Page 41 of The Bad Wedding Date

“I’d rather give you the money,” I said, but we both knew it was a lie. I had no money, and looking up at Fraser this way, I also had no desire to say goodbye to him forever.

“Fuck your money,” he said calmly. “Show me your grit instead.”

Blowing out a breath, I looked past him to the revolving doors of The Savoy, my shoulders sinking. “Why are you doing this for me?” I looked up at him with obvious wonder and sorrow in my eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. Why do you care?”

Fraser’s intense gaze made my skin prickle before he ran a thumb down my arm and said, “I wish I knew.”

* * *

We were in the elevator of the hotel, neither one of us talking as Fraser pressed the button, and we began to climb. I didn’t pay attention to what floor we were heading to, and when Fraser pulled out his phone and began typing away on it, I took the opportunity to do the same.

Me: Jonah. Wedding horrendous. Code Red bad. Worse than we predicted or imagined it could be. Did meet hot guy in nice suit, though. Swoony, if not a little bossy. Okay. A lot bossy. Heading upstairs with him now. This is thanks to an emotional breakdown after Emmie threw a drink over me. If this is a bad decision, tell me now. I’m placing my life in your hands.

Fraser cleared his throat beside me, and when I glanced his way, he was smirking down at his phone, lost in his own conversation with someone.

Maybe he was one of those wolves he’d been trying to warn me about.

My gut instinct told me that wasn’t true.

Me: Okay, Jonah, I’m taking your silence as approval. If you don’t hear back from me by morning, I’ve probably been tortured, maimed, and my body disposed of in cheap carrier bags throughout the land. Remember that, although I loved you, I died a little bit pissed at you for putting me in this situation. I’ll try and keep my haunting to a bare minimum.

Fraser huffed out another laugh while he shook his head down at his phone.

“Something amusing?” I asked.

His eyebrows bounced, and when he looked at me, he took my breath away.

“Nope. You okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Ask me again once I know why you’re taking me skyward.”

“Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

“Pretty sure that’s what a serial killer would say to lure his victims in.”

“You’re entirely too suspicious of me and entirely too naive of everyone else.”

The elevator pinged open, and Fraser gestured for me to step out. I did, and then he led the way to a suite. Pulling a card out, he flashed it over the door and pushed it open, revealing a room that was far too grand for ninety-nine percent of the British population.

I stepped through it in awe anyway. I’d grown up around money. I’d had it shoved so far down my throat, I could taste it with every meal, but that never stopped me from appreciating quintessential English interior design at its absolute finest, and this place had that in spades.

“Is this your room?” I asked, entering a small living room area, with an obvious king-sized bedroom to the left and another small study area to the right.

“For now.” The door clicked shut behind him.

“You must be some real big-wig around these parts. What do these places cost? About a thousand a night?”

“Try three.”

“Wow. That’s more than I earn in a month.”

“Your point being?”

“You’re rich.”

“Would it make you hate me if I was?”

“Why would I hate you?” I scowled.

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