An Improper Deal(39)

“No. They’re all sealed.” Nonny turns. “Why?”

“Nothing.” Normally she’d show more interest, but I guess she’s too distracted by the whole Ryder Reed thing to care.

I go to the bathroom to get out of my clothes and wash away the slickness between my legs. It’s been driving me crazy, reminding me of the shameless way I responded to Elliot at the restaurant.

My skin’s still prickling, and the warm water only serves to sensitize me. I do my best to keep my touch quick and clinical, but when I clean the slipperiness between my thighs, I can’t help but hiss.

Need thickens. I want him to touch me again. I want to know if what I experienced at the restaurant was a fluke—some kind of delusion fueled by nerves and the illicitness of our location—or if it’s something more than that. Something…real.

It would be a shame if it turns out to be a one-time thing. But a part of me also dreads that it might be a special chemistry we have. That it might be…him.

A man who won’t even call me by my own name.





Chapter Seventeen



Annabelle

The second I put my breakfast bowl into the dishwasher, I get a text. It isn’t from a number I recognize, but I immediately know who sent it.

Call your boss and tell him you quit. Don’t bother going in. I’m sending a car.

I scowl. So now he’s got my phone number, too. How like him to know everything. Well, not everything. There are things about me that no amount of digging will unearth.

I have plans. I don’t, but I’m annoyed enough to fib.

Cancel. Movers are going to be there soon, so get dressed before they show up and pack everything. Marriage ceremony is at one thirty.

The urge to fight ebbs. Of course. The agreement. The dinner last night. Everything we’re doing is about that one year of temporary marriage where I give him sex and he gives me money at the end.

I rub my belly. I’m peckish, but decide not to raid the pantry for cereal. We don’t have much left, and I want to save it for Nonny. I’ll just have an early lunch.

I walk into my closet and see the boxes from last night. The whole Ryder Reed thing really must’ve distracted her, since she hasn’t asked thousands of questions or tried to get me to open them all so she can look. They fill more than my section of the closet. They spill over to Nonny’s as well.

My lips thin. Elliot isn’t just tossing money at me. He’s also buying me things to make sure I don’t embarrass him in public. I rub the spot between my eyebrows. Ever since Mom and Dad died, my life has become slightly surreal. Nobody would believe me if I told them.

The first box I pull out contains a green sheath dress. The compartment underneath contains a pair of nude peep-toe slingbacks, a leather purse and matching earrings and necklace that complement the outfit. A part of me wonders if Josephine sent a white dress for the wedding, but I shake my head. Who cares? I’m just going to put on the green dress and forget about it. It’s not going to be a “white dress and flowers” kind of ceremony anyway.

I put on all the things from the box and apply some light makeup. One high ponytail later, I’m finished. Besides, even if I wanted to do something fancy, I can’t. The doorbell’s ringing.

I run down and look through the peephole. A group of men in gray uniforms is on the other side. “ACE Relocation Services,” one of them calls out with the kind of deep-voiced authority that TV FBI agents use. The name tag on his chest is emblazoned with the yellow company logo.

I open the door in a hurry, not wanting to disturb Caroline. She doesn’t go to bed until late, and she can generally sleep through almost anything, but a group of large men packing stuff is another matter.

“This way please,” I say, showing them toward the bedroom Nonny and I share.

“How about the furniture?” the guy who called out the company name says, his dark stubbled chin jerking at the couch and coffee table.

I shake my head. “Those stay.” They’re Caroline’s. The only things I own are in my room. I show him the closet. “Everything on this side should be labeled ‘Nonny’s closet’ and the stuff here should be ‘Annabelle’s closet.’ You can dump all the toiletries into one box though.”

He nods, then gets the men working.

I hover for a while, then slink away. These guys are pros, and they don’t need me around. I go to the pantry. Maybe I should have that leftover cereal after all. Elliot’s penthouse is probably well-stocked with food.

My roommate’s door opens with a loud bang, and Caroline storms out. A cheap satin robe wraps around her long, lithe body. A red flush stains her face, a pillow indentation on her left cheek. The lack of sleeps sharpens the annoyance in her gaze.