his breath. “That wasn’t cool.”
“Definitely not,” I said grimly, looking him over. He didn’t look any worse for wear. I’d made the right decision–if it had been a decision at all.
Willow joined up with us again eventually, but she avoided looking at me or talking to me as long as she could. I was grimly amused when it turned out to not be long at all. She’d ridden over here with Tom the camera man. Now she needed a ride home, but she couldn’t drive the van herself. It was a stick shift. Michio couldn’t–he’d come with some friends. Miller wouldn’t–he was going in the opposite direction.
“Lewis has to go back by the studio to drop off the camera anyway,” he said irritably. “Ride with him.”
He and Michio went off, leaving the two of us alone. Willow’s expression could have been carved from granite as she slowly turned to face me. God, what was it about thatgo fuck yourselfexpression that made me want to see what she would do if I touched her?
File a lawsuit, most likely.
And she’d be in the right.
Still, there wasn’t a law against fucking with her, so I crossed my arms casually and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Something you want to ask me, Laurier?”
For a moment, she struggled with herself. Her mouth opened, then closed again without a sound. “No,” she said finally, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. “I’ll call an Uber.”
Exasperation crackled through me. Did she have to make everything so fucking difficult? “Come on,” I grabbed the phone out of her hand and turned in the direction of my car. I added with elaborate, sarcastic courtesy, “I insist.”
“I insist you give me my phone back,” she snapped, but she followed me even after I dropped it back in her open palm. “Of course this is your car,” she said when she reached my Porsche.
“Have you ever just said ‘thank you’ for anything in your life?” I asked, opening the passenger side door and all but dropping her into the low bucket seat. When I got around to my side and got in, she had her arms crossed, one hand wrapped around the camera strap, holding it on her lap. She looked pointedly out the window until I said, “I’m not psychic, Laurier. You’re going to have to tell me where you live.”
Willow unraveled her arms long enough to put her address in my navigation system, then went back to staring out the window. You’d have thought I was torturing her instead of helping her. I drove slowly, drawing it out. At one point, she looked over at the speedometer, then pointedly at the traffic going past us.
“Safety first.” I bared my teeth, torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to shake her for being so obstinate. What the hell did she have against me anyway? And why did I care? No, not care. That was the wrong word. I didn’t care what Willow Laurier thought of me. I just wanted her to be a little fucking appreciative, that was all. I’d pushed my way through that crowd for her. And I didn’t want to think about why.
Inevitably, despite the excruciatingly slow pace I set, we reached her apartment building.
“Thanks for the ride,” Willow bit off when I pulled into one of the guest spots.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I goaded. “Now this time like you mean it.”
