Page 70 of The Bronze Garza

I act aghast. “I’m sorry, but who’s the one who cameall the wayback here to find me?”

“About that, why’re you hiding back here?”

“Because you’ve obviously sicced your people on me to keep bringing me food.”

“You eating it?”

“Fuck off.”

As if to ward off a smile, he rolls his lips. Then jerks his chin at the laptop. “Killed me yet?”

“Getting there.” I uncross my legs then cross them again, just to see if his eyes would follow. They do. “Hurry up and state your request. I have a death to plot.”

“There’s this thing tonight.” He drops his gaze, scuffing the front of his boot to the wooden floor. “Want you to come with me.”

Is he...?“What’s the ‘thing’?”

“A long-time client of mine invited me to a barbecue—no, a cocktail party...or some shit like that. I dunno.”

Yep. He is. He’s...asking...me...out. “This ‘thing’ is clearly something you don’t wanna go to, so why bother?”

“‘Cause it’s necessary. For business.”

“Ah, it’s a schmooze and networking ‘thing’.”

“Something like that.”

Daddy has hosted his fair share of schmooze parties, so I know just how important these are for business.

Sweet and innocent, I ask, “Is Audrey not available tonight?”

He just stares at me.

I laugh and shrug. “I’m sorry, but even Patrick offered to bust me out of here and I turned him down. I have plans with Hannah Montana tonight.”

“Aren’t you a little old for that?”

Hm. I was not expecting him to know what Hannah Montana is, but I forgot about Tillie.

“When I was thirteen, I couldn’t wait to turn sixteen. When I was sixteen, I couldn’t wait to turn eighteen. When I was eighteen, I couldn’t wait to turn twenty-one,” I tell him. “Now, I’d give anything to be thirteen again. If the closest thing to feeling like a kid again is watching old Disney TV shows, then so be it.” I openly eye him up and down. “Aren’t you a little young to be so damn miserable?”

“Come with me tonight, and I’ll let you choose something that makes you feel like a kid for us to do afterward.”

“Are you sure about this?” I grin evilly. “I might just make you watch Hannah Montana with me.”

He grimaces. “No, I’m not. But I want you with me, so... yeah, a deal is a deal.”

“Okay, deal,” I say with a wide smile. “But I’ll have to go home for an appropriate outfit.”

“Already bought you an outfit,” he tells me. “It’s in your room.”

“Oooh, like the billionaires do in the romance novels?”

His brows knit together. “What?”

“Wait, how were you so sure I would agree to go with you?”

“I wasn’t.” He straightens from the post and turns to leave. “Pick you up at eight.”