Thorne Princess(73)
He shouldered past me, barely glancing at my face. He headed straight to the alcohol cart, pouring himself three fingers of whiskey.
The chutzpah of the man.
“No way I’m letting you drive under the influence.” I closed the door reluctantly, wondering where Max was. Had he gone already? Without saying goodbye?
What do you expect? You used him to get back at his boss.
“We’ll be driven there.” Ransom downed his drink, slamming the empty glass against the cart. He checked his watch. Frowned. Then looked up, his eyes accidentally landing on my cleavage.
“What’re you wearing?”
“A dress.” I picked up my purse from the kitchenette counter, flinging my hair to one shoulder. “Does my skin look okay? Had to descale myself after you touched me.”
“Someone doesn’t handle rejection well.” But his voice held no venom. He looked tired, agitated, and generally unwell.
“It would have been a rejection if you told me you weren’t interested the next day.” I smiled sweetly. “But what you did is called running away. I never pegged you for the hysterical type, but that’s people for you. We’re an unpredictable species.”
Astonishingly, Ransom didn’t verbally whip me for my last barb. He shook his head, grabbing his phone and wallet. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Finally, we’re on the same page.” I rolled my eyes, stomping to the door. He followed me, his tall, narrow frame shadowing mine.
The drive to my parents’ mansion was silent. Mom and Dad sent out one of their drivers, which meant Ransom and I didn’t have the chance to bicker loudly. Just as well. I was exhausted from overthinking what had happened between us, and wasn’t looking forward to coming face-to-face with The Wicked Witch of the South and her sleek-haired fiancé.
Ten minutes before our scheduled arrival at my parents’, Ransom glanced over at me from the other side of the Escalade. “You’re not to leave my sight tonight, Princess.”
“Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think? After going MIA for seven days.”
His eyes flicked to our driver, then narrowed back at me. “Some of us have real jobs to do.”
“And yours is to take care of me. If you can’t handle it, hand back the monthly checks.”
“Weekly,” he corrected coolly. “And you were in safe hands with Max.”
“They were warm, too.” I let loose a malicious grin. “Not to mention…creative.”
He crossed his legs, looking at me with easy mockery. “He didn’t touch you.”
“Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. You’ll never know.”
“I do know, because there are cameras everywhere. Remember?”
I did now. God, I hated the man.
“Don’t mistake his lapse of judgment for a trend.” Ransom shook his head.
“Was that what Max and I had?” I mused. “And what would you call what you and I had?” I dropped my voice so we couldn’t be heard. “A gap of judgment wide enough to drive a tanker through?”
“A mistake.”
“If there’s one mistake here, it’s you.”
“No doubts there. We all know the story of my origins.”
“Listen here, you ass—”
He reached over, pressing his forefinger to my mouth with a dry chuckle. “What I am is irrelevant. What you are is what’s important. And you’re a client. So let’s pretend that night never happened and move on. Believe it or not, I’m here to help you. Especially as it seems you lack the motivation and resources to help yourself.”
I was about to bite off his finger when the Escalade pulled to a stop in front of the wrought-iron gates.
He unbuckled, sliding out of the car.
“It’s showtime, Princess.”
A dime was not spared on the rehearsal dinner, which consisted of the two lovebirds’ families and close friends. Two hundred people in total.
Security was through the roof. Dozens of black-suited men patrolled the grounds of the mansion, with helicopters swirling low above the rooftop. Pink peonies and white roses poured out of tall antique porcelain vases, bracketing the pathway to the entrance. A wedge of golden light shining down from professional projectors made the open double doors shimmer. Ransom and I walked in to find the open-plan foyer teeming with people in suits and gowns, clutching flutes of champagne, babbling about the upcoming event.
“…heard they’re going to spend 20k on fireworks alone…”
“…the invitations are apparently decked out with invisible ink and holograms to avoid wedding crashers…”
“…gown should be fantastic. The tiara is said to be on loan from the Queen of England herself. Apparently, she is an avid Julianne Thorne fan. Can you believe it?”
Plucking a glass of champagne from a wandering tray, I glided toward the inner rooms, Ransom at my heel. I brought the drink to my lips, only to have Ransom snatch it from between my fingers.
“No alcohol for you tonight.”
“Tell me you’re a petty baby without telling me you’re a petty baby,” I purred, trying not to show him how frustrated I was. I wasn’t expecting a tearful reunion, but why was he so awful to me?