Page 107 of Flaunt
I glance around the room until my gaze lands on Mr. Petterson. He’s standing by the fireplace with a group of men and subtly nods to me before returning to his conversation.
I sag in relief, leaning against Banks.
“Looks like my job here is done,” Banks says. There’s a levity in his voice that barely masks the hesitation.
My heart pulls. “Your work here, Mr. Carmichael, has just begun.”
He looks down and grins. “Is that so?”
“Dance with me?”
His smile softens. It’s the one he only uses for me. “I’d love to.”
22
Sara
“Lookslike my job here is done.”
We slip through the darkness quietly. No radio. No conversation. Just Betsy’s engine growling when Banks hits the gas. I rest my head on the seat, Banks’s hand on my thigh, and watch the moon hang in the sky.
Banks’s words from tonight echo through my mind. Although I disagreed and told him he’d just begun, the hesitation in his blue orbs remained. There was a faint edge of uncertainty through the night, through his smiles and jokes. As if he were right—his role as my fake fiancé was finished.
I cover his hand with mine, stroking his flesh with my thumb. He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze.
“What was your plan?”
“To make you want to be with me.”
The thing that scares me the most is that I believe him.
And it’s humiliating that I’m unsure how to handle his faith in me.
How could he possibly want to be with me? How is he so confident in assessing my character that he knows this for certain? How can he ensure I’m emotionally capable of handling a relationship?
Because I’m not sure. Not really.
But Banks seems to look at me, and he either doesn’t see my flaws or chooses to overlook them. That makes me nervous that I’ll slip up and prove him wrong.
And I don’t want to prove him wrong.
Even though I’ve only spent the past week in their orbit, I want to belong there. I want … I want what Ashley has, if I’m honest. I want the Carmichaels.
I want to be worthy of the Carmichael family.
I want them to want to include me in Christmas pictures and be proud to introduce me to their friends. I want so badly to share their inside secrets and jokes, and be on the receiving end of their pranks. I want to fit in with their brand of family more than I want my next breath.
“Big day tomorrow,” he says, his voice breaking the silence.
“Really? What’s going on?”
He smirks. “My brothers and I are racing.”
I pull my brows together. “Racing cars? Are you racing Betsy?”
He laughs. “No. We’re racing man to man. There’s a sign that measures your speed going out of town, and we’re all meeting there to see who is fastest.”
“And why would you do that?”
