Page 9 of Show Me How
He watches me closely before adding, “Text whoever you need to and let them know where you are. Give them my name if it will make you feel more comfortable.”
“Can I give them your name when I don’t have it?” I blurt out, ignoring the realization that not only do I not have my phone, but even if I did, there wouldn’t be anyone I’d want to text.
“You can tell them you’re with Shade at Peakside in Cherry Peak. They’ll be able to find me if you mysteriously go missing, which you won’t.”
“Shade? That’s your real name?”
His chuckle is deep, almost a purr. “No, princess. But it’s the only name anyone here knows, and that includes you.”
The pet name grates. I narrow my eyes and snap, “Don’t label me.”
“Isn’t that what you did the moment you spotted me?”
“No,” I say, but it’s a weak attempt at a lie.
I deduced exactly what type of guy this Shade was from the moment I spotted him, and he damn well knows it too. Maybe I just didn’t expect him to do the same to me, or realized that I’d made it so obvious where I came from.
“Eat with me, and I’ll let you convince me you’re not who I expect you to be,” he suggests.
“And if I don’t care about what you think about me?”
“Then I’ll convince you to let me get some food into you another way.”
Pressing my lips together, I hold in a laugh. Really, what do I have to lose? At this point, the answer is not a damn thing.
“Okay. Fine, yeah. I could eat.”
4
SHADE
A princess. . . yeah, that’s what this woman is.
It wouldn’t be so easy to recognize it had she not been so obvious in her judgmental examination of the bar. The slight twitch of her nose, tightening of her eyes, and flattening of her lips as she gave the place a once-over gave her away. I’ve seen Bryce’s parents give my studio looks just like that, and considering they come from old money, I’m betting this woman does too.
Or I could be wrong. I’d love for that to be the case.
“You haven’t told me your name yet,” I murmur as I wait for her to hop onto the bar stool.
She stares at the bar, her fingers hovering over the edge of it as if she’s nervous it’s going to be sticky or something. Chomping down on my tongue, I guide her hand to it and pat the stool.
Her eyes flick between my hand and up to stare at me as her fingers curl around the rounded edge of the bar. “It’s Millie.”
“Millie,” I repeat, letting the two syllables dangle on the tip of my tongue.
With a slight inhale, she pulls herself onto the stool and twists away, her hands falling to her lap.
“Well, do you approve of it?” she asks tightly.
“It’s fitting.”
“Millie isn’t a princess name.”
“Are you agreeing with me, then?” I tease, taking the seat beside her. My beer is still there, but it’s warm. Hers, though, looks just fine, so I slide it over. “I ordered this for you when you got here. Got him to leave the cap on so you could take it off yourself.”
“No, I’m not agreeing with you. And I don’t like beer.”
I crook a brow. “Have you tried it?”
