Dare Me(59)

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really . . .” She hesitates, and settles into the crook of my arm. Her head rests on my chest and her arm is draped over my stomach.

I sigh. “Someday, I hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me.”

“Someday, I hope I won’t have these, and we won’t need to talk about it,” she says quietly. “One can hope.”

She sounds so hopeless, my heart aches for her. “I love all of you, Saige. The good parts, the bad parts, the parts you don’t like, and the parts that scare you. I love all of them because they are what makes you who you are.” Her arm tightens around me, and she presses a soft kiss to my chest. “Think about that . . . dream about me,” I whisper to her.

It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep while I struggle to bury the guilt I have for lying to her about who I really am. Every word my mother cried rings through my ears, keeping sleep at bay.



Monday morning, we’re sitting in typical bumper-to-bumper Chicago traffic, even though we’re only a few miles from the office. Saige is nervously fiddling with her hair and mumbles to herself as she settles into her seat.

Gripping the steering wheel, I weave around a car, trying to make an illegal left turn, and I curse under my breath. “What has you all worked up?”

“Nothing.”

“Saige,” I admonish her.

She sighs. “I love our weekends together, but the shit they give me at the office . . .” Her voice trails off, and she looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

I reach over and pull her hand into mine giving it a light squeeze. “You know why they do it, right? Because you let it get to you. Walk in; tell them you had a great time in New York. Tell them you found a dress and had a non-eventful dinner with my mother.”

“It wasn’t non-eventful.” She nailed that on the head, but I don’t respond.

“Saige, you know what I mean. If you offer it, they’ll feel like they’re getting what they need from you and they’ll leave you alone.”

“They’ll instant message me for more details,” she argues. “You don’t know these people. They are ruthless,” she says with an exasperated tone. She’s being overreactive and she knows it.

I can’t help but laugh. “I know these people, babe. I hired them.”

“They’re all, ‘Tell me about Holt,’” she says in a high-pitched voice, scrunching her nose.

I cut her off. “Speaking of . . .” I glance at her, and she turns her head to look at me. “Hashtag, how hot is Holt? Really?” I grin widely.

Her cheeks instantly flush. “How do you know about that?”

“Saige. Everything is monitored. The IT guys get off on finding instant messages or emails, and they just thought it would be amazing to bust my balls with that hashtag.” I roll my eyes as I remember the shit our lead IT guy gave me when he tossed the papers on my desk that outlined their conversation about me.

“I want to die right now!” She throws her head back against the headrest and I laugh.

“I have to say, I’m honored.”

She grumbles, “This is so embarrassing, but you know I didn’t make up that hashtag. I’m positive it was Kinsley. I’m going to kill her,” she mumbles under her breath and I laugh again.

“Nothing surprises me anymore, Saige. It’s funny. But I wanted to warn you that everything is monitored.”

“Noted,” she sighs. “This Monday sucks so badly, and I’m not even in the office yet.”

I turn into the secured parking garage and wait while the gate lifts. “Go get your coffee with Rowan. He always makes everything better.”

“He thinks you’re hot too,” she admits grudgingly, looking out her window.

I can’t contain my laughter anymore. “I already know this too.”

She just shakes her head at me, stifling a laugh.



Our routine is the same all week. Saige stays with me; I drive her to work. We have dinner, make love, and fall asleep together. It’s exactly how I want my life to be with her. Simple . . . perfect.

Saturday morning, I jog along the lake. It’s unusually quiet, but I welcome the peace. Today is the day of the Jackson-Hamilton annual cocktail party, and Saige is at the spa with Kinsley and Emery getting pampered while I blow off steam hitting the pavement. My lungs are burning and my legs ache as I hit the final stretch of my run with about a mile left, but I push myself harder until I collapse on the lush grass in my front yard.

Lying on my back, I stare into the ominous sky, dark clouds swirling overhead. The cool breeze off the lake casts a chill in the air, and within a week or so, we’ll know the seasons have changed. Fall is not far off. Large trees are just beginning to shed some of their leaves, but the colors haven’t changed as of yet.

I glance at the time on my phone and decide to head inside and shower before Saige returns from the spa. As I shower and dress in my tuxedo, I hear fits of giggles coming from downstairs. The girls.

I jog down the stairs and stand just outside the kitchen where Kinsley, Emery, and Saige all stand around the kitchen island, passing around a bottle of champagne. Their perfectly styled hair and Hollywood-esque makeup stand out against their yoga pants and t-shirts.

They all sip from crystal champagne flutes, and I chuckle to myself as Kinsley whispers loudly, “I can’t believe I’m in Holt Hamilton’s house!”