The Perfect Stroke(15)

“I gave him a head job and he’s taking me to dinner as a thank you.”

“You what?” Cammie asks, her head reeling back as if I slapped her. I probably spoke much too loudly for this place too because it’s deathly quiet now, and I can see all of the eyes on me. I’m in too deep to back down now.

“I said I gave him a head job and he’s buying me dinner to show me his appreciation.” I hear Gray cough and when I look over at him, he’s smiling broadly and giving me a look I can’t quite decipher.

“Dear Lord! I can’t believe you,” Cammie whispers. “Gray! I don’t think my father will want to do business with a man who…”

“She means my car broke down and she fixed it.”

“She does?” Cammie asks, confused.

“Yes. A part of the engine is referred to as heads. Sometimes they blow a gasket,” he explains, but he’s looking right at me. I do my best to give him an innocent look. I know I fail. I don’t give a damn. I just want out of here.

Why is Gray doing business with Cammie’s father? A better question is: why do I even care?





“Goodness, I should have known that’s what it was. Really, Claude was always so coarse, it shouldn’t surprise me that she hasn’t changed,” Cammie answers, as if CC isn’t even in the room. I see CC’s face tighten and her eyes narrow. I am tempted to see just how this exchange will go down because I think I might get an honest look at CC—and that is very enticing indeed—but Seth would probably kill me. I wasn’t sure I liked Cammie before this, and now I’m positive. The little minx currently trying to figure out how to leave, however, is someone I definitely like. After this, I believe she does in fact owe me a head job.

“I like the way CC is upfront. Kind of like, what you see is what you get. It’s much better than trying to figure out who a person is when they pretend to be someone else entirely,” I tell Cammie.

I see CC sit up at my barb just as it flies over the top of Cammie’s head. Cammie might be pretty in a clean, polished, Ivy League kind of way, but she’s obviously not the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe her parents kept her too sheltered. If that’s the case, they didn’t do her any favors.

“I suppose,” Cammie agrees reluctantly. “But really, Claude, you should be more aware of your surroundings. I mean, you are sitting at my father’s table. Your behavior reflects on him.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” CC asks loudly, and I’m thinking this could get ugly real fast. “Tell me, Cammie, how is dear old Dad? Still feeding your trust fund monthly?”

“I think you should leave now. Gray, you’re new to the area here, but I think you can clearly see that CC and her kind of people don’t exactly mix well here.”

“I was just telling him that very thing before you got here,” CC says, standing up. “And if there’s one thing that I’m thankful for Cammie, it’s that I don’t mix well here. Gray, it’s been real. Don’t bother getting up, I’m sure Cammie here would be more than willing to take my place.”

Before she can finish her sentence, I’m up with her. I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull her towards me. “Cammie, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be seeing CC home.”

“Of course you will. It’s the only gentlemanly thing to do. It’s a shame I couldn’t have warned you sooner. We’re still on for lunch tomorrow right?”

I feel CC jerk away from me, and it’s annoying. I barely know the woman and I can feel myself getting embarrassed all because I have a business luncheon with Cammie and her father. What the ever-loving fuck? My brothers would be laughing their asses off at me right now.

“Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll see you then.”

“Definitely,” she chimes. “CC, I do hope you find a way to get your anger under control,” she calls out. Either Cammie’s smarter than I gave her credit for, or she’s just a bitch.

“Cunt,” CC growls under her breath.

I feel myself grin a little. I always did like my women with a little bite. The little tigress in my hands right now definitely bites—and boy, does she have claws. I manage to get her back to my vehicle and I forcibly, over her objections, buckle her into the seat. Truthfully, I’m afraid if I don’t buckle her in, she’ll take off running.

“Well, that was interesting,” I tell her, leaning against the opened passenger door and taking a breath as soon as the seatbelt buckles. Damn, why do I feel like I just wrestled a mountain lion? Why am I wondering what my mother would think of CC? “Care to tell me what that was all about?”