For 100 Days(56)
Nick seems utterly unconcerned with anything other than me.
From the thunderous look on his face, I half-expect Jared to stammer an apology and retreat as fast as he can. But he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales a sardonic chuckle and slowly shakes his head.
“Well, I’ll be damned. I guess if I’ve got to lose out to someone, it might as well be you, Baine.”
“Glad you feel that way, Rush. As for wolves looking to encroach on my date, you’d be wise to keep your paws to yourself. Be a shame to lose them.”
Nick says it with wry humor, but to me, his eyes tell a different story. There’s a warning in his eyes as he jokes with Jared, who’s clearly a friend. And I’m sure I’m not imagining the flare of possessiveness I see in Nick’s face when he turns his sharp blue gaze on me.
“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight, Jared,” he says as he reaches out to give his offered hand a firm shake. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly taking an interest in politics?”
“Me? Hell no. I’m just here as part of Kathryn’s entourage. You know she lives for this crap.”
At the mention of another woman—one Jared is evidently attending tonight’s event with—I can’t help but look at him in question, especially considering he’d been putting a fairly strong move on me.
“Kathryn is an old friend of mine and Nick’s. She’s practically family.”
“Oh.” I smile, curious to know more. But as I glance in Nick’s direction, I swear I catch the slightest hint of a shadow skate over his schooled expression.
Jared seems to sober a bit now too. “You should say hello to her, Nick. It’s been too long. She’ll never say it, but she misses you.”
Nick remains silent for a long moment. “I’ve already endured one command performance. That’s enough for one night.”
I don’t know what to make of the tension that’s suddenly descended on the conversation. I can see Jared’s pensiveness, his silent frustration. In Nick, I see the same, but there is anger there too. I see the wall go up around him. Jared seems to recognize it too.
Nick looks at me, his expression shuttered, impenetrable. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Okay, sure.” I nod, unsettled by his darkening mood. I’m also well aware that I have my own reasons for leaving—namely Kimmie. Somewhere in the ballroom, she’s floating around, no doubt waiting for another chance to pounce.
Nick turns to Jared and holds out his hand. “Give Kathryn my regrets.”
“You’re an asshole. You know that, right?” There is no anger in Jared’s voice as he shakes Nick’s hand, only sadness. “How long are you going to shut her out, man?”
Nick doesn’t answer, merely tips his head in a nod and mutters, “Goodnight, Jared.”
Chapter 23
Nick doesn’t take me out the front of the hotel. Instead, he guides me down a luxurious mirrored corridor, texting Patrick along the way.
I hurry alongside him, past soaring marble columns and massive floor urns filled with luscious greenery on either side of us. Nick’s pace is clipped, and I struggle to keep up in my delicate high heels.
Although he projects an air of cool, collected purpose to anyone looking at him now, I know him too well to be fooled by his outward demeanor. He’s brooding, practically vibrating with agitation. He hadn’t been overly enthused about attending the gala to begin with, but after running into Jared, he’s all but dragging me out of the place.
“This way,” he says, catching my hand in his.
We turn down another glittering passageway, one that carries us farther away from the hubbub of the party. Up ahead is a discreet side door for the hotel. Through the brass-trimmed glass, I see a glossy black limousine roll to a stop just outside.
Patrick gets out and meets us on the other side of the car as we exit the hotel. He opens the back door and Nick gestures for me to slide in ahead of him.
“Back to the apartment, sir?” Patrick asks.
“No. Just drive,” Nick tells him. “I’ll let you know when I want to stop.”
He gets in and as Patrick shuts the door behind him, Nick presses a button on his armrest and the privacy panel closes. The opaque glass descends silently, sealing us in together in the backseat of the long sedan.
“Would you like something to drink?”
He’s already reaching for a cut-crystal tumbler on the center console between the two rear-facing seats in front of us. When I shake my head, he lifts a decanter of dark amber whisky and pours a two-finger measure into his glass.
“Do you want to tell me what that was about back there?” I ask hesitantly.