“Here.” He gets out his wallet and offers me his black Amex. “Get a first-class flight and meet us there.”
Unbelievable.I smack his hand away. “I can pay my own damn way, Creed.”
“Tillie…don’t be like that.” He glues himself to me with a hug. ‘‘Don’t be mad at me. You’re my baby. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to stay under the radar from Dad.”
The sound of a vehicle driving onto the tarmac pulls my attention to the left.
“See what I mean? I knew they’d fucking show up,” Creed grumbles as he releases me and turns to glare at the vehicle. “Just work with me, babe, and meet us there. I’ll make it up to you.”
Huh. That pitch-black Range Rover is eerily familiar. It’s not quite the same one ashis, seeing as this one is the newest version. But the way it crawls to a stop, the way it’s tinted the shade of death, the way it parks with threat and undue arrogance. Different, but the same.
“Creed…” My pulse quickens. “What’s the name of the firm that manages your security relations?”
“Oh, um, Red something. Club or circle, I think?”
Sonuvabitch.“Red Cage?”
“Yeah, yeah, those guys. Lemme go grab your suitcase.”
As Creed jogs off to get my luggage, the driver’s door of the Range Rover opens and a tall, deceptively unassuming, dark-haired man steps out.
My fingers curl into fists as I make a valiant effort to keep my heart in check. And fail. My eyes see what they see, send the message to my brain, and just like that, my insides begin firing off a string of libidinous synapses.
Want to know how it feels to live in a mutinous body with a heart and brain you can’t trust?Perpetual frustration.
Twelve months and seventeen days. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen this unfairly attractive creature.
How did he manage to ghost me when he’s deeply embedded in my brothers’ firm and obligated to respond to my stress calls? Easy. Hemadeit possible.
A new name was conveniently added to the short list of people my brothers trusted with me. Sacha Allard. That’s who began showing up when I made phony stress calls in attempts to see Saint.
And when I went to Red Cage, my All-Pass bracelet was suddenly restricted access to the third floor.
It took me too long to understand that he’d been in control of everything all along. “Guy” is essentially the ‘security control room’ of our lives, which means he’s always had the authority to assign Sacha Allard to my stress calls and could’ve done so a long damn time ago. All the times he came to get me weren’t because hehadto, but because hewantedto. And as soon as he was done toying with me, he slammed all the doors on me and blocked every access.
Lexi, my sister-in-law, once told me,“If your ice cream slides off its cone and lands on top of a steaming pile of dog shit, do you try to scoop it up and dust the shit off? Or are you sad for a second then shrug and move on, buy a fresh scoop? That’s what most men are. A steaming pile of dog shit. Sometimes our hearts slide out of us and land into it. When that happens, it’ll hurt for a bit, but you gotta shrug and move on. Leave that hurt where it is. Get a fresh scoop of happiness. No crying over spilled milk. Ever. Men will never, ever be worth your tears. Don’t ever waste your youth chasing them. Chase inner joy instead. Live your life free and happy. There’s nothing a man hates to see more than a joyously content woman.”
That’s what I did. Left that hurt where it was and moved on. Met Creed and he’s been the perfect salve.
I’ve been happy. I’ve been joyous. I’ve been content.
Until now.
Because my hurt is here. In the flesh. Ready to do more damage.
With a self-assured stance, the sonuvabitch slips his hands into his pockets and stares at me with a look of ownership.
I want to stab him. Right in his cold, black heart.
Creed returns with my suitcase. “The guys are pissed you aren’t flying with us.” He throws a glance in Saint’s direction. “Hang on, babe.”
He jogs off with the suitcase to where Saint is and says something to him. For a flash, Saint glares at him as if he wants to snap his neck before “Guy” takes over and nods compliantly as he accepts my suitcase.
Creed jogs back to me. “Okay, babe, that’s Guy. He’s from the security firm. He agreed to take you to LAX.”
I almost snort at that.
Behind me, the jet starts up.
