Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(20)

We fall into silence and I think I should say something, but I’m not sure why or what. My cell phone rings, and I dig it out of my purse and see Ella on the caller ID—she probably wants to meet at the storage unit. Everyone wants to talk about that storage unit.

A bad thought hits me. She has officially paid for it; what if she wants to claim it? I punch the Answer button. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey you. I’m at the storage facility. You headed this way?”

I glance at Jason’s profile and think of his manager and private investigator. All trouble brought on by Trouble. No, brought on by me agreeing to go auction hunting. Trouble I can’t drag Ella into.

“Skye?” she asks when I haven’t replied.

“Sorry. No. I’m not headed there now. I have a neighbor helping me and I’m waiting to find out his schedule.”

“His schedule? Please tell me he’s hot and sexy and all those things that make him oh so much better than me.”

I do not look at Jason. “I’d say that gets a big yes.”

“See now?” Ella teases. “Auction hunting has all kinds of perks.”

“I guess it does,” I say, relaxing a bit as she seems keen on this still being my unit. But just for safety’s sake, I add, “I’m going to bring that envelope to you at our next yoga class.”

“Then I won’t be at yoga class. And you don’t know my home or work address.”

I scowl as if she can see me. “I can’t let you—”

“Yes, you can. I’ll even take the unit—”

“No, I’m actually feeling more optimistic today. I’m just . . . not a gambler, so—” Shit. Wrong thing to say. I don’t have to look at Jason to feel his shift in attention from the road to me, as I add, “It takes me time to process and accept risk.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

“No you won’t. I told you. I’m giving you back the—” I stop myself before I say “money.” “I’m giving it back.”

“No, you are not.”

She’s making me nervous. “I want to. I want to do this.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. And I want you to take that envelope back. You barely know me.”

“Random acts of kindness.”

“That you can’t afford.”

“I, ah . . . I can. I’m coming into some money.” There’s a muffled male voice. “I need to go. Talk soon.” She hangs up and I stare down at the phone. Coming into some money? I thought she was doing auction hunting because she needed money? I’m confused—but then, I was right in what I said. She barely knows me or me her.

“Why do I think that was about the unit?” Jason asks.

“It wasn’t about you,” I say.

“Just the unit.”

It’s not a question. He knows, just as he most likely saw Ella with me at the auction. “It was my friend who talked me into auction hunting.”

“That you regret.”

Again, not a question, and proof he wasn’t just listening in to the conversation, but also taking in every subtle intricacy of the word choices, but then he’s a poker player. I suspect that attention to detail is part of why he wins. “I have two jobs,” I say, after some hesitation. “Taking on something new was about getting rid of one of them, but I’m just not the right personality for this.”

“Meaning what?”

“They open the doors to the unit, and you bid on it based on nothing more than what you see. My friend bid for me, or I wouldn’t have bought the unit at all.”

“So she wanted the unit.”

I turn toward him. “No, don’t start thinking this is about you. She just wanted me to have a unit and make this work.” And I pray I’m right, and her “coming into some money” has nothing to do with Jason or this Stephanie person. “She has nothing to do with this, and I don’t want her involved in this.”

“You’re sure she—”

“Yes. I’m sure.” I face him. “Either you promise—”

“You’re all about promises.”

He’s right, I am—and I’m not sure why. It’s not as if life has taught me promises are always kept, yet still I cling to them as having meaning. “Promise me.”

“You said you barely know her.”

“Jason—”

“I promise. Unless she’s involved and you just don’t know it.”

“Meaning you’re going to check her out.”

“My people are already checking her out.”

He pulls the car in front of my building and parks, and I’m not sure what to expect next, but I’m surprised when he’s out of the car before I can try to figure it out. I open my door and he’s there before I can exit, snagging my hand and pulling me to my feet, his touch hot. Despite my anger, when our gazes meet the charge between us is unmistakable. “Don’t you have a flight to catch?” I ask, sounding way too breathless for him not to notice.

His lips quirk in that sexy way that I never seem to fail to notice. “I’ll drive fast,” he assures me, and he holds on to my hand as he shuts my door, as if he’s afraid I will dart away. He’s probably right. “I’ll walk you to your door,” he says, and I’d argue, but he’s already tugging me along with him.