Famously Mine: A Contemporary Romance Box Set Page 44

  “What?”

  “You’ve got some sauce on your lip.”

  I lick my lip, and watch Wade’s eyes darken in a way that shouldn’t thrill me but absolutely does. “Did I get it?”

  “No, it’s your bottom lip. Here, let me—” He reaches across the table, and as his thumb presses firmly into the softness of my lip, I hear the click of the camera shutter.

  I ignore it, assuming someone near us is just taking a group photo, but Wade freezes. And then he turns to the sound, scowling and broad, like it’s a threat.

  “Wade, it’s fine …” but the words die in my throat as I realize someone is taking a photo of us. A woman with thick red glasses and wiry red hair who looks oddly familiar, until I place her.

  Judy Blandena. Editor of our student newspaper. And I’m guessing, by the hungry look in her eye, still a reporter on the hunt for the scoop.

  I’m no scoop, but apparently the local billionaire out on the town is.

  Judy lowers her camera when she realizes she’s been spotted. But instead of going back to her dinner like a normal woman with any sense of shame, she stands up and actually walks over to us.

  Wade stands, physically blocking me from Judy’s sight. Like he’s embarrassed by you, the little voice inside me says, right on cue.

  I stomp on that voice, grinding it down to nothing. He’s not doing it on purpose. He’s just standing in a small area, and accidentally blocking me from being seen. It happens.

  “Hi! You probably don’t remember me Wade, I’m Judy Blandena from Reynolds High. I run the Winston-Salem Society Pages now, and we’re just so thrilled you’re back. Our very own celebrity. Would you mind if I got one more photo of you and your date? It’s just a little thing to you, but it would mean so much to our readers.”

  “Yes, I do mind Judy,” Wade says, his voice cold. “And you’re deleting the picture you took!”

  “Why, I do declare! Aren’t you all high and mighty for someone who failed Sophomore English.” She giggles, nervous, and turns back to her table.

  Wade catches her elbow. “Delete the photo. It was taken in a private location, of a private meeting with myself and a colleague. I’d hate to sue for breach of privacy.”

  Other diners are watching now with avid curiosity.

  If Wade wanted to avoid a scene, this was the absolute worst way to do it.

  “A restaurant isn’t a private location!” Judy snaps, apparently giving up on being charming.

  “Is there a problem?” The maître d’ appears.

  “Yes,” Wade says at the same time Judy says, “No.”

  The maître d’ looks from the camera to Wade, and I can almost see him doing the math as he balances Wade’s fame, money, and influence against the public relations nightmare of a pissed off reporter.

  In the end, Judy has to delete the photo if she doesn’t want to be kicked out of the restaurant, but the maître d’ softens the blow with a lot of flattery and a very expensive bottle of champagne.

  Wade sits down again, but Judy’s watching us like a hawk, and the next time our waiter comes by, Wade signals for the check.

  Just a colleague. Delete the photo. Check please.

  I’m trying to fight old demons, but the evidence is mounting. Wade St. George is embarrassed to be seen with me. And it’s pissing me off.

  The least he could do is be more subtle about it.

  His leg moves up and down with anxious energy while the waiter takes forever to run his credit card. His eyes slide from me to Judy and back again.

  And suddenly I’m fed up. I was having a good time. A better time than I’ve had in a long time. But it’s not worth it. It’s not worth having someone who can make you feel that good one second, that bad the next.

  Thank God this isn’t a date.

  Thank God Judy showed up, before I fooled myself into believing … well, into believing.

  “How long does it take to run a credit card?” Wade mutters.

  And just like that, something inside me snaps.

  “You know what, I’ll just put you out of your misery. Thanks for dinner. See you Monday.”

  I grab my purse and stalk out of the restaurant.

  “Stella! Stella, wait,” Wade calls.

  “Stella Harrington?” Judy exclaims. “You’re dating Stella Harrington?”

  But I ignore them both and leave.

  The night air is fresh and cold as I step outside, the slap in the face I need right now.

  To think, I was almost letting myself hope …

  But I’m a broke, pink-haired, foul-mouthed, alcoholic drummer, and Wade’s a billionaire who needs society’s respect to stay that way. For heaven’s sake, he has a fucking morality clause in his contract with his biggest client.

  Of course he doesn’t want to appear in the papers with me. He might have a habit of saying exactly what I long to hear, and his eyes might darken when he looks at me, but in the cool light of a camera flash, I can see none of that matters. Because he doesn’t want to be seen with me.

  I hear the slam of a door, and footsteps behind me. “Stella, wait. I’m so sorry about that—”

  I whirl around to face him. “Sorry about what?”

  “Uh … About the paparazzi. About your big night ending like that. What else would I be sorry about?” Wade asks, irritated.

  I’d slap the irritation off his face, if I could reach it.

  I look at his beautiful face, and I almost want to cry in frustration. I’m so tired of fighting to be treated like I matter. And for a second tonight, I didn’t have to fight. He made it so easy.

  And now Wade can’t even figure out why it might hurt to have him so obviously embarrassed by me.

  I turn and head down the steps to my car.

  He races down the steps, stopping in front of me and cutting me off, and for the first time ever, we’re exactly eye to eye.

  “Let me rephrase that. What else should I be sorry for?” His brow furrows, he’s so determined to solve the problem, and I just want to slap him, or shake him, or kiss him, because he’s making it so much harder. If he could just be a consistent jerk, all my problems would be solved.

  “Look, it’s … It’s not a big deal. You’re embarrassed by me. So what? I just work for you. I don’t need you to be, I don’t know, proud to be seen with me. But I don’t need to sit around and hold your hand and make sure you feel comfortable while you’re acting like just being next to me is a public humiliation.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Delete the photo,” I mimic, and he scowls.

  “Stella, that’s not why I—”

  I try to dodge around him, and Wade grabs my arm. “Let go.”

  He does, but his face is furious. “Just listen to me, dammit.”

  “No!” I stalk past him.

  “It’s Duke,” he says, and I stop in my tracks, because that was not what I was expecting.

  “I … what?” I turn this over in my head, but for the life of it I cannot think what the heck my brother has to do with any of this. “Why don’t you want him to know we got dinner together?”

  “Because it won’t look like dinner,” Wade says through gritted teeth. “It will look like a date.”

  I raise my eyebrows skeptically.

  “I was touching your mouth! We were at a fancy restaurant. Even aside from the Duke thing, it would be a publicity nightmare if people think I’m dating my assistant. Not to mention it will make it a million times harder to hire people, and have them feel comfortable working for me.”

  “Well, you could have thought of all that before you asked me to go to dinner!” I shout. “It’s not fair to me for you to offer something, and then act like you’re ashamed of me when I accept.”

  I storm past him to my car. Wade chases me, catching up to me with laughable ease.

  “Stella, I’m sorry. You’re right it’s not fair, it’s just …”

  I whirl to face him. “What? It’s just what?”

  He clo
ses his eyes briefly, then looks down like he’s ashamed of himself. I can see the tension in the line of his jaw.

  “It’s just,” Wade says quietly, “that I wanted to. I feel good when I’m with you. But that’s no excuse. You’re right. If I’m embarrassed to have someone share my actions with the world, I shouldn’t be doing them in the first place.” He groans. “Ugh, Stella, I’m so sorry I ruined your night. I’m just … really sorry.”

  I cross my arms and jut my chin out. I’m not ready to give him a pass on how he made me feel. No matter how much his I feel good when I’m with you is trying to worm its way under my armor and into my heart.

  “At least let me walk you to your car,” Wade says. “It’s late at night.”

  We’re on a nice street with leafy trees. I’ve taken care of myself in much rougher areas. But I recognize Wade’s offer for the peace offering it is. And I might not be ready to forgive him, but we still have to work together on Monday.

  “Fine,” I bite out. “You can walk me to my car.”

  We wordlessly fall into step as we walk to where my car is.

  Except when we turn the corner, my car’s not there.

  I blink. Check the street sign. Check the buildings around it. Check where I parked my car again.

  “Where’s my car?” I demand.

  “Are you sure you parked it here—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I say, holding up a finger, and Wade shuts his mouth.

  I’m looking around, trying to figure out what happened—did it get stolen? Am I remembering wrong?—when Wade lifts up a branch that’s blocking a “No Parking” sign.

  Apparently, violators will be towed.

  I swear, viciously.

  Wade frowns at the sign. “The impound lot will be closed tonight, but I can drive you tomorrow—”

  “I can take care of myself!” I bark.

  “I know you can take care of yourself! I’m being nice. Like a normal person would.”

  I scoff.

  “Ok, the reporter is my fault, but this isn’t. Do you want a ride home or not?”

  I glower at Wade. He’s right, and that makes me even more mad at him.

  “Jesus Christ, Stella—”

  “Fine, you can drive me home.”

  “Oh, what an honor your highness,” he says sarcastically, as I walk past him, head held high. He jogs to catch up with me.

  “Don’t you need to know where I parked?” Wade asks pointedly.

  “I know where you parked,” I say. “I saw you fixing your hair before you came up to the restaurant. You know. Primping for your not-date.”

  Wade stops on the sidewalk, holding up his hand, and I stop too, because he’s got the car keys.

  “Look. We’re both in bad moods. Let’s just stop talking before one of us says something we’ll both regret.”

  I purse my lips. “You seriously overestimate the amount of things I’d regret.”

  But he doesn’t rise to the bait. He just stands there waiting, so I heave a heavy sigh. “Fine. No more talking.”

  We get into the car, and Wade drives me home.

  The city is pretty at night, as streetlights and business fronts give way to trees and homes, and by the time we reach my home I’m calmer.

  My throat is tight, and I just want to be home, and alone, and done with the day, but I’m calmer.

  Of course Wade doesn’t want to look like he’s dating an employee. And I may not feel like an employee, since I’ve known him since I was a kid, and I accepted another job offer today, but that’s not what it would look like to the world. And I may not have to care what the world thinks. But Wade does.

  It wasn’t fair of him to put me in that position. But it wasn’t really fair for me to be willfully oblivious to the position he’s in, either.

  Wade parks the car and looks at me. Shadows slash across his face in the dark of the car, and for all the ways we click together perfectly, I’m reminded I’m basically sitting next to a stranger.

  “So … maybe next time we should stick to McDonald’s,” I say, and he laughs, tired and low.

  Wade shakes his head, then drops his head back against the headrest. “Is it weird if I say congratulations on the new job?”

  “Yes. And no. Thanks for the ride home.” My bad joke seems to have broken the tension between us, and there’s a part of me that just wants to turn on my side to face him, curl in the seat, and talk to Wade all night.

  Away from fancy restaurants. Away from other diners. Away from reporters.

  Maybe I could recapture the good parts of tonight if I just stayed here a little longer, in the warmth of a car that smells like him.

  But I’ve lived long enough to know it wouldn’t work. And it’s not fair to either of us to try and force it.

  No sense breaking myself to fit in somewhere I don’t belong.

  I get out of the car.

  I am completely surprised when he gets out too.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Walking you to your door,” Wade says, like I’m an idiot, and I almost call him on such an obvious line before I remembered I’m talking to a southern boy. It’s not a line. He’s not trying to sneak in a goodnight kiss. He genuinely thinks it’s his God-given duty to walk me safely to my doorstep.

  Which is particularly idiotic, when you consider that most attacks on women come from men they know and trust, not some random boogie man lurking in the bushes.

  But Wade St. George is as stubborn as they come, and I’m tired of arguing tonight.

  And, ok, I admit as we walk up to my apartment’s entrance, maybe I like it.

  Maybe there’s a part of me that likes that we can have a fight, and I can lose my temper, and he’ll still walk me to my door. He treats me gently.

  And it’s a gentleness that’s unconditional. Or as close to unconditional as you can get and still be human. My mom always wanted me to act like a lady. Duke wants me to act smart. My tour friends wanted me to be as free and brave and reckless as they were.

  Someone who treats me well not on condition of who I am, but because of who he fundamentally is? That’s … new.

  We stop at the entrance to my building.

  “Well,” I say brightly, flashing my best don’t-look-too-close smile, “this is my stop. See you Monday.”

  “Stella. What aren’t you saying?” His voice is low in the dark, and I’m very aware that I’m standing in the dark with a man I can’t seem to get out of my head.

  I toy with my keys. “It’s silly. And it doesn’t matter. I get the not dating—not looking like you’re dating—your employees thing, obviously. But I don’t get why you’d care about Duke. I’ve dated Duke’s friends before. He’s fine with it.”

  Wade rolls his eyes. “Sure, while you’re dating them. But as soon as you break up, Duke takes your side and stops being friends with them.”

  “That’s not …” I think about the three of Duke’s friends I’ve dated, and realize Wade’s right. “I don’t ask him to do that.”

  “Of course you don’t. But Duke’s got a blind spot where you’re concerned. If someone makes you cry, they’re dead to him.”

  “But that wouldn’t … you’ve been friends forever.”

  Wade smiles wryly. “I love Duke. But emotional nuance isn’t his strong suit. And he loves you with everything he’s got. If we dated, we’d eventually break up. And when we’d break up, I’d lose one of my oldest friends. So, no. Even if you weren’t my employee, even if I hadn’t signed Home Sweet Home’s morality clause, even if reporters weren’t something I had to worry about … tonight would not have been a date. Not in a million years.”

  He turns to go, and as those broad shoulders walk away from me, I call, “You know you can just say you don’t like me like that.”

  Wade stops.

  “I’m strong enough to take it.”

  “It’s not that, Stella.” He half looks over his shoulder, so I only catch his profile in the echoes of the porch-
light.

  My heart leaps. Is he saying—

  Unless he’s just trying to be nice. A white lie to avoid hurting his best friend’s little sister’s feelings.

  I wanted to. I feel good when I’m with you. That’s what he said. Unless those were lies too.

  If they were lies, why did he risk taking me out tonight?

  Wade takes a step away from me.

  “I don’t believe you,” I say.

  He turns to face me. “Stella,” he says, and I don’t know if he’s pleading with me or warning me.

  “Tell me what you’d do. If it weren’t for all those things. What would you do, Wade? Right now?”

  “Don’t.”

  “See? You can’t even imagine what you’d do right now if you actually liked me.” I shake my head. I can’t believe I thought … I can’t believe I wanted …

  I turn to go inside. But the key is stuck, and in the moment that it takes me—

  Wade grabs me and kisses me.

  I’m caught off guard by his heat, his strength, his energy. I always thought Wade would be a careful kisser, but he’s not, he’s reckless, and I’m right there with him, tangling my fingers in his hair, sucking his lip, standing on tiptoe to get as close to him as I can. It’s electric, the most alive I’ve felt in years, and it’s not just because my pulse is pounding, and he’s waking up every nerve I have. It’s also because it’s Wade.

  Wade’s breath is rough, jagged, when he breaks away, bracing his hand on the wall above my head.

  “Not here,” he breaths. “We shouldn’t …”

  “You’re right. My apartment.”

  By some miracle, I’m still clutching my keys, so I turn and open the door. My hand is shaking, but I get it open. I’m into the lobby before I realize Wade isn’t following me.

  I turn back to see him standing on the other side of the threshold, watching me.

  My heart sinks. “Did you … did you change your mind?”

  “No, God no, but …” Wade crosses to me. Cradles my cheek in one of his big hands. “Are you sure?”

  Am I sure if I want this kind, brilliant, infuriating man whose eyes see through my bullshit, and whose body drives me crazy, and who kisses me like he’s starving and I’m the only one who can satiate him?

  “It’s one night,” I say. “Don’t overthink it.”