“Threats?” I hate how weak my voice sounds.
May speaks before anyone else has a chance. “It’s probably nothing. We’re just being overcautious, like Dev was today when he locked you in the panic room.” She flashes him a sideways glare.
Dev rolls his eyes. “I already apologized to her. She understands.” He looks over at me. “Right, Jenny? You understand it wasn’t intentional.”
I’m still stuck on the whole threat part. “Yeah, whatever.” I shift my attention over to Ozzie. “So, you’re telling me that because I had my car parked outside and some dickcheese—pardon my French—decided to come over here and . . . I don’t know what . . . storm the castle? That now I’m somehow involved in your problems?” I shake my head. “No. I do not accept that.” I stand, tired of the games, tired of these conspiracy nuts, and tired of being checked in against my will to the Hotel California.
Dev looks up at me. “Where’re you going?”
My voice comes out so loud, it bounces off the walls. “I’m going home!” I look at my sister, pausing a moment to bring my volume down a few notches. “I’m sorry, May, but this is ridiculous. This may be the life that you’ve chosen for yourself—and God help me, I have no idea why—but this is not anything that I want to be involved in.” I look at Ozzie. “Thanks for the offer of the freelance work, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.” My gaze moves to the other people at the table. “It was nice meeting all of you. And no offense, but I hope I never see any of you again.”
I lift my purse from the floor next to my chair and walk to the exit. Grabbing the handle, I try to push it down and pull the door open, but nothing happens. I don’t turn around when I speak because if I look at any of their faces, I’m going to start yelling again. They knew I was going to be locked in, and yet they just let me walk on over here alone to make a fool of myself. Bastards.
“If somebody doesn’t come over here right now and put the secret code into this keypad thingy, I am seriously going to break something.”
I hear chairs moving and then footsteps. A familiar voice comes from behind me. “Let me get that for you.” A giant hand appears over my shoulder and presses a four-digit code into the keypad. There’s a click telling me that the tumblers inside the lock have moved and I’m now free to go.
I grab the door and yank it open, stepping through to a room full of swords and other ridiculous-looking weapons. Who needs nunchucks with spiked balls attached? A light goes on automatically, illuminating the space that I mostly ignored on our way in. There’s another door at the far end with another keypad. “Jesus Christ. This place is like a prison.” I’m not even going to comment on all the kooky weapons around me.
“Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.” It’s Dev again. I’m really angry at myself, because I want to be pissed at him, and I want to blame him for everything that’s happening right now, but he’s being so nice it’s impossible for me to follow through on that emotion. I decide Ozzie’s a better target. He’s the one who took my sister into this place and somehow convinced her to stay. He’s the one saying I should be worried about where I parked.
We get to the next door, and I wait very impatiently for Dev to open it. He steps up next to me and puts his hand on the keypad, but he doesn’t do anything. I don’t look at him, because seeing those eyes and that dimple will weaken my resolve.
“Just put in the code and let me go.”
He clears his throat. “Can I call you sometime?”
My heart pretty much stops beating altogether at this point. It’s actually quite painful in my chest cavity right now. He’s making a joke when I’m this vulnerable. Ugh, he’s worse than the lion and the seahorse. He’s the anglerfish, who latches on to his mate and eventually absorbs himself into her skin until he’s just a disgusting lump on her back.
I put my hand over my heart and turn to look up at him. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this funny to you?”
He shakes his head. “No. Maybe bad timing, but . . .”
I laugh angrily. “Yeah. Pretty much the worst timing you could possibly come up with.” I gesture at the keypad with my chin. “I need to get home. Please, Dev.” I feel like crying. I think maybe he was asking me out, but he couldn’t have been. Why would he? I’m a mom who looks like an ice-cream addict, and I was really rude to the people he calls family. And even if he was serious, I couldn’t do it. This isn’t my world. He’s gorgeous and sweet and a dad and all that, but he’s also a Bourbon Street Bonehead.