Stripped Bare (Stripped #1)(17)



“Because Allie is the one getting married, not you.” Guilt trip in three, two, one...

“You’ll note that but not that your words have hurt me?”

I rolled my eyes. Right on time. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I have to go, okay? I have to work.”

“Work? What work could you possibly be doing at eight in the evening in Las Vegas?”

I pursed my lips. I could tell her, but then I’d probably give her a stroke.

“Business dinner,” I lied smoothly.

“Isn’t that late?”

Not late enough if she could call me. “It was a last-minute addition to my schedule. Everyone was busy before.”

West raised an eyebrow as I spun my lie.

“Okay, Mom, my cab is waiting! Bye!” I cut her off before she could finish saying one word.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Good. God. There was always something, wasn’t there? Anyone would have thought she was the mother of the bride with the way she was going on. I accepted that Allie’s mom had been her best friend since they were fifteen, but f*ck me. She needed to give me a break.

“That sounded...uncomfortable,” West noted, his eyebrow still raised.

“Everything about my mother is uncomfortable,” I drawled, grabbing my purse from the kitchen counter. The open-plan living space in this apartment was lovely. “Let’s go before she calls again and finds out I’m lying.”

His deep laugh follows me out, and I lock the door.

“Why are you lying to her?” he asked.

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair as we stepped into the elevator. “Honestly, if I told her the truth, she’d probably die of horror. On one hand, she wouldn’t call me almost every day anymore, but she’d probably guilt-trip me from beyond the grave, and if she did that, she’d probably know I was lying about the apologies too.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Complicated, dysfunctional, lunacy... They’re all the same, aren’t they?”

His lips tugged up in a half smile. “I guess so.”

The elevator doors dinged open and we both exited it. I held my hands close to my body to avoid inadvertently touching him. Lord only knew what would happen if I did that.

“Right here,” he said, touching my back and guiding me toward a sleek-looking Audi.

There went my no-touching, huh?

He pushed a button on his keys and the lights flashed. Then he opened the passenger’s door for me. I paused before I got in, but if he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

With Mom over and done with, this was still a bad idea.

Bad, bad idea.

Professionalism. I chanted it over and over. That word was the key to everything and I needed to remember it. Needed to remember that he could look as hot as he wanted and we could throw all the dirty words we wanted around but that was all it ever could be—dirty words. Not dirty touches or anything else.

“That purse looks too small for your notebook,” West said after a couple of minutes driving.

“That’s because it is. I don’t have it.”

“Then how are you going to take notes? I assume that’s the point of a market research trip.”

“Yes, but for starters, this was supposed to be your trip, not mine.” I pulled my phone out. “And I’ll be taking notes on this. It’ll look like I’m texting. If I go into a club with a rival owner and start scribbling in a notebook, it’ll look a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

“True. But you assume they’ll know who I am.”

“Is that incorrect?”

“No.”

“Well, then. That was a waste of time bringing it up, wasn’t it?”

He cut his eyes to me. “You look like you need a drink, angel.”

“You’ll be the one in need of alcohol if you call me angel again, except it’ll be to clean out your wounds.”

“Feisty.” He flashed me a grin and pulled into the Rock Solid parking lot.

If I had known he’d just park here, I’d have insisted further that I could drive myself. What could I do?

“Come on, Ms. O’Halloran.”

I pursed my lips as I opened the door and got out of the car. I stunned myself for a moment when my foot hit the floor—I hadn’t realized the car was so low—but managed to straighten and shut the door without any further problems. Honestly, I had no idea what model this car was except sexy as hell and low enough that I could hop up on top of the roof and sit there comfortably.

It was very...Vegas, I realized, as I watched West adjust his rolled sleeves to flatten them. He was very Vegas, if there were such a thing. There had to be if I was thinking it. He wasn’t flashy—car aside—but he was...put together. His shirts were perfectly pressed, there was never a crease in his pants, and his shoes were always shiny. Even now, the dark-brown shoes he was wearing complemented his well-fitting jeans, and I didn’t want to think about how much money that man spent on tailoring.

It had to be borderline unhealthy. Then again, he had the body beneath all the fabric. If I were a guy, I’d want well-tailored clothing to show that shit off too.

“You done staring at me yet, Mia?”

I blinked harshly. “You’ve got dirt on your shirt.”

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