Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(22)
Author: M. Leighton

If I had to guess, I’d say this girl, Heather, is a lot less jaded than most of the icy bitches in this room. And it’s probably because she’s a nice person that she never ranked very high on Marissa’s list of important people. She hardly rates a short conversation. That much is obvious.

I can see by Marissa’s expression that she’s relieved “Nash” wasn’t mentioned. “Well, I’m fine. And you can pass that along to Tim as well.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she says pleasantly, but she doesn’t leave well enough alone. She’s obviously a glutton for punishment. “You know if you ever need to talk, you can always call me. I’m always home. All alone in that big ol’ house.” She laughs uncomfortably, like she divulged too much or she’s embarrassed not to have more on her social calendar. I imagine that’s something shameful in these circles.

Damn pit vipers!

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Marissa says politely before she starts to turn away. My guess is that she’s not used to such a genuine expression of kindness. But then, as if that very thing suddenly occurs to her, her expression softens and she reaches out and puts a hand on Heather’s arm. “And I appreciate the offer, Heather. Really. Thank you.”

I watch Heather’s eyes go round and sort of glaze over. If I blew in her face, she’d fall right over. She’s that shocked. I’m pretty surprised myself, and that’s not an easy thing to accomplish. But Marissa has done it. And she’s risen a notch in my opinion, too. Maybe I underestimated her character. Maybe, just maybe, there is something more than a snobby, calculated, privileged brat beneath that beautiful skin.

Obviously, she’s a little more complex than I’d originally thought. I can’t decide if her default mode is vicious bitch and she’s trying to fight it, or if the vicious bitch part is more like a hard candy shell, protecting the softer center. I guess only time will tell.

“Have a good night,” Heather says simply before she steps back, allowing Marissa to leave.

“You, too, Heather. Tell Tim . . . tell him hello for me, okay?”

The girl smiles broadly and nods. For a second I think she might get all giddy and start crying for Marissa’s autograph, but she pulls it together and walks back the way she came.

I wait until we’re out in the anteroom, away from the crowd, before I speak. “Bravo,” I say sarcastically. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

She whirls on me, her eyes flashing in a bit of temper I didn’t realize she had. “You’re just not going to cut me any slack, are you?” she snaps.

“People overlooking your flaws for your whole life is what got you in the position in the first place. What you need is someone who’s honest with you. And someone to spank that ass every now and then. Do you some good.”

“And you’re just the man for the job,” she says before turning to walk away.

“There’s only one need I’m interested in filling,” I admit, but I don’t think she hears me.

I follow her out. She stops at the curb and waits for the valet to scurry off after the car. When she responds, I know she actually did hear me. “I don’t need anything thing from you. Not one single thing.”

“Maybe not, but you want something from me. You can deny it all you like, but we both know it’s true.”

Her eyes dart over my face and she stammers like she’s flustered. “You’re . . . you’re just as delusional as you are twisted,” she replies. I’ve got her off balance. She’s not used to people treating her this way. Or being honest with her, I suspect.

“We’ll see.”

The valet pulls up in front of us with the car he parked only a short while ago. I tip him and open the door for the very stiff Marissa. I have the urge to laugh over her petulance. That’s another unusual occurrence tonight. Laughing isn’t something I do very often.

I climb behind the wheel and shut the door. Marissa must’ve been holding her rebuttal until we were in private.

“If you think I’m sleeping with you, you can think again. I’d rather be kidnapped again.”

This time, I do laugh at her melodramatic response. “We’ll see,” I repeat, shifting into gear and speeding off down the road.

We’ve been on the road for at least five minutes before she stops pouting long enough to realize we’re not heading toward her condo.

“Where are you going?”

“I need a drink. And so do you.”

FOURTEEN

Marissa

Even though I want to argue with Nash, just to ease my frustration, I don’t. He’s right. I need a drink. I might even need two.

I lean my head back against the headrest and close my eyes, trying to forget about the last hour or so. And the disappointment of it. I don’t look up again until I hear Nash shift into park and cut the engine. When I open my eyes and turn my head toward him, he’s watching me, his expression blank. I’d love to know what he’s thinking.

Or would I?

I decide I probably don’t. I’d say he thinks I’m a monster. And, at the moment, I feel an awful lot like he might be right.

Feeling ashamed of myself, I look away, through the windshield, to see where we are. I half expected to see Dual in front of me. I don’t really know why. That makes no sense. I’d say that’s the last place Nash would want to go to relax. But of all the other places I might’ve imagined him picking, this place is possibly even more surprising.

We’re parked in the lot of a piano bar. Before I can ask any questions, Nash speaks as if he’d read my thoughts. “My mother used to play the piano. It always relaxes me to hear it.” He gets out and comes around to my side to open the door. I’m surprised when he takes my hand. It’s such a gentlemanly gesture. And he’s no gentleman. But he sure does have a way of keeping me off balance. I’ll give him that. “Plus our fancy clothes won’t be that big of a deal here.” I wouldn’t have even thought of that, but I’m glad he did.

“Why the calm courtesy tonight? This isn’t like you?”

He looks at me and arches one brow. “Maybe I don’t mind pretending to be something that I’m not, either.”

“Is that what you’re doing? Pretending?”

“You’re complaining?”

“No. I’m just . . .”

“Just what? Suspicious?”