us, but I never expected them to. They don’t chase after wayward sons or the lowly help.
The car service waits at the curb, and the driver sees us as we come down the walkway. He jumps out, opening the back door.
“The Blackwood,” I say curtly, moving to the side to let Bailey in first.
She slides across the seat. I move in behind her, settling in close so the outside of our legs touch. I didn’t plan that, but I like touching her more than I don’t, so I stay put.
As the car drives off from the Blackwood mansion, I pull out my phone and dial the hotel concierge. Glancing at Bailey, I ask, “How do you like your steak?”
She blinks in surprise at the first words I utter since we stormed out. After a hesitation, she replies, “Medium rare.”
“Baked potato?”
She nods.
“Veggies?”
Another nod.
When the phone is answered, I identify myself. The concierge stumbles in his effusiveness to help me. I request room service and order us a couple of filets along with the appropriate sides, relief settling in to be out of that toxic environment. Normally, I’d suffer through all the trite talk to cover up the way we ignore each other and my mother’s acidic tongue, but the minute she disparaged Bailey as merely “the help,” I’d lost my shit.
I know I shocked the hell out of my mother by leaving, but damn… it shocked me that I’d left. I usually battle through these things, employing my own techniques to ignore the worst of it. That cool, iron-clad control I pride myself on seemed to evaporate like morning mist when the sun rises. My nerves twitched, my gut tightened, and my blood pressure spiked high. As I consider those feelings, I realize what a rarity it is to experience those types of anxieties. It’s not within me to be bothered. Somehow, I expect that has more to do with my feelings for Bailey than some inherent loss of ability to control my emotions.
Bailey sits next to me, her phone now in hand as she surfs through it. She’s patiently waiting for me to say something, but I don’t trust myself right now as I don’t want her to think my anger is directed at her in any way. As such, I ignore her to stare out the window as we traverse the city streets back to the Blackwood. I take measured breaths, try to forget how supremely rude and arrogant my parents were toward my guest, versus their regular rude superiority.
My dad and sister were being themselves, but my mother was purposefully baiting me. She was not happy I invited Bailey, and she’d made her feelings known in a text exchange we’d had this morning. She felt it was inappropriate from the start that I’d bring my assistant. I disagreed with her, which she didn’t like, and told her to have a place setting for Bailey, or I wouldn’t come.
Of course, her not having a place setting when we arrived was the first strike against my mother, an embarrassingly obvious message Bailey wasn’t welcome. I should have walked out the door right then.
“Declan,” Bailey murmurs. I jolt, looking down at her. She nods toward the window, and I see that we’ve arrived at the hotel. I had been so deep in my brooding I hadn’t realized it.
The driver opens the door for us. I step out, turning to offer my hand to Bailey. She takes it, a repeat of how we had arrived at my parents’ home, except now the lines of tension on her face are deeper. I hate it.
I usher her into the hotel, straight to the elevator, and up to the family suite. Once we’re inside, I move to the wet bar and open a bottle of red, pouring us each a glass as Bailey goes to the couch. She looks tired.
I know I am.
I head over to sit on the couch with enough room to angle toward her. She accepts the glass of wine, and then does something that, for some silly reason, charms the fuck out of me.
She kicks off her heels, pulls her legs up onto the couch, and draws them underneath her. Angling toward me, she drapes an arm casually over the sofa. Holding her glass out, she murmurs, “Cheers.”
I smile. “Cheers.”
We both take a sip, staring at each other over the rims of the glasses. When I lower mine, I say, “I’m sorry about what happened. How my family treated you. It