Accidental Tryst (Charleston #1)(41)

I was stunned silent.

"And tomorrow," he went on, "after you're well-rested, he can take you back out to see David. Then you can decide if you're coming home or not."

"You're quite . . . overbearing, did you know that?"

"I'm going to pretend you just said, 'okay, Trystan.' My driver will be back there in ten minutes to pick you up."

"What? No. Don't be ridiculous."

"Emmy, I'm not bloody fucking around."

"I'm not either," I said sternly.

"If you don't take me up on my suggestion I'm going to sleep on your sheets and look through your bedside table drawers."

My breath left me in a sharp exhalation, my stomach bottoming out and my face growing hot and prickly.

"What will I find, Emmy?"

"Okay, I'll do it. I'll go," I squeaked.

"Interesting."

"No. Not interesting. Goodbye, Trystan." I pressed end. Oh my God, I thought I might throw up. He'd find my vibrator and I'd die.

Fully die.

At the very least, I'd never look at another human in the eye again.

Maybe not even my cat.

Never ever.

And after my reaction, there was no way he wouldn't go through my drawers now. I was such an idiot.

"Woohoo!" D'Andre came jogging up the sidewalk and fist pumped the air.

Thankful for the distraction, I stood and dusted my butt off, wobbling slightly with lightheadedness. "I take it that went well?" I greeted him, hoping he didn't notice my flushed state.

"You just paid it forward, girl!" D'Andre was practically giving off sparks of joy.

"I did?"

"You did."

The black, shiny, town car chose that moment to purr silently back up to the curb, reminding me I wasn't done paying anything forward just yet. "You need a ride into the city?" I asked D'Andre, pointing at the car and pursing my lips.

"For real?"

"For real," I confirmed and went back inside to get my suitcase. I just had to send a quick text.



* * *



Seriously. Don't you dare.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Challenge accepted.



* * *



I guess I'll head to the airport hotel then.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Fine. Your secrets are safe. For now.



* * *



"Ugh," I said out loud in exasperation and headed toward the black car.



* * *



The car ride into the city was full of chatter from an excited D'Andre. It was infectious, and it was a good thing because if he hadn't been there I would have been grilling the driver all about Trystan.

Apparently, Xanderr was able to come out and meet D'Andre at the club he was going to.

"Are you sure you can't come?" D'Andre asked, his palms together in entreaty.

I leveled a serious look at him. "I'm exhausted."

"Just for a couple drinks. You don't even have to go to the concert. Let me buy you a couple of drinks to say thank you."

I smiled. "Maybe. Let me get settled first, okay? Then you can text me and let me know where you are."

"Where are you staying anyway?" D'Andre asked me.

Bobby looked in the rearview mirror. "Mr. Montgomery asked me to take Miss Dubois to the Chelsea Grand."

"Oooo, Mr. Montgomery," D'Andre sang, echoing Bobby. "The Chelsea Grand. Hey, that's a pretty swank hotel."

"Stop it."

D'Andre's eyes narrowed. "Is he paying for you to stay there?"

"No!" God. No.

He nodded his chin once. "Good. 'Coz there only be one reason to do all this for a lady, and that's coz you buyin' something. Know what I mean?"

I narrowed my eyes right back at him. "Buying what, exactly?"

His hands came up. "I'm jus' sayin'. And before you get all offended, I ain't saying you sellin'."

"You better not be." I pointed my finger in his face.

As if summoned, my phone buzzed.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Who's your friend?



* * *



I sat upright and glanced around.

"What?" asked D'Andre.



* * *



Suit Monkey: Bobby told me we're giving someone a ride



* * *



Sinking back in relief I typed back. This is creepy behavior, Trystan. Don't make me regret going along with your suggestion.



* * *



"Nothing," I informed D'Andre.

"If I may?" Bobby piped up from the front seat. "Mr. Montgomery's a good man. He looks out for people."

"That's good to know," I answered, giving D'Andre the stink eye.



* * *



We pulled up outside a hotel with a carpeted sidewalk.

"There's a red carpet on the sidewalk," I said stupidly as a doorman opened my door, and Bobby jumped out of the driver's seat.