One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(11)
“So,” he says softly, shattering the quiet. I go tense, waiting for the inevitable questions. The threats. The demands.
Who are you? What were you doing?
Tell me, or I’ll turn you in before you can say “twenty-five to life.”
I’ll keep your secret… if you make it worth my while…
I fight off a shudder and brace myself.
A tiny crease appears in the space between his eyes, like he’s mulling something over.
“I’m thinking there should be one of those giant floating balloons, now,” he murmurs. “Maybe a celebrity float. No one super famous, who’d overshadow me on my big day, obviously. Anthony Bourdain could work. I wonder if he’s free for private events…” He shrugs his shoulders. “If not, we’ll just go with two balloon floats.”
The whole time he’s talking, I feel my eyes getting wider.
He’s insane, I realize bleakly. Parker West is certifiably insane.
“Excuse me?” I manage, when I’ve finally regained control over my vocal cords.
“Balloons.” His head tilts and he looks at me like I’m the crazy one for not keeping up. “You know, like Macy’s has every Thanksgiving.”
I stare at him. “Are you having some kind of mental break, right now?”
“The parade. My parade. The one you promised me.” He pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me, narrowing the number feet between us to five. This close, I suddenly recognize the humor lurking at the back of his eyes. “I’m thinking it’s going to have to be pretty elaborate,” he says quietly. “Considering I’ve saved your ass twice now, snookums.”
“Don’t call me that.” I cross my arms over my chest, hoping it might muffle the sound of my heart slamming against my ribcage. “And, I will point out, I didn’t ask you to save me. Either time.”
“I didn’t ask to be this good looking.” He grins. “Things happen.”
“Humble, aren’t you?”
“Trouble, aren’t you?” he counters, taking another step toward me.
Four feet left.
“No,” I lie, heart still hammering.
His grin widens. He knows I’m full of shit.
“Too bad.” His eyes flicker to my mouth. “I’m rather fond of trouble.”
Gulp.
This whole night has been a clusterf*ck of epic proportions. First the groper in the pinstripe suit, then the standoff with the guards, now the playboy billionaire with some weird tendency to channel his inner Lancelot like I’m a freaking damsel in distress… and, just so I have something to look forward to, later I’ll have Miriam to deal with.
By this point there is a zero percent chance that she hasn’t noticed my absence, which means I’ll probably have to cut and run without finishing the job — not ideal, since if a breach is ever discovered in the LC network, they’ll be much more likely to suspect responsibility lies with the cater-waiter who conveniently disappeared after the first half of her shift. To add insult to injury, I won’t even get paid for the two hours I spent schlepping trays and fending off lewd advances.
“Listen, just tell me what you want so we can get this over with,” I say, trying to sound like I’m in control and not about to defy national health statistics by having a heart attack at the ripe old age of twenty-four.
“What I want?” he asks in a precariously gentle tone.
“Yes.” I take a breath that does nothing to steady me. “To keep quiet about this.”
“Why would you assume I want something?”
“Everyone wants something.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“Well, what I want is to not be be indebted to you.” I jerk my chin up. “I don’t want to owe anyone anything. Ever.”
There’s a pause as he weighs my words and I get the sense he’s trying to figure me out. I could save him the time — tell him I’m a puzzle with so many missing pieces he’d be better off throwing the whole damn thing in the trash — but I don’t waste my breath.
“Have you considered the possibility…” he says after a while, his voice full of gravel. “…that I might want something you don’t want to give me?”
“I…” I swallow. “I can give you money. Not upfront, but I could pay you in installments… or… something…” I finish weakly, watching him take another step toward me.
Three feet.
“I don’t want your money.”
“I could upgrade your computer system,” I offer, shuffling backward until my spine hits the tile wall.
He shakes his head, amused.
“Walk your dog?”
His eyes spark with humor. “Don’t have a dog, darling.”
“Water your plants when you’re out of town?”
“Do I look like the kind of guy who keeps a garden of delicate orchids?”
No. No, he does not.
He looks like the kind of guy who’d only ever see a flower if he decided to f*ck you senseless in a field of wild daisies, just because he felt like it.
My mouth feels suddenly dry. When I speak, my words crack. “Then what do you want?”
His eyes flare with something dangerous. Something that makes my palms start to sweat and my legs press a little tighter together.