Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,82
us to meet, then sure. When are you thinking?”
“Saturday night is their only available evening. And be prepared—they’ll probably have their media entourage following them.”
This time I knew I wasn’t imagining it. Her whole body went rigid. “I can’t Saturday.”
Anger fumed inside of me. Fucking Ryan. “Work?” I said through tight lips.
She nodded, twisting a piece of paper between nervous fingers.
“Fucking asshole,” I muttered, looking in the direction Ryan had run off…the coward. If you want my fucking lady, come fight me for her and show some cojones.
“Ryan has nothing to do with it,” she said, nostrils flaring like a bull seeing red. “You know what? I don’t have to explain or justify myself to you. I’m done with this conversation. When you decide to grow up, let me know. I was going to suggest that I switch my work to Friday, but now? Fuck it. If your parents want to do brunch on Saturday or Sunday, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll see you later.”
She stormed off, slamming the door behind her.
Well, shit. That could have gone better.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
SHELBY
The glass door was cold beneath my palm as I shoved it open and stalked into the other room. How dare he? He didn’t get to helicopter over me like some sort of overprotective Neanderthal. I wasn’t even working here at the center that Saturday, but now I was too pissed to explain that. Nor should I have to.
“Shelby,” Tate’s quiet voice said behind me. I didn’t even hear him walk up.
His face sagged. “I’m sorry. I think talking to my parents set me on edge. And I don’t love—” He paused with a quick glance around the room. “I don’t love that you and Ryan work so closely together, but I handled it all wrong. You have a right to work when and where and with whoever you want.”
“Whomever,” I said quietly, almost on a reflex.
He smiled softly, reaching a tentative hand to my waist and tugging me closer. “Smart-ass,” he whispered, dipping his lips over my cheek. A shiver danced down my spine, and if we weren’t in a public place, I might have pushed those lips to a whole other area of my body. Because, damn, this boy knew what he was doing most of the time. Scratch that—all of the time.
“Tate, on Saturday night, I’m not going to be working here—”
“It doesn’t matter where you’re going to be. Or who you’re going to be with. In fact, don’t tell me. I don’t care. I don’t even want to know.” Tate cleared his throat and put a more respectable distance between us. “Instead of Saturday night—my parents and I have a brunch thing that morning with the school, but I’m sure you can come, too. Would that work better?”
I nodded. “Brunch on Saturday would be…” What? Not great. Because Jesus I did not want to meet these people. These so-called “parents” of his that spent more time on their tans then they did with their son were not the sort of people I wanted to waste one of my few free mornings with. It was the same sort of bullshit I had always seen with the wealthiest kids, and I hated that Tate had that sort of childhood. The sort where parents pay other people to do the parenting for them so they could simply disappear—whether that was in the physical sense or simply the emotional. Or both.
But I wasn’t doing this for them. I was doing it for Tate. He had been so sweet these past several weeks. Understanding and patient. I needed to extend that same courtesy with his emotional baggage. So, despite my many, many reservations, I cleared my throat, finishing my sentence. “Brunch on Saturday would be…great. We’ll have fun,” I managed to add without an eye roll.
Yeah, fun. If I made it through the morning without flinging pancakes at his parents.
…
The rest of the week dragged on. And as the weekend approached, that feeling of dread dropped lower and lower into my stomach. What the hell was I thinking going to brunch with them? These people embodied everything that I vowed to never be a part of again.
But, here I was…putting on a too-expensive dress and staining my lips with the perfect shade of rose colored lip gloss. I stood in front of my full-length mirror and gave a little twirl, holding out my hands. The girl staring back at me was a fragmented vision of both who I used to be and who