Parker grins as he leads us down the hall, guards at our heels. “Terrible sense of direction, this one. Without me, she wouldn’t be able to find the front door of our condo.”
I grit my teeth in what I hope appears as a smile. “Thankfully, I have you to guide me, honey bee.”
“Mr. West, to be clear… you’re saying this woman is with you?” The female guard is frowning mightily as she trails behind us. “Because—”
“Of course she’s with me,” Parker says, coming to an abrupt stop. He pulls me closer until I’m practically fused to his side, my every curve plastered against the hard contours of his chest. I must admit, it’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling. “She wanted to stay home and watch The Real Housewives marathon but I simply couldn’t bear to be parted from my snookums for an entire night.”
That’s it. He’s a dead man.
“But sir—”
Parker’s demeanor shifts from playful to powerful so fast, it’s like a switch has been flipped inside him. He straightens to full height, his muscles go tense, and his voice adopts a thread of steel that was absent before.
“If you have a problem with my date, you’ll have a problem with me,” he says lowly. “WestTech is one of Mr. Lancaster’s most lucrative business partners, as I’m sure you’re aware. But if we’re going to be treated with suspicion and disrespect, maybe you should go get your boss.” He pauses and stares into the female guard’s eyes. “I have some of my own grievances I could air about his staff and their shortcomings.”
“Oh, no, sir,” the bitch backpedals quickly. “Of course not, sir. We meant no disrespect, you understand. Just doing our jobs.” She swallows. “Please, have a pleasant evening.”
“We will,” Parker says, cheerful once again. I find it somewhat alarming how fast he can shift gears from intimidating to exuberant. For the first time, I wonder if there’s something more to the playboy facade he puts on for paparazzi and the public.
I don’t dwell on the thought, because we’re suddenly moving again. This time, the guards don’t follow as we make our way down the hallway toward the ballroom. His arm remains tight around my shoulders even after we’ve left their line of sight.
When we reach the bathroom where I changed earlier, I dig my heels in and draw to a stop. He glances at me curiously, mouth parting to ask a question I don’t want to answer. Before he can say a word, I shove open the door, grab hold of his arm, and drag him in after me.
The door slams with finality, closing us together in the small space.
Breathe, Zoe.
I put as much distance between us as possible — which only amounts to about six feet, in the tiny bathroom. For a moment, we just stare at each other in silence.
With his hands shoved casually into his suit pockets and his tall frame leaning back against the door he looks totally relaxed, as if what just happened was no more interesting than the dinner party taking place thirty steps down the hall. His eyes though — they’re totally alert and keenly intelligent as they hold mine. I get the sense they don’t miss much.
“So,” he says softly, shattering the quiet. I go tense, waiting for the inevitable questions. The threats. The demands.
Who are you? What were you doing?
Tell me, or I’ll turn you in before you can say “twenty-five to life.”
I’ll keep your secret… if you make it worth my while…
I fight off a shudder and brace myself.
A tiny crease appears in the space between his eyes, like he’s mulling something over.
“I’m thinking there should be one of those giant floating balloons, now,” he murmurs. “Maybe a celebrity float. No one super famous, who’d overshadow me on my big day, obviously. Anthony Bourdain could work. I wonder if he’s free for private events…” He shrugs his shoulders. “If not, we’ll just go with two balloon floats.”
The whole time he’s talking, I feel my eyes getting wider.
He’s insane, I realize bleakly. Parker West is certifiably insane.
“Excuse me?” I manage, when I’ve finally regained control over my vocal cords.
“Balloons.” His head tilts and he looks at me like I’m the crazy one for not keeping up. “You know, like Macy’s has every Thanksgiving.”
I stare at him. “Are you having some kind of mental break, right now?”
“The parade. My parade. The one you promised me.” He pushes off the wall and takes a step toward me, narrowing the number feet between us to five. This close, I suddenly recognize the humor lurking at the back of his eyes. “I’m thinking it’s going to have to be pretty elaborate,” he says quietly. “Considering I’ve saved your ass twice now, snookums.”
“Don’t call me that.” I cross my arms over my chest, hoping it might muffle the sound of my heart slamming against my ribcage. “And, I will point out, I didn’t ask you to save me. Either time.”
“I didn’t ask to be this good looking.” He grins. “Things happen.”
“Humble, aren’t you?”
“Trouble, aren’t you?” he counters, taking another step toward me.
Four feet left.
“No,” I lie, heart still hammering.
His grin widens. He knows I’m full of shit.
“Too bad.” His eyes flicker to my mouth. “I’m rather fond of trouble.”