"I've never had a problem admitting when a woman is right. When she has the sense to agree with me."
Her temper was up now. She knew she shouldn't have had that margarita on an empty stomach, but what the hell? Who better to aim her fury at than Benedick know-it-all Petruska, who must have used some charlatan's trick on her the minute he put his hand on her waist. She could still feel it there. "Just pat her on the head and be all noble about not bearing a grudge. Laugh at the fact that she can't let it go—because she's right!"
He feigned surprise at her anger. "No need to start foaming at the mouth. It was just an observation."
"Of course it was," she muttered, grabbing her purse from the bar. "Forgive me for being too dumb to agree with you."
"How can you help it?" He smirked. "You're a woman."
Groaning, she spun around and pushed her way through the bar crush, looking for Helena. No point staying any longer if the happy couple were about to make up again. She could get home, put on her furry slippers and vegetate by the TV. It was pouring with rain out—the perfect night to curl up in a blanket and watch an old movie.
Maybe she could just slip out. Helena probably wouldn't even know she'd left early. She could hail a cab and be home in thirty minutes.
Bathroom first. She headed down the corridor to the ladies room, but the door was locked. After waiting there a few minutes she heard the unmistakable sounds of passion-induced moaning. Placing one hand on the door she also felt the vibrations of a Sonny Corleone knee trembler.
"Hello?" She tapped lightly on the door.
The noises stopped abruptly. Then came frantic whispers and the sound of a belt buckle scraping tile.
"I'll be out in a minute," Helena shouted through the door, her voice high-pitched and breathless. Bryony swallowed a chuckle and hastily backed away. Apparently a peace treaty had been brokered.
"You need a ride?"
She'd backed right into Numbnuts. "Er...no. Thanks."
But he followed her back down the passage to the entrance of the gallery and when she handed in the ticket for her coat he did the same for his.
"You're leaving already?" she demanded. "What about Carl?"
"It seems I won't be needed after all. Neither will you."
The attendant was taking a long time looking for her coat. His was found first, just to compound her annoyance with the evening in general, but instead of leave, he waited for her.
"I've got my car and driver outside," he said.
"So have I," she replied, chin up.
He paused and then laughed. "He's driving a yellow car around the city, giving other people rides, while he waits for you, right?"
"Oh, shut up. Just leave."
Finally, her coat arrived over the counter. Before she could reach for it, he'd swept it up and held it out for her like some evil prince charming. With a sigh she stuck her arms into the sleeves and tried not to notice his hands when they momentarily rested on her shoulders. As if she was a child, he pulled her collar up and tied her belt. She didn't even have time to protest.
"I'm giving you a ride home, Mulligan. It's pouring out there."
"I don't need one."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"You do and you're getting one."
"Who do you think you are? My father?"
"If I were, you wouldn't be arguing would you? I know your father, remember. He would have spanked the sauce out of you, Mulligan."
She felt the argument escaping her clutches. Waiting on the pavement and trying to hail a cab in this weather certainly wasn't a cheering thought.
"I promise it'll be painless," he added. "We'll just pretend we don't know one another."
Gritting her teeth she eventually agreed. "Fine. Thanks."
Damn Helena and her drama. This was all her fault.
Chapter Four
It was an uneventful ride until they turned the corner onto her block and met the flashing lights of a cop car. A fire truck was parked across the street, in front of her building. Ben's driver came to a halt and lowered his window.
"Looks like a problem, sir," he called into the back seat.
Rain made the road glisten as if someone had overturned a truck load of sequins, but the danger was something they couldn't see. Tape was being used to cordon off a section of brownstone, including the steps to Bryony's building.
A cop trotted up to the car and told them to turn around. "Gas leak." The entire street was being evacuated and he had no estimated time of when it might be safe to return. "Crews are working on it, buddy," he assured them mechanically before splashing off into the rain, hand raised to halt another car.
"Shit," she exclaimed, hunched in her corner of the seat, arms folded.