Page 16 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

“It’s not mysterious,” she says. “It’s just hard to explain. I have some random things I want to accomplish, that’s all.”

I nod slowly, intrigued in spite of myself. “All right. We can do my sightseeing, and then we can start transforming you into the most accomplished lady on this side of the Rockies.”

“If we’re going to do this, I want to be the most accomplished lady on all sides of the Rockies,” she says. “Go big or go home. And also,” she adds, “stop trying to sound friendly and charming. You’re holding me against my will.”

“When I hold a woman, it’s never against her will,” I say with a grin.

India groans. “No, Felix. That was horrible. Tell me honestly—do you sit and think of these lines, or do they come naturally?”

My grin just widens. “I am blessed to have a mind that generates such beauties on the spot.”

“And you give them as unstudied an air as possible, I suppose,” she mutters.

I blink. “What?” Then I shake my head. “The point is,” I say loudly when she begins to interrupt, “I’m not holding you hostage. I’m just motivating you to work with me, that’s all.”

“Blackmail,” she says. “You’re a blackmailer. How did you even find out about the Pageant Incident?”

“That’s for me to know and younotto know,” I say, unlocking my SUV with a little click. “Now let’s figure out a time to meet up. When and where are good for you?”

“Depends on what you have in mind,” she says, her voice grudging now. “I don’t have a ton of extra time to drive all over Colorado. I have errands to run and work to do. I’m more free on the weekends, I guess.”

“That’s fair. What do you need to do this evening?” I ask her. “Want to meet up and go together, and I can pick your brain on some local hotspots? Then maybe this weekend we could check a few of them out?”

“You’re in that SUV, right? That would be perfect, actually,” she says. “I need to drop Betsy off at the shop. Is your back empty?”

I rack my brain, trying to figure out who Betsy is—do they have a pet they’re getting rid of?—but then India speaks again, clearly taking pity on my confusion.

“My bike,” she says. “Betsy is my motorcycle.”

“Oh, that makes more sense.” I glance in the mirror. “My back seat and trunk are clear, but I don’t know if a motorcycle will fit.”

“If we loosen the mirrors, I think we’ll be fine,” India says, and I shrug, turning my attention to the road and heading out of the parking lot.

“We can try,” I say. “I’m leaving work right now, but once I get home I’m free any time. I need groceries too, if you want to do that after the bike.” The words pop out before I can stop them, but I don’t want India to think it’s a weird suggestion. Getting groceries together is a strangely intimate thing to do, which I’m only just realizing. “Sorry,” I add. “Never?—”

“That would be great,” she cuts me off, and my brows jump in surprise. But she just goes on, “Juliet depleted a lot of our stores yesterday.”

Huh. I guess we might become the type of friends who get groceries together. I didn’t expect that level of comfort from India, but I do like it. Having someone who’s willing to do the tedious, mundane things with you is refreshing. Those are the best relationships—the ones free of pretense or the need for entertainment.

Interesting. Very interesting.

“Let’s do that, then,” I say with a nod. “I’ll be ready soon.”

“That’s fine,” she says, sounding unconcerned. “Swing by and pick me up when you get back, or after whatever you need to do. Freshen up and whatnot.”

“The need to freshen up implies that I amnotfresh, which doesn’t happen.”

“Of course. You’re a perfect human specimen who never sweats or gets gross or uncomfortable in office clothes.”

I glance down at my khaki pants and button-up shirt. “I’ll change before I head over.”

“Mm-hmm,” she says in a knowing way. “Text me when you’re here.” There’s a little click, and then she’s gone, without saying goodbye.

A snort of laughter escapes me, but it dies quickly, and I sigh.

I should probably tell Cyrus I’m doing this with his beloved little sister. As soon as I reach my place, I text him instead of calling—because I’m a coward, but also because his work day is longer than mine.

Me

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