Page 94 of Savage

Hunter shakes his head, frowning. “No. Go to the bedroom and wait.” He gets up and heads for the door. I don’t need another order; I don’t want to see anyone else.

I don’t need anyone else except Hunter.

There’s only one problem: I hear the oven timer go off once I’m in the bedroom. I also hear Hunter talking to somebody, and it doesn’t sound like he’s going to get the bread out of the oven.

I fidget with the strings of the apron, biting my bottom lip. I don’t want to upset him, but I don’t want to burn the food, either. I take a deep breath and quickly shimmy into my jeans and sweater before heading out into the living room. “Sorry,” I say, anxiously glancing at Hunter before darting into the kitchen. “Bread. I’ll be two seconds.”

I pull the bread out of the oven, sighing in relief when it looks like it’s supposed to. The crust formed nice and evenly, and it has a wonderful golden hue. I set the bread onto the wire rack for cooling, itching to cut into it even though I know it needs to cool for at least ten minutes.

“Oh my god,” a woman says, far too close.

I jump, turning quickly to face her, and I can feel my cheeks paling as I recognize Hunter’s sister Bethany standing right there. I stare at her for several seconds before looking to Hunter in a panic.

He looks so annoyed that I almost shrink back, but with how often he’s been drilling into my head to stand straight, I manage to keep myself standing tall.

Bethany is less dressed up today than the last time I’d seen her, but I don’t have to know who she is to realize she’s rich. The luxury brand handbag hanging on her arm is probably there less as a functional item and more to let everybody know that she’s worth a lot. The shoes—and she didn’t take them off when she stepped inside—probably cost more than I’d have made in a year at a regular job, let alone Ntimacy.

“I should have taken that bet,” Bethany says, giving me a sharkish smile. “Jacob thought she’d be gone by the end of the week.”

“I don’t need a new woman every week like him,” Hunter snaps at her. “Now get out. I was enjoying a quiet evening.”

Bethany ignores him and circles around the kitchen counter to stare at the bread. “Oh, I bet.” She takes a deep breath. “Smells good. Did you keep her because she’s domesticated?”

Keep her. Domesticated.

Does this whole family think of people as possessions?

I stay quiet, swallowing hard and trying not to look at Hunter’s irritated expression. I don’t know whether he’s pissed off that his sister showed up unannounced or that I appeared without permission—probably both—and I don’t want to make things worse.

“Stef is staying here because I want her to.” Hunter motions toward the door. “Now, go before I tell Mother—”

“Oh, that’s why I’m here,” Bethany interrupts. She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a small envelope. “Your invitation. Delivered by hand, so you can’t pretend it got lost in the mail.”

Hunter takes the envelope from her, scowling the entire time. As he reads, his brows furrow even deeper. “Is this a joke?”

“Nope. And, I quote Mother, this is a mandatory family event. Apparently, it’s just sad that our family has grown so far apart.” Bethany meets my eyes. “I’m not sure plus ones are included, though.”

The slow cooker timer beeps, announcing that the roast has been going for six hours.

Hunter ignores it and tosses the invite back at Bethany, but she doesn’t even attempt to catch it. “I’m too busy. I’m not flying to Hawaii just on her whims.”

Hawaii. On a whim.

I could never have even dreamed of such a thing.

But I don’t want to go anyway. Even if I did want to spend time with Hunter’s family—and I absolutely do not—a trip to the beach would necessitate a swimsuit… which would mean my wrists would be exposed.

“You have four months to prepare. Rearrange your schedule, because she won’t take no for an answer.” Bethany glances at the slow cooker. “Let’s have dinner, shall we?”

She strides over to the dining room table, which has already been set for two people, and takes the seat that would have been mine. After setting her handbag down, she pours herself a glass of wine.

I look helplessly in Hunter’s direction. I don’t know if I should get an extra plate or if he’s going to order her to leave again, but for fuck’s sake, I can’t serve homemade pot roast to his sister. I don’t even know if it’s going to taste good, or if it’ll be tender, or if it’s just too low brow for someone who probably eats foie gras and truffles every night.

Hunter’s hands are balled up into fists. He glares at Bethany, but she meets his gaze head-on.

“I’m starving,” Bethany says with a pointed smile. “And you know I can get so hangry. I might make phone calls somebody might regret. Not me, I wouldn’t regret them. But you might.”

“Fine,” Hunter growls. He goes over to the drawers to get another set of cutlery. “I really don’t need my own sister blackmailing me too.”

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