Page 8 of On the Rocks
“I’m good, but thanks.”
I swear he smothers a laugh before his face falls passive again. Pretty sure he’s making fun of me. Probably thinking how I’m still doing this whole boss/employee relationship wrong. Which is truer than I like to admit. “Thanks again for your help earlier. I know all those pots were really heavy.”
“No problem.”
He seems to relax a bit once we’re in the elevator, without the other men watching. Shame washes through me. I don’t mean to get anyone in trouble. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to when Drake’s gone and my own work is finished.
“Your flowers look nice.”
“Thanks!” I’m an imbecile to be so pleased by his lukewarm compliment. But I was pretty excited too how they turned out. My first time building an open-air lanai on a roof before. I hope Drake likes it too. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure…”
His expression contradicts with his answer. I know I’m pushing too far, but I really need his help. “I want to get Drake a grill to make it seem like we’re in a backyard. I’ve got it all picked out already, I just need a way to get it. Would you take me? Please?”
I really am asking too much. Because going shopping without telling Drake means Butcher has to lie. Risking getting in trouble for me. But he’s been so helpful, it’s hard not to ask for just more favor.
“You know you can have it delivered.”
No, I didn’t know. I’ve never really bought anything new before. I’ve taken what I’ve been given. “Oh.”
His head tilts as his lips purse together. Pity. I know that look well. Abundantly clear I don’t belong in this world. Don’t understand the ways of the wealthy.
He sighs, shifting on his feet, and runs his hand across the tips of his still damp hair. At war with himself based on the argument playing out on his face.
“Hey, listen, don’t feel bad. Once it’s here, I’ll help you get it upstairs while he’s at work and then you can surprise him. Okay?”
The most he’s ever spoken to me. Well, since the last time Drake chewed him out anyway. He’s trying hard to make this work too. Or at least a little less awkward. Even if it’s only because he feels sorry for me, I’ll still take it. “Okay, thank you!”
A sharp ding signals we’ve arrived, and eagerness partners with my elation from Butcher's agreement, as I step into the elegant lobby. Sleek and sophisticated, with clean lines of glass and stone. Utterly masculine like the loft. Like Drake.
I trace over the thick metallic placardDeveraux Design+Buildwhile Butcher taps in the code on the key pad. Proud my husband created this company himself from the ground up despite his father’s wealth and influence. Inspired too for him to have the confidence to be this successful without anyone else’s help.
Butcher holds the door, gesturing for me to go first. Maybe his small smile signifies the fading of his normal impatience with me.
Leanna, the receptionist, gives me an apprehensive glance before returning her attention back to the burly man pounding his index finger on the desk top.
“I want to see Drake, and I want to see him now!”
“He’ll be with you in just a moment, sir. May I offer you a coffee or bottled water while you wait?”
Ignoring her, he follows her line of sight over his shoulder and turns on his heel to face me. “Who’s this?”
She gives me a tight smile. There’s a message imbedded in her agonized expression although I can’t figure out what.
“Senator McAdams, this is Mrs. Deveraux.”
A smirk and extended hand greets me. Goosebumps cover my suddenly freezing skin, and I can’t hold back a shiver. It feels like the devil himself touches me. Yet, I must remain polite. Be the wife Drake deserves. “Please call me Trinity.”
“Trinity?” His gaze scrapes over me like sandpaper. Sharp and abrasive. “Father, son, and the holy ghost?”
He tugs me closer. Too close. I’m fearful of Butcher, but even more frightened of this intimidating man who doesn’t seem to like me. I swallow hard and try to slide my fingers out of his painful grasp, which makes him chuckle.
“I bet Drake calls for God himself with a woman like you in his bed.”
I’ve heard crude comments all my life. Dirty men are often the most vocal. But his whisper steals my breath and the remaining courage I thought I had. I glance over at Butcher. Always waiting and watching. Ready to act. But this time the bodyguard does nothing. Which, in the past, is what I wanted. But now I desperately need Butcher to do everything to save me from him.
Only a blur flashes out of the corner of my eye before McAdams is yanked away from me by the force ramming into him. The congressman slams against the reception desk, toppling the decorative blocks stacked on the corner. His eyes blazing from fear with Drake’s hands around his neck.
