Page 27

I follow Marcus outside.

“Marcus? What do you mean my driver called out?” I ask. Because while I have a car, I lent it to Brittany tonight because her Honda is in the shop. I used a company driver to get here. “I didn’t get a message,” I tell him, checking my phone to be sure.

“That’s because I asked him to wait around the corner while I offered you a ride,” he says, stopping next to his own car, a black Maserati.

“You asked him to wait?” I say, still suspicious.

“I did not cancel him. If you say no, I’ll call him back and he’ll be here in two minutes.”

For once, he leaves the choice sitting plainly between us. I glance toward the house, then back at him.

“Fine,” I say. “You can drive me. But only because you owe me several answers.”

Chapter 12

Marcus

Natalie stares at me in disbelief before finally closing her gaping mouth and getting in the car. I don’t think she is used to being told what to do, but I do think that she liked it when I did it. We were in that gondola together, and she remembers perfectly what we did in there all those years ago. Us not acknowledging it doesn’t change anything; it actually makes this little game we are playing more fun.

As we drive, she sits with her legs together, her hands clasped in her lap, her jaw taut, and her gaze out the window. It’s a far cry from the way she looked back at the house. She leaned into my touch so much that I could have thrown her on the table and she probably would have ripped her panties off for me.

Well, maybe not that far, but she definitely wasn’t acting like this.

“You can’t take me home,” she tells me.

“Why not? You have somewhere else to be? Are you keeping more secrets?” I ask.

“Excuse me?” she blurts out.

I am fully aware that I sound like an asshole, so I loop back to the original question. “Why can’t I take you home?”

“Because my son is there,” she says. “It won’t look right.”

“For your boss to give you a ride?” I ask. She doesn’t say anything. “Fine. I won’t take you home,” I say.

“I can take you back to work,” I say. “Or I can take you somewhere quiet where we can talk without your sister or half the office listening. Your choice.”

Natalie studies me. “Where, exactly?”

“My yacht. It’s at a private dock ten minutes away. No party. No crew hovering. We talk, and when you want to leave, I take you wherever you want to go.”

“You could have started with that,” she says.

“Would you have said yes?”

She looks out the window for a moment, then back at me. “One drink. One conversation. Then you take me home.”

“Deal.”

“Still want to go back to work?” I ask.

She snorts. “Of course not. Margaret is the only person in that room I can stand. I agreed to one drink, and I intend to collect.”

“So you could Uber home to your son, right?” I say, and her eyes blaze at me.

“Are you really that bent out of shape that your director of events is a single mom?” she snaps.

“No.”