Page 69 of Surrender
He finally makes eye contact with me, and I can see that he’s registering the hurt look on my face. His hand reaches under the table and squeezes my knee. “Because I already have a suit.”
“Which one?” I ask, nervous that he’s going to wear something he’s worn before. I know it’s crazy, but he should not be re-wearing a suit for a red carpet event. The press will notice and call him out on it. He pays me to prevent that from happening.
It has to be what we’re doing together that’s making him feel like he can’t ask me for anything. This is deeply upsetting because he swore our working relationship would remain the same.
His hand moves up to my inner thigh as he states firmly, “I’m wearing the one you made.”
“Made?” Brandi and Hobo echo each other.
I can feel their surprised eyes on me, but I can’t look at them. Instead, my eyes are locked on Gareth’s, who’s looking annoyingly indifferent. “What do you mean?” I ask, my voice sounding far away for some reason.
“The suit you made me a couple weeks ago. I haven’t worn it anywhere yet. I figured it’d be perfect for the event.”
“I didn’t know you are a designer, too,” Brandi states, clearly impressed.
I continue to ignore her. “Gareth, you should wear designer. Not mine.”
“I don’t need designer,” he scoffs, tightening his grip on my leg. “I love the suit you made. I tried it on and it fits perfectly. I want to wear it. End of.”
“Not end of,” I bark and shove his hand off my leg. “This is a big deal. There will be press, a red carpet, media asking who you’re wearing.”
“Just tell me what to say then.” He flinches as a thought pops in his head. “In fact, you can go with me and tell them yourself.”
“Go with you as what?” I am so shocked, I don’t know what end is up. I just found out a famous athlete is going to wear my suit on a red carpet. This is the kind of thing that aspiring designers only dream of, but it’s a dream that I’ve locked away inside a vault of pre-Sophia life goals. Not to mention Gareth Harris is never seen with women!
“My date, of course.” Gareth turns his eyes from me and faces Hobo and Brandi while taking a sip of water.
“I’m not sure that would be appropriate,” I grind out through clenched teeth. What’s he trying to do here?
I swear I see Hobo and Brandi eating popcorn from the other side of the table as Gareth and I have this non-fight right in front of them.
“Fuck what’s appropriate,” Gareth scoffs. “If I don’t take you, I’ll have to take someone else. I’d rather have a friendly face as my date.”
Anger simmers in my veins. Anger spliced with a dash of jealousy. Would I be okay with Gareth taking someone else? It would bother me for sure. Especially after Freya said every woman in England wants to have sex with him. But what is he trying to do? Our arrangement doesn’t include dating. It’s fucking. And him putting me on the spot in front of his friends is really maddening.
Gareth’s eyes are firm on mine, flaming with a look of determination that I’ve never seen on him. “It’s a great opportunity for you to get your name out there as both a designer and a stylist. You can network. It would be excellent publicity.”
“Gareth,” I state in a warning tone, my hands itching to strangle the smug look off his face.
“Sloan.” He says my name so deliberately, I know this is about a hell of a lot more than networking and publicity.
Hobo interjects. “It’s going to be a fun party at the very least. Come have a laugh with us. Brandi will be there with me and could use the support. She always hates the women my teammates bring to these events.”
Brandi groans her approval. “Oh my God, yes. You’d be a welcome breath of fresh air for all of us.”
I force a smile and silently agree to their insane request. I’m not about to fight with Gareth in front of his friends, but we’re certainly having words when we’re done here.
We finish our dinner with much more comfortable small talk. Then Gareth and I trail behind Hobo and Brandi as we all make our way out of the pub. We wave our goodbyes and part ways.
When we get to my car, Gareth snatches the keys from my hand.
“Um, excuse you, those are my keys.” I begin to argue and reach for the keys in his hand.
“You had wine, Sloan. I had water. I’m driving.”
With a frown, I slowly cross my arms over my chest and hold my place in front of the driver’s side door. “I had two small glasses of wine in two hours. I’m fine.”
Gareth’s gaze is serious as he looms over me, forcing me back against the door. “I’m not letting you put either of us in unnecessary danger. I’ll drive.”
