Hope was about all I had left. I hoped we wouldn’t talk about it. I hoped I could just break this off. I hoped I could go back to San Diego and forget all about him.
I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine, turning to stare at the side of the building. Was it wrong that a part of me hated it? A part of me regretted having booked Allie’s party there. Maybe a quiet night at the movies at home like she’d originally wanted would have been best.
No, there was no maybe about it. It would have been for the best. I was such a stupid idiot for not listening.
Even if I’d ended up coming to Vegas in Michelle’s place for this job, I didn’t think the outcome would have been the same. I wouldn’t have known anything about West Rykman. I didn’t know a huge amount as it was, and I was glad. I wished I’d never asked questions.
I wished I’d never asked about Charlotte or his family. I wished I’d never heard Beck tell me stupid stories from their childhood. I wished I’d never asked him to go to Allie’s wedding with me.
I wished I could go home. It’d only been two days since I’d been with all of my girls, but I felt like I needed their strength in this stupid-ass situation.
Why did the crappy stuff always happen when you were alone?
A van pulled up in front of the club as I got out of my car, my purse hooked over my shoulder. Was that the fliers already? We’d known about the color schemes for Lili’s cocktails, so I’d photo shopped pictures of cocktails onto the designs before West ordered them on Sunday afternoon. How were they already printed?
“Mia O’Halloran?” the van driver asked, sizing me up.
“Uh, yes. Can I help you?”
“I have a bunch of boxes for you, care of a West Rykman. Sign here please.” He thrust a device with a small, plastic pen at me and tapped the box for my signature.
I took it and scribbled in the box, a little dumbfounded. Why would my name have been put on them, not his?
They couldn’t have been the fliers, but there was nothing else I knew of that could have possibly been coming for me.
“Anyone in there who could help me with this?” The guy waved toward the club. “I got ten boxes, darlin’.”
“Oh.” I looked at the parking lot, finally paying attention. Both Beck’s and West’s cars were there. “Sure. Let me grab them a minute for you.”
“Thanks.” He put the device in the front seat and pulled a box of cigarettes out.
Nice to know my inability to help him lug the boxes in was providing in a smoke break. I hoped he choked on it, lazy bastard.
“Hey, Vicky,” I said, catching sight of her almost as soon as I walked through the club. “Are West and Beck here? I think the fliers have just been delivered and the van driver needs a Snickers.”
She snorted on the water she’d been sipping and put her glass down. “They’re upstairs. Want me to call?”
“Oh... No, it’s okay. I’ll go up. If it’s the fliers, I’ll need the floor space to sort them.” I smiled and walked through the door that linked to the stairs, brushing off the memory of West pulling me through it last night. Those kinds of thoughts weren’t going to help me.
“I just think—” Beck’s voice traveled through the open door, making me pause.
“Forget it, Beckett,” West said sharply. “Give it a rest.”
I lightly rapped my knuckles against the door after a moment. “Hello?”
“Mia.” West got up from the sofa.
I pushed the door open. “Hey—I think the fliers just got delivered. The van driver said there’s ten boxes. He seems pretty intent on some help.”
Beck pushed up off the sofa and stretched his arms over his head. “I’ll go give him a hand,” he said, passing me.
“Great. I want to check that they’re all there before he leaves.” I turned to follow him, but West snatched my hand and pulled me back.
Tingles shot up my arm from where he had a hold on my hand, and I had to swallow hard as I looked up into his bright-blue eyes.
He kicked the door shut so hard that it slammed, and then he touched the backs of his fingers to my cheek. “Why did you leave like that last night?”
Okay. I guessed we were talking about it.
Damn it.
“Doesn’t matter.” I stepped away from him, but he pulled me right back, this time clasping an arm around my waist so I really couldn’t move.
“Mia,” he said in a low voice, his breath skittering across my mouth. “Tell me why you left so quickly.”
“I said it doesn’t matter. I was tired and overwhelmed by all the people. I needed to leave. Now, please let me go, because there’s work to do.” I tried to get out of his grip.
I couldn’t.
It was like stone.
He wasn’t letting me go until he was ready to.
“Did I do something?” he questioned, concern in his gaze.
“No.” That was a big, fat lie. “I just told you why I left.”