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I shake her hand. “Is that a Libra diamond ring? Because it’s stunning.”
Next to me, Mack mutters something I don’t catch, and heat flares beneath my skin.
“Honestly, I don’t remember the brand, but the store was fancy, and Leland wanted something even bigger. I said no.”
“It’s a perfect size,” I say. I’m not even into jewelry, but I did graphic design for Libra, and the high-end jeweler is something special. Though most of the people I know will go for their huge rocks, or something with a big-name ticket attached, this brand runs laps around the others, both in quality and taste. “And their designs are amazing.”
“The princess should know.” Mack grunts.
Sarah’s eyes narrow a little, although there’s an amused smile on her face. “I could tell Dakota about how you’re being rude, Mack. You know how much Lawson loves her enough he’ll forgive her if she shoots you.”
“He’d forgive anyone for shooting me. But that’s the kind of fuckin’ brother he is. Ungrateful.” He tips an imaginary hat. “Take care of Sidney, she needs a room.”
“Will do. Mack, should I book you in for Dakota to shoot you at . . .” She runs a finger down the computer screen. “Four?”
“Make it five. Got some things to take care of first.”
And with that, he saunters out.
“Mack,” I call out, suddenly realizing not only did he just worm his way out of rudeness with his version of charm, but he’s just going to leave me here. High and dry. Without any instructions on when, where, and how to get my Audi. “My car!”
He stops and turns back. “Tomorrow, Princess.” And then, he’s gone.
I glare, hands forming fists. “Goddamn . . . ass.”
Sarah chuckles. I turn slowly, offering an embarrassed smile, pushing my glasses up my nose.
“Mack’s a good guy,” she says. “They all are.”
“All men?”
Something in her face hardens. “Not all.” The hardness melts as she glances at her ring. “The Norhill Tops men, though, they’re good guys and special. You’ll meet them—”
“I’m just passing through. I . . . do you know where I can pick up my car tomorrow?”
“Danny’s. Either me or Dakota’ll give you directions then. We have a restaurant, and you can get some room service between dining hours. Nothing fancy, just some options from the kitchen and—”
“You’re a dream, Sarah.” There’s a part wishing I’d met this woman years ago. She’s got that down-to-earth vibe I like. A realness that none of the women my mother wants me to cozy up with have. “But all I need is a hot shower and Wi-Fi.”
“Oh, girl. We can do better than that!”
* * *
After a shower and then a long soak in a bath, I’m beginning to feel human. I paid as I’ve been mostly paying so far—with cash.
I have money. A lot of money. That I’ve earned. But cash is limited, and while I have enough to spare to get to my end stop, I’ll run out if I have to make too many more unscheduled layovers.
That’s the problem with being on the run. I guess that’s what I’m doing, running. But it’s nothing like what Mr. Nosy Mack Burns thinks it is.
Actually, I don’t know what he thinks it is.
The beauty of my job and the software I’m developing is I can do it anywhere. Freelance anywhere. Down the line if people need me in the same room instead of on the other end of a Zoom call, then I can fly to them. But I don’t need to be in New York. I quit my job to go full freelance and escape the cloying clutches of my mother and her endless society parties and all the society princesses and princes who gallivant around above regular people.
I don’t fit.
I’m not one of them, except by birth.
Those kinds of things bore me. I’m not the social butterfly, and the men she keeps trying to get me to marry because I’m a twenty-nine-year-old embarrassment aren’t my thing either.
