Filthy Beast(87)

That clearly makes him happy. He smiles big. “Well. Good. Since you feel that way, I think maybe you should have your phone back. So that you can communicate with Milo.” He picks up my phone and holds it out for me.

I take it from him. I feel dirty doing it, but I don’t care. “Thank you,” I say and I give him a smile.

“Good. Now run along. I’m proud of you.”

I turn and leave the dining room as fast as I can. I hate having to do that, pretend that I’m one thing when I’m really something else, but I know that I have to. If I want to talk to Gavin, I need my phone.

I hurry to my room, shut the door, and lock it. I head into my closet, crawl into my nook, and power my phone on.

There are a few messages from Gavin, which isn’t surprising. My heart fluttering, I type out a text.

“Meet me tomorrow?” I hit send.

The wait feels like years though it’s probably only a few minutes.

“Of course,” he says. “When and where?”

“Ten,” I type back. “Same place as last time.”

“See you then.”

I smile and put my phone down, staring at the wall.

I’m going against the direct wishes of my family, but I don’t care. I want this man and I want to have someone in my life who actually gives a crap about me. I don’t want to get shackled to a man like Milo and end up alone and miserable for my whole life.

Gavin represents freedom for me, but there’s always another basic truth that I can’t deny. I want him badly. I want him so badly that it makes my whole body feel weak. I smile to myself, picturing the gifts he might send me next, and try to figure out how I’m going to sneak out to see him.





9





Gavin





I half expect her not to be there. I don’t know why, but part of me thinks that this is some trick that fucker Silas is trying to play.

I can’t resist it, though. I can’t miss an opportunity to see her like this. Maybe it’s not smart to go on this date with her, maybe I should just stay home and pretend like none of this happened, but I can’t help myself.

I want Sadie, and I’m going to fucking have her. Tillman can send as many goons as he wants, but I’m not backing down.

I’m nervous when the car pulls up, but there she is, standing under a streetlight and smiling. She’s wearing a long tan jacket, like something out of a spy movie. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun and she looks absolutely beautiful.

I open the door and step out. “I’m glad you came,” I say.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No reason.”

She smiles a little uncertainly. “Well, where are we going tonight?”

“You seemed to like our first date, so I thought I’d bring you back there. To that neighborhood, at least.”

She smiles as she climbs into the car. I close the door, go around to the other side, and get in. The driver pulls out.

“I like seeing where you grew up,” she says.

“Good, because you’re about to get a lot of that.”

She grins at me. “Oh yeah?”

I grin right back. “Absolutely.”

“Are you about to show me some old home movies?” she asks, teasing. “Maybe some baby pictures?”

“Not exactly,” I say. “But you’d love it if I did. I was a really cute baby.”

“I bet you were.”

I laugh a little and ask about her childhood. I listen, actually pretty fascinated, as she talks about vacations to the coast and their country home.

“Besides,” she says finally. “I spent most of my time at boarding schools.”

“Really? I always thought that was a rich person cliché.”

“It is,” she says. “But everyone does it. I think because our parents remember going, and it was like the best time of their lives.”

“Did you love it?” I ask her.

“Not exactly,” she says. “There were good parts and bad parts. I made a lot of friends, but…” She trails off, shrugging.

“But what?” I ask gently.

“But I never fit in,” she says. “I don’t know. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging.”

“You were different,” I offer.

“Exactly,” she says. “Different enough, at least.”

“You’re not bragging. I saw it as soon as you stepped out on that stage.”

She looks at me for a second then bites her lip. “We shouldn’t be doing this, you know.”

I smile gently and lean toward her. “Why’s that?”

“My family doesn’t want it.”

“I’m not worried about them. Do you want it?”