Page 29 of Bad for Business (Pembroke Hills #2)

TWENTY-NINE

RYKER

My cheeks feel hot.

Actually, my entire body feels hot. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve had too much to drink or if it’s because of the way Camille stares back at me.

Her eyes are bright, the color still stunning despite the way she watches me through narrowed lids.

She’s watching me carefully, but I swear there’s a bit of softness in her gaze.

Maybe it’s all in my head.

I’m sure it is.

Everything with her seems to be in my head. All I do is read between the lines and think she’s giving me signs of being interested in me when she isn’t at all.

“Get in the car,” Camille says again, breaking me from my thoughts. Her words are firm, but they aren’t harsh. I know she can have more bite to her tone, so I sigh and rip my gaze from hers, deciding to listen.

I don’t know what I was hoping for anyway.

It’s just another instance where she’s burrowed so deep into my head that I feel myself wanting things I have no business wanting. I blur lines in my head that she’s very clearly drawn in the sand. I thought if I drank enough tonight, I’d forget all about her.

I slide into the passenger seat with a resigned sigh.

The alcohol helped at first. Every time I looked at her, all I felt was anger. Even when she smiled at Jude in a way she’s never smiled at me, I didn’t feel jealous. I just felt pissed. Now, I wish I had another drink to make it through being alone with her.

“Get buckled,” Camille instructs, bringing me back to the present.

My eyes find hers, and for some reason, I can’t hold back my next words. “Want to do it for me?”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes and slams the door.

I laugh. Why does pushing her buttons have to feel so good?

Camille rips the door open and gets into the driver’s seat.

I watch her closely, unable to wipe the grin from my face.

No matter how hard I’ve tried to change her mind about me, I can’t make her like me.

Not the way I want her to. But I can make her hate me, and for some reason, I’d settle for that over her feeling nothing for me at all.

Her dark eyebrows pull together on her forehead as she stares at the dashboard. She starts to press different buttons.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Now that I’m sitting again, my body feels weird. It feels like we’re moving when I know we aren’t.

“I’m trying to move the seat up,” she mutters, her fingers still pressing random buttons. “You left the seat too far back. I can’t even reach the pedals.”

I smile. She acts like it’s my fault that I left the seat back in my car. Well, technically, it’s my father’s. It’s the SUV we leave here for the summer. But no one’s been driving it but me. There was no point in leaving the seat in any position other than the one I prefer while driving.

“And you think the button for that will be on the dash?”

It’s a genuine question, but judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t one I should’ve asked. There is fury in her eyes as they meet mine. “Where else would the button be?”

I stare at her for a moment, wondering if she’s being serious. Does she really not know how to adjust her seat?

“Are you going to tell me where to find the button, or do you just want to keep sitting here, stuck together, until I figure it out on my own?”

My smile falls. She has a good point. The sooner I can get home and get away from her, the better.

It seems like my brain is always running rampant with thoughts of her.

It’s worse when we’re together and I can read into every interaction between us.

Alone, she unfortunately still plagues my mind, but it doesn’t seem to cause the same dull ache in my chest that happens when we’re together.

With a sigh, I point my finger toward the driver’s side door. “Reach down to your left. There are three different buttons that will help adjust different portions of the seat.”

Camille does as she’s told. She figures it out, the dull hum of the seat moving filling the otherwise quiet SUV. It seems like she takes forever to move her seat up to the point she needs it, but as soon as she does, she finally turns the vehicle on.

“You forgot to say thank you,” I toss out. I know I should probably just keep my mouth shut. There’s no way she was going to say thank you. But the alcohol coursing through my veins tells me it’s a good idea to use our time alone in the car to really get on her nerves.

She deserves it.

Her existence—and inability to let me in—gets on every single one of my nerves. I need to give her some payback.

“I’m waiting,” I taunt. Now that she’s got the SUV started, I reach to my right and grab the seat belt to get buckled in. The sudden movement makes me dizzy for a moment. The edges of my vision get blurry as I gather myself before finishing getting buckled.

I blink a few times, composing myself. When the wave finally ends, I look over at Camille. She still hasn’t backed up or made any move to get out of this parking lot.

“Are you going to go, or are we just going to sit here all night?”

Another glare is shot in my direction. Why does she look so uncomfortable?

Her lips turn down into a tiny frown, and there are now two creases between her eyebrows that weren’t there before.

“Leave me alone,” she snaps. “I’m nervous.” The second part is said so quietly I don’t think she meant for me to hear it.

I can’t help but laugh. The idea of her being nervous is ridiculous. She doesn’t seem like someone who gets nervous. She’s confident—all the time.

“What could you possibly be nervous about right now?”

She chews on her lip, something I can’t remember seeing her do before. “It’s been a while since I’ve driven a car. And this isn’t even a car. This SUV is massive. I’m just making sure I remember how to do it.”

My mouth pops open. “You don’t know how to drive?”

Camille rolls her eyes and looks over at me. “I do. I have a license, asshole. I just haven’t driven in a year…maybe two. You don’t have to drive while living in Manhattan.”

I shake my head. “Oh, so we’re fucked.”

The look she gives me is scathing. “I know how to drive, Ryker. I wouldn’t be trying if I didn’t. Just stop acting like a child for a minute and give me some quiet so I can remember how to do it.”

I groan. “Remember how to do it? Fuck, Camille. Let’s just call someone to take us back to the house.”

“And be stuck with you even longer? No, thanks. I’ve got it handled.”

My lips press into a thin line as my life flashes before my eyes. “I’m too young to die.” I hadn’t realized I’d said the words out loud until she gives me a pointed glare.

“You’re being drunk and dramatic. You’ll be fine. I have no plans for either of us to die tonight. I can’t die until I finally get my father’s approval and make partner.”

“That’s really your biggest life goal? The one thing you have to do before you die? Get your father’s approval?”

I let out a whistle. Damn. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m drunk or if I’d still think this sober, but that’s really sad if it’s true.

Camille grabs the steering wheel and lets out a long sigh. “And what if it is?” Her gaze cuts to me, a defiant look in her eyes. “Then what would you have to say about it?”

“That it’s fucking sad,” I blurt.

She winces the moment the words leave my mouth. A wave of guilt crashes over me at the hurt look in her eyes, but the longer I think about it, the more I believe my words to be true, no matter if I’m drunk or not.

“Wow, thanks for being honest. And what about you? Aren’t you trying to get your father’s approval? Isn’t that what we’re both trying to do?”

I close my eyes for a moment. The longer we’ve sat here, the more the alcohol has started to hit me.

My head feels fuzzy, and my vision isn’t as clear as it normally is.

I try to think of my words carefully before saying them, but for some reason, the thought of her worth being dependent on what her asshole father thinks of her really bothers me.

“Yes, I want his approval. I want him to feel good about giving me the company I’ve been raised to take over. There was once a time when he looked at me and I knew he was proud of me. I want to get that back. But no, Cami, it isn’t my one life goal to get his approval.”

I thought being drunk was supposed to numb the pain.

But even the mention of the way my dad used to look at me sends a wave of grief through me.

Before my mom got sick and passed away, my parents were proud of me.

I did everything right. I was the golden son, ready to take over Davenport Media and take it to new heights.

And then she died.

The person I loved most on this planet died.

And making anyone proud didn’t seem to matter anymore. Why should it? Even when I was perfect, Mom still died.

“What is your one goal, then? What do you want to accomplish before you die?” Camille spits, breaking me from the painful memories overtaking my mind.

I turn my head to look at her. “I want to like myself again. It’d be nice to have my own approval before I go.”

Camille’s mouth snaps shut. I don’t think she was expecting that answer. To be honest, it wasn’t an answer I was expecting to give her either.

I sigh, wishing I had kept it to myself.

She doesn’t need to know how much I hate the person I’ve become since Mom passed.

I wasn’t the person who drank to mask the pain or who made reckless decisions.

I liked who I was. I felt good about myself.

Now? I’d do anything to get back to that point.

I just don’t know how to after losing Mom.

“Ryker.” The way she says my name makes me want to throw up. She says it with so much pity that it makes my skin crawl.

I hold my hand up to stop her from saying anything else. “You shouldn’t attach your worth to an asshole like your dad, Camille. With a man like him, I think you’ll be waiting your entire life for his approval.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true. He already told me he’d make me partner if we succeed this summer.”

“He’ll make up an excuse about why you can’t have it.”

“You don’t even know my dad,” she fires back, her tone defensive.

I shrug before leaning back in the passenger seat to get comfortable. “Not well. But I know men like him. I’ve spent my entire life around guys like your dad. He told you he’d make you partner so you’d stop asking.”

A weird noise comes from the back of Camille’s throat. For a few long seconds, all she does is stare at me with wide eyes, full of disbelief. Eventually, she shakes her head and composes herself. “You don’t know him. He wouldn’t do that. You’re just being mean.”

I pull my gaze from her and look forward. There’s no use in arguing. She’ll find out sooner rather than later. Plus, I’m over this conversation. I’m starting to spin because of the drinks, and all I want to do is climb into bed and hope I drank enough to make it so I don’t dream of her tonight.

Without looking at her, I reach between us and tap on the gear shift. “This right here is how you put the car into reverse. That’s what you’ll do to get us out of here. There’s also these things called a gas pedal and a brak?—”

“Stop being an asshole. I’ve got it.”

My jaw hurts as I keep it closed, forcing myself not to make any other sort of remarks to her. I keep my thoughts to myself the entire car ride home. To my surprise, she isn’t as bad a driver as I was expecting for having not driven in years.

Neither of us says a single word to each other the entire car ride or even after we get home.

And for the first night in what seems like forever, I don’t dream of her.