Escorting the Billionaire #3(28)

 

“She is,” I said, grinning at him.

 

He pulled me to him and gave me a long, lingering kiss that took my breath away. I felt him stir against me. “Yes, please,” I said and started undoing his belt.

 

James groaned. “No, thank you,” he said, even though he’d sprung to life instantly underneath my touch. “We have reservations, and we have to go deal with my parents, remember?”

 

“Ugh,” I said, forgetting all about undoing his belt.

 

“Ugh is right,” he said. “But I’d like to pick that back up as soon as we get home, if you don’t mind.”

 

“I don’t mind,” I said and kissed him again. “Taking your clothes off is about the only thing that can keep my mind off of all our… more unpleasant business.” I sighed. “That and thinking about your abs.”

 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he said, beaming at me. “You’re perfect, you know that? Now let’s go, before I start trying to show you my abs.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As soon as we were back out in the sunlight, my heart started thudding in my chest. We had to face his mother again. James still hadn’t told me what our strategy was going to be at dinner. He’d just instructed me to play along.

 

He looked straight ahead as we headed to the restaurant, gripping my hand. His easy demeanor of a minute ago was gone. He was almost a little scary right now, striding toward the restaurant in full-blown preparedness for combat.

 

“Audrey,” he said when we got to the door, “I want you to remember something. This is about to be a show. Don’t lose the plot, okay? Remember who the enemy is. And remember that no matter what I say in there, I will love you forever.”

 

 

 

 

 

James

 

 

 

 

 

We marched into the restaurant, and Audrey’s face was pale and concerned, just the way I wanted it to be. There was another long table with a white tablecloth; chandeliers and candles shimmered throughout the room. I was getting tired of these fancy dinners. I was certainly tired of my fancy parents, with their misplaced faith in their abiding superiority.

 

Danielle had been better, a better person than my mother, not the other way around. My mother needed to understand that. I wasn’t sure she was capable, but I was going to try my damnedest.

 

I just had to make sure that Audrey and I were credible right now. We needed to be pitch perfect. My mother didn’t miss much, and there was no room for error. The vacation was ending, and we were going back to the real world. Audrey was going to be a part of my world. I just had to make sure I got her there unscathed.

 

Mostly unscathed.

 

“Let’s sit here,” I said to Audrey, pulling out a chair across from my parents. Audrey nodded at me silently and didn’t look at them: it was as though she couldn’t bear to.

 

My father nodded to us over his bourbon, and I saw his eyes slip down to Audrey’s chest. “Father,” I said to him coolly, “eyes on me.”

 

He gave me a dirty look and sipped his bourbon. “I was young once, you know.”

 

“Really?” I asked, taking a seat next to Audrey. “I don’t remember. It seems like you’ve been an old man forever.”

 

He snorted at me. “You’re in rare form tonight,” he said, peering at me over his glasses.

 

“So are you. You’ve said more than four words.” Per his usual, he grunted at me and turned back to the menu. Compared to my mother, my father was like a cardboard cutout of a person. He’d been forever in the background, a voice on the other end of a line from his office. I would always think of him as dressed in neutral tones, nursing a bourbon, scowling at the world from behind his Armani glasses. I’d often thought my mother had chosen him largely because he did what she said.

 

I wonder if he’d fought her about Danielle, or if he’d just fallen in line. Maybe she never told him, but he had to have guessed. My mother was a difficult woman. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d never said a word and just gone back to his office on the Monday morning after the accident, as though nothing had happened.

 

As though his wife had never killed a girl.

 

Celia swept in after that, in a blush-pink gown that ruffled at the neck, probably to mask the few existing lines she had left there. If she was surprised that we’d chosen to sit across from them, her face gave nothing away. Not that I expected it to. She was either so morally bankrupt that she was completely without remorse or her filler had settled in just enough that her face wouldn’t really move for another few weeks. Either way, her smooth expression was just as I expected.