Bentley pressed a finger to her lips. “Do you care for Brock? Possibly love him?”
Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Ah! Why couldn’t she stop crying! Three weeks shouldn’t have affected her so much—but Brock had found his way into her heart and no amount of tears or logic that he was doing what he had to do made the pain go away or the sadness at potentially losing him. And really, what was she losing him to? A nameless face? Not really. The messed-up part was that really when she thought about it, she was losing him to his grandfather.
“Thought so.” Bentley grinned, bringing her back to the present. He removed his finger and then let out a whistle. To her horror several people piled out of a black SUV and started shuffling into her house.
“Is this necessary?”
His eyes twinkled and that practiced, devastating, panty-melting smile was back in full force. “For a Wellington? For Jane? For the princess of the ball? Absolutely. Besides, my brother would have me by the balls if I did anything as half assed as sending you to the mall.”
*
“Should you maybe stop at the stop signs?” Jane gripped the door handle and held on for dear life.
“Speed makes me feel alive!” The driver of the Uber car Bentley had hired chuckled and then took a hard right followed by another hard left that had the tires screeching in protest. “Ah hah! I knew we were close.”
They were in an abandoned parking lot.
“To where you plan on murdering me?” Jane scooted next to the door just in case she had to actually make a run for it. Two hours after taking her measurements Bentley had insisted on sending a car for her. In his words, she needed to pick out a dress.
But still.
No Brock.
And yet Bentley’s words bounced around in her head. Trust Brock. Which meant Brock was in on all of this, but she still didn’t even know what this was?
At Bentley’s insistence, she purchased a ticket for the ball. His instructions were clear. “Your money is your own.”
What does that even mean?
Should she bid on Brock?
Well, duh, of course; but thirty grand wasn’t going to win her anything!
Nothing made sense.
Doubt crept in the corners of her mind.
And then the driver put the car in park and turned it off. “Parking lots are too out in the open, now a parking garage…” He tapped his chin and grinned. “I could commit a crime there, I suppose.”
Jane made a mental note to stay out of every parking garage within the city limits.
The van door slid open, a gorgeous Asian woman with bright red lipstick stepped out. “Right off the runway. But some may need adjustments.”
Curiosity got the best of Jane, so she got out of the car and peered behind the girl. The back of the van was filled with at least twenty, maybe thirty, gorgeous ball gowns in every color of the rainbow and in every type of material she could imagine. Silk, satin, tulle.
With a gasp, she covered her face. “Those are beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so, sweetheart.” Suddenly Bentley walked up, his swagger even more pronounced. “Pick one. Oh hell, pick two. Nothing’s too good for my date.”
“Your what?” She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was impossible.
Bentley wrapped a muscular arm around her and smiled harder. “Now, I want you to pick one that screams sexy. Brock’s favorite color is black—shocker, I know—but he gave me strict instructions for you to make sure it’s what you want, not what he wants, not what I want, not what anyone else wants but you.”
Jane was still stuck on the fact that Brock had given his brother instructions. He had to care. He just had to. And in her heart she knew he did; she just didn’t understand why a simple text message or phone call would hurt anything. The media was still hounding her. Maybe he was afraid something would leak? Ugh; and now Bentley was escorting her, instead of Brock?
“Brock knows you’re my date? And he’s okay with it?”
Bentley rolled his eyes. “Women are so damn complicated.” He pointed to the dresses and then back at her. “Just because you’re arriving at the ball on my arm doesn’t mean you’re leaving on it. Make sense?”
“No.” Jane shook her head. “Not at all. In fact none of this makes sense!”
“Trust. Remember?” Bentley smiled. “Now hurry up. I have places to be, women to seduce.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I look like I belong in prison.” Brock complained. Brant nodded his head in agreement.
“I’ll admit,” his brother said, “the stripes are a bit…bold.”
“You think?” Brock pointed down at himself. “Do you have anything less…” He scowled as his gaze fell to the striped pants. “Loud?”
Jean Paul, the man helping them, gasped aloud.
Bentley and Brant cringed and moved closer to Brock while the personal shopper for Prada began pacing in front of them, a pinched expression between his eyebrows as he started cursing in French.