Brock about died laughing as Bentley’s horrified expression went from stunned to genuine confusion.
“You heard her.” Brock held his laughter in check. “Congratulations, brother. I’ll take care of the press release: Bachelor Playboy Bentley Wellington and his private women’s shoe collection.”
Bentley let out a strangled laugh. “Yes, and while we’re at it why don’t we remind the press that the clock is ticking on that auction of yours? Hmm?”
“Auction?” Jane asked.
“Don’t.” Brock shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“But she probably already does.” Bentley pointed out. “Unless she doesn’t read the news…?”
They both stared at her, waiting for an answer.
“I, uh…” She ducked her head, blushing again. “I read books.”
“How pure.” Bentley smiled and sat down next to her. “And just so we’re clear.” He leaned in as though he was going to kiss her. “My bat only swings one way…and I can assure you, every time I get thrown a pitch, I hit it out of the park.”
“Incredible,” Brock muttered. “I’ve never seen you try so hard—especially with a woman clearly not interested in what you’re offering.” Brock gripped his brother by the shoulders, aimed him toward the door, and gave a hard shove. “Go.”
Bentley cursed Brock the entire way.
Brock turned back to apologize to Jane but she was already trying to sneak past him, both of her hands clutching her dress so it wouldn’t fall down.
What the hell?
Logic told him to let her go, but her eyes…damn those eyes, he wanted her to stay. “Enjoy the shoes.” He pushed his lips into what he hoped resembled a smile and took a step back. The right thing always won out with Brock. God, he hated himself sometimes. “Jane.”
She turned quickly and he had to suppress a groan. Her legs went on for days in those shoes, damn it.
“Thanks again.” She smiled self-consciously, but at least it was a real smile. “For the save.” She gave him another awkward smile as she pointed behind her. “Out there.”
“Any time,” he murmured as she disappeared back into the crowded club.
With a sigh, he fell back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. The best part of his night so far had been spent with a woman who had no clue who he was.
And he’d loved it.
He glanced down at the floor. A small smile spread across his lips.
Jane had left her old shoes.
Curiosity had him picking up the worn shoes. The brand on the inside was worn away from use.
What did he expect to find? Her name and address written inside?
Every cell in his body was telling him he needed to see Jane again. To find out if the connection he’d felt with her was real.
She’d made him laugh.
And engage.
He’d wanted to have an actual conversation that had nothing to do with his money, his brothers, the auction, or his grandfather.
It had been nice.
She had been nice.
And now she was gone.
Chapter Six
Jane!”
Jane pulled her pillow over her face, and for one brief moment wondered if it would be possible to suffocate herself. Not that she was suicidal, but Mondays with her sisters? They always made her violent.
“Jane!” Esmeralda screamed at the top of her lungs. “It’s seven! I’m going to be late for work! I’m starving!”
God forbid her sister pour her own coffee.
Grumbling, Jane crawled out of bed, tossed on a ratty sweatshirt, and ran down the stairs just in time to get shoved against the wall as Essence moved breezily past her in a cloud of cloying perfume and cigarette smoke.
Both of her sisters sat at the table expectantly, checking their phones.
“Eggs okay?” Jane asked with fake cheer as she made her way over to the fridge.
Neither of her sisters answered.
Her parents had hated Mondays—and early on had established a family tradition by starting the week with a home-cooked breakfast. Jane had kept the tradition alive—long after she suspected that she was the only one who cared about the tradition.
And then one Monday she’d poured them all cereal, thinking she was too tired to keep up the tradition no one else seemed to care about. Her sisters cried.
It was horrible.
Manipulative, yes.
But also horrible.
Everyone mourned in their own way; it didn’t matter that their dad had been gone a few years already, and their mother longer. It was still hard to be without them. Sometimes it was the only thing Jane thought she had in common with her sisters—their sadness over the loss of their parents.
Sighing, she quickly made the eggs and fried some turkey bacon.
“Finally,” Essence grumbled, swiping the bacon off the plate. Her bleached hair was pulled into a knot on top of her head. “Can you stop off at the dry cleaners and pick up my clothes?” She slid a receipt across the table.