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“I know,” she says, glancing around like she’s cataloging everyone who’s seeing us together.
My irritation grows. “Did you mean it? What you said in New Haven?”
Right now, it feels like she doesn’t want to be seen in the same room as me, let alone date me.
“You want to have this conversation in the middle of your party?” she asks incredulously, which isn’t theyesI was hoping for.
“You’ve been avoiding me, so I’m not sure where else to have it.”
Collins bites her bottom lip. “I’ve just been?—”
“Hey! Here you are.” Flynn picks the worst possible moment to appear, slinging one arm around my neck and straightening his ridiculous hat with the other. He squints at Collins. “Hey, Collins.”
“Hi, Flynn,” she replies, a smile fracturing her serious expression. “Nice to see you. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to find the bathroom.”
Flynn glances at me as soon as Collins is out of earshot. “You invited your assistant?”
My jaw works. “She’s not my assistant anymore.”
“What? Why not? Since when?”
I pretend not to hear his questions as I watch Collins weave through the crowd. “You were looking for me?”
“Oh, yeah. Head caterer needs to talk to you.”
I nod, then head toward the kitchen.
34
Asudden thud, followed by, “The fuck?” has me sitting straight up in bed.
I’m paranoid and pregnant and alone in a mansion that belongs to strangers—okay,technically, that belongs to my baby’s grandparents—but is, or was, full of strangers.
So, when I discovered my bedroom door didn’t lock, I did what any reasonably cautious woman would do—I pushed the armchair in the corner in front of the door so I’d hear if it opened.
And the only reason I’m not screaming right now is I recognizedthat muttered swear.
“What are you doing, Kit?” I ask wearily, lying back down in bed. Maybe if I pretend he woke me up, he’ll feel bad and leave faster.
“Navigating an obstacle course, apparently.”
His voice is louder now. He’s moving closer, not farther away.
“I was worried about someone breaking into my room. Clearly, that fear was warranted.”
The sound of rustling fabric has my heart rate skyrocketing. I can’t see much because Kit closed the door behind him. A sign he’s not departing imminently, I belatedly realize.
I sit up in bed again, this time clicking on the lamp sitting next to the bed.
“What are you …”
My voice trails as I realize exactly what Kit is doing.
He’s getting undressed. Heisundressed actually, aside from a pair of black boxer briefs that cling like they’re getting paid to show off how generously endowed he is. He looks like a goddamn underwear ad, and what is that blatant attractiveness doing inhere?
Before I can voice that question aloud—in less complimentary phrasing—he’s lifting the covers and climbing in bed beside me.
“Did you have fun at the party?”