Dangerous Flirt(Laytons Book 2)(33)
“You gonna get that?”
He kept staring at the back of the sixty-ish valet's shaved head. “Nope.”
“Look, Hank—”
“Save it Beth, okay?” He turned and glared at her, tension streaming from his tightly wound body. “We're friends, but you won't even trust me to help you when someone's threatening you. You kiss me, but then you pretend there's nothing between us. I spent too many years with a master manipulator who turned me inside out every chance she got to ever go down that path again. From now on, you're just my little sister's best friend who happens to be in trouble. I'm with you until we find out who’s behind the threats, but don't expect me to act like nothing's changed. I'm done chasing you when you obviously don't want to be caught.”
And she thought she couldn't feel any worse.
Dropping her chin to her chest to hide her watery eyes, she fought to regain her tenuous hold on her emotions and bite back the apology ready to spill out of her mouth. No. This was for the best. She could do this. She had to do this.
“Your cab.” The valet's soft voice contrasted with the dirty look he leveled at Hank. Opening the door, he smiled warmly at Beth.
When Hank didn't move, she walked toward the cab's open door. “Thank you.”
“Arriba los corazones,” the valet said as she slid across the cab's backseat.
Hank sat down next to her, shutting the door after him. “What was that all about?”
“I think he was trying to be nice.”
“Oh yeah? What did he say?”
Beth shrugged. “I know a few phrases and words, but I don't speak Spanish. My grandparents were pretty firm in their desire to raise an All-American girl. They thought it would give me the same advantages as the white kids.”
Of course, now one of her biggest hobbies was genealogy and she'd signed up for Spanish classes at the local community college. The reminder of her grandparents laid a heavy weight on her shoulders. What would they think of how she'd turned out? The fact that she was an attorney, was it proof they'd made the right choices? How did you ever know?
Weariness settled into her bones as she contemplated the uncertainty of it all. Needing a distraction, she grabbed her phone and turned it on, not taking her eyes off the small screen while it powered up.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Paris.”
“Oui, oui.” The cabbie chuckled at his joke.
Hank busied himself with his phone, a deep worry line denting his forehead. She was about to ask what the trouble was when the jingle of her own phone announced it was ready.
The blinking red message light at the top of her cell flashed like crazy. Between taking a shower, getting ready and finishing her Power Point, she'd received forty-five texts.
CLAIRE: WHAT HAPPENED? U OK?
CLAIRE: ARE WE SISTERS? SO EXCITED!!!!
CLAIRE: WHAT'S GOING ON? UR NOT ANSWERING.
CLAIRE: U AND HANK GETTING IT ON? :)
CLAIRE: THAT WAS A JOKE!
CLAIRE: OOPS, JUST TALKED 2 MOM AND IT SLIPPED OUT. KINDA SORTA ON PURPOSE. DON'T HATE.
UNKNOWN: YOUNG LADY, DID YOU ELOPE WITH MY SON? MAKE HIM ANSWER HIS PHONE. I HAVE CALLED TWELVE TIMES. HE IS NOT TOO BIG FOR ME TO STRAIGHTEN OUT.
CLAIRE: CALL ME IF UR NOT ON UR WAY TO TAHITI.
Her fingers hesitated over the tiny keyboard. What to say? That she made a massive fool of herself with Hank? Again? No, that just sounded pathetic. That she'd probably been drugged by God-knows-who? Not unless she wanted the entire Layton clan to descend upon Vegas en masse. That she wished Little Elvis had pronounced them husband and wife? Definitely no. Just the thought made her body as jittery as the time she ate an entire bag full of chocolate-covered espresso beans.
Forget it. She'd call later. Firmly, she shoved the phone into her briefcase. It took all of three heart beats for the second thoughts to come rushing in. This was not a conversation she wanted to have via text, but she couldn't not respond. Knowing Claire, if she didn't answer soon, her best friend would be on the first flight to Vegas. She pulled the phone out and started typing with her thumbs.
BETH: AM OK. NOT MARRIED. EXPLAIN LATER.
After hitting send, she slid her finger across the screen until Hank's mother's text appeared. Glenda Layton was not someone to toy with. When it came to her children and getting them married off, the woman was a five foot, eight inch Pit Bull with an attitude problem. No way was she explaining this fiasco to Glenda. That little bit of heaven was all Hank's.
“You need to call your mom.”
“Yeah, she left me a million messages.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, leaving tufts of it sticking straight up. “She even texted. I didn't think she knew how to do that.”
“What are you going to say?”
The giant Eiffel Tower gleamed up ahead. The driver zipped the car over to the right-hand lane and turned his blinker on. The click, click of it echoed in the silence after her question.