“Bristol, morning, love.” Chelle, the owner of the exclusive, but lesser-known, shop air kisses my cheek.
“Morning.” I clear my throat of the alcohol-induced Barry White effect. “How are you?”
“Not as good as you, I would imagine.” Chelle pairs a knowing grin with her Stella McCartney jumpsuit. “You sneaky thing.”
“Huh?” I slide the sunglasses farther up into my hair. “We have an appointment, right? My necklace came in?”
“Boy did it, you lucky girl.” Chelle gives my arm a light slap and starts toward the back. “Come on. I’ve got it ready for you.”
Either the lingering effects of my inebriation have dulled my senses, or Chelle has been imbibing, too, because she’s acting strangely. I sit down at the small display table and wait. I special ordered this necklace a while ago and was giddy to get the message that it had come in. It’s twenty-four carat gold with a diamond-encrusted vertical bar, which hangs just above my cleavage. The inscription on the bar is my favorite part.
“It’s beautiful, Chelle.” I bend over the table to examine it more closely and reach for the wallet in my bag. “Looks good. Let’s settle up. I’m late for lunch at my brother’s.”
“Already paid in full.” Chelle’s smirk and teasing eyes mystify me.
“What do you mean it’s—”
“She means it’s my gift to you. I've already taken care of it.” Parker stands in the door leading to the back room where Chelle keeps inventory. “I couldn’t resist.”
White-hot rage lights me up like a signal flare. I squeeze my eyes shut in a futile attempt to douse my temper.
“You didn’t tell me you were dating Charles Parker,” Chelle whispers in my ear. “You lucky thing.”
I can’t muster a smile, and my voice comes out so softly I barely hear it myself.
“Chelle, would you excuse us for a moment?”
“I get it,” Chelle says. “You want to reward him in private. Just spill all the dets later.”
“Oh, I’m going to reward him all right.” My eyes pin Parker where he stands, still wearing last night’s clothes.
“Now don’t be mad," he says. "You left your phone in the bedroom, and I saw the alert to pick up the necklace. I just thought it would be something I could do for you."
He lifts the necklace from its velvet box and goes behind me to clip it on. I step away and whirl around to face him.
“Don’t you dare.” Anger shakes my voice. “Who do you think you are? And what the hell do you think you’re doing paying for jewelry I ordered for myself?”
His face registers what I’m saying slowly, the smile fading into confusion.
“We had a great time last night, and I wanted to—”
“Thank me?” Brows lifted high, hands on hips, I cut in. “Is that what this is?”
“Well, not exactly. I just—”
“The other women you sleep with may require these little fuck tokens the next day as expression of your appreciation. I, however, do not.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“I’m being independent. I’m being the woman who earned the money to buy this outrageously expensive necklace, chose it for myself, and has been looking forward to swiping my own damn card to pay for it.”
“Bristol, I—”
“No, you will listen.” My words butcher whatever he was about to say. “The bed you woke up in this morning? I paid for that. The house you locked up on your way out? I paid for that. The car I drove here in? All me.”
I step as close as I dare and glare up at him.
“I will not be kept.” My words whiz through the air like arrows. “That may be the road your mother chose, but it isn’t the one mine did. Mine taught me not to rely on any man for anything, and I’m damn well not starting with you.”
He blinks at me for a full ten seconds before he sighs, his tight expression relaxing into a smile.
“All that fight and pride.” He grabs my upper arms and looks down at me intently. “You’ll be my queen. With you at my side, we’ll rule the world. Can’t you see that?”
After last night’s fiasco of lost memories, I can barely rule myself. He thinks I want to rule the world with him? Some replica of his committee-chairing, debutante-sponsoring, Vicodin-popping mother? She’s my mother’s best friend, and actually very sweet, but hell will freeze over before I become her.
“I need to pay for my necklace and go.” I pull out of his hands and turn back to the showroom.
“I’ve already paid for it.” His voice hardens. When I look back, so have his eyes. They’re blue crystals in his handsome face.
“Then we’ll get you a nice little refund.”
I call Chelle back in and instruct her to refund Mr. Parker’s card and to charge mine.
“I’ll need the card you paid with.” Chelle gives Parker a confused look but accepts his card. She probably thinks I’m crazy. On the surface, Parker is one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, hell, maybe in the world. Why wouldn’t I want him and his gifts?
He and I stand in awkward silence while Chelle processes the transactions.
“I didn’t mean any harm.” He steps closer until his stale morning breath wafts over my lips. “I want to see you again. Soon.”
“I don’t know, Parker.”
I step back and away. This is already out of control. I wanted to just wave Parker around a little so Grip would take that step toward Qwest. Somehow, I ended up sleeping with the guy I’ve avoided for the last decade. I grew up surrounded by people like the man Parker has grown into. Not just overbearing, but willful. Spoiled. Entitled. Combined with unlimited resources and unchecked power, that’s dangerous.
“I fly to India tonight for business.” He presses his hand to my back as we exit Chelle’s. “Can we talk when I get back? About where we go from here?”
I’m so tired. I’m running late, and I don’t feel like fighting with Parker in the street in front of half of Los Angeles.
“Okay, we’ll talk when you get back,” I concede. “But I’m not making any promises.”
He steps closer until I’m pressed into the driver side door of the Audi convertible I treated myself to last year. Before I can object, he leans down to press a hard kiss against my lips. The contact is quick, but I still resent it.
“Fine,” he says when he pulls back. “I’ll make all the promises.”
That doesn’t reassure me. With men like Parker, there’s a fine line between a promise and a threat. I hope I haven’t set myself up for either.
Grip
I HAVEN’T SEEN the Prodigy team this relaxed in weeks. We’re all chilling here at Rhyson’s place. It’s the quiet before a very big storm. Grip not only is my solo debut but also it’s Prodigy’s first release. It’s a big deal for us all. We needed this small block of time to blow off steam. It’s been so intense, and it will only intensify the closer we get to release day.
Max and Sarah are talking near the pool table. Neither of them know how to actually play, so they just hold the cues and lean on the table, trying to look cool. Rhyson’s playing Grand Theft Auto with Simon, one of the sound engineers. Several of the team members went swimming out back. The whole gang is here. Almost.
I check my watch again. I’ve been at Rhyson’s for thirty minutes and still no sign of Bristol.
“She called to say she’d be late,” Kai whispers, taking the spot beside me on the brown leather couch.
“Am I that obvious?”
Until I told Rhyson, no one else really knew about the week we shared. It was ours and no one’s business, but after seeing her with Parker last night, I feel like the butt of an eight-year joke. Like everyone knows how I feel, and I was a fool for holding out hope. For still holding out hope. I’m not prepared to give up yet. I wonder sometimes what will convince me to give up on the possibility of us.
“It isn’t that you’re obvious,” Kai says. “I just know how you feel.”