Page 116 of Bad For A Weekend

I find her door and knock. It doesn’t take long for her to open, her smile fading when she sees it’s me in the hallway. She would’ve known that had she bothered to ask.

“Is this how you do things now? You let up anyone without a thought as to who it could be? Last time I checked, your dad is still your dad, meaning people are still out to get you.”

“Hi, Owen,” she says in a snippy tone.

“I can’t believe after everything you’ve been through, you wouldn’t be more careful.” I push past her and walk inside.

“Sure. Come on in.”

But I don’t hear her snark. My mind is too centered on the fact that she’s not being safe. “You’re lucky it was me.”

“Am I?” She folds her arms, and for the first time since the door opened, I realize she’s wearing a killer dress. It’s lime green with spaghetti straps, cut-outs on the sides of her torso, and overlapping fabric across her hips and thighs. Her teal hair is done in loose curls and perfectly complements the color of the dress. She has nude heels on that make her short legs appear long, and she smells like a goddess.

I swallow. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Her scowl stays fixed in place. “For your information, I was expecting someone. This was the first time in three years I didn’t ask who it was, but I couldn’t get my dress buttoned, and I was frazzled.”

I soften my tone. “You can’t do that. You can’t let your guard down for even a minute, Baylor.”

“You don’t think I know that? It was one mistake. I’m not perfect.”

“You have to be with your safety. You have to be perfect.”

The thought of someone like one of the Story brothers finding their way up here makes my skin crawl.

“If you’re done scolding me, I have plans.” She motions to the door.

“What plans?”

“None of your goddamn business, Owen.” Her brows furrow as we stare each other down. She breaks first. “If you must know, I have a date.”

Like hell.

“Cancel it,” I demand.

Her eyes widen at my audacity. “I can’t even believe you right now. You disappear for three years.Threefucking years and you expect me to drop everything I have going on because you want to talk?”

“Yes.” I’m being irrational and rude. She should turn me away, but I’m too lost in my irritation to stop now.

“Leave, Owen. Now.” The cell clutched in her hand rings, and she holds it to her ear. After greeting the caller, there’s a pause, and she says, “Send him up. Thank you.”

“Is that your date?”

“It is, and I’d like it if you weren’t here when he arrives.”

Realizing there’s no recovering the damage I’ve done, my shoulders slump, and I walk to the door. The envelope I’m holding grabs my attention. I nearly forgot to give it to her.

“I came here to give you this.” I hold it out.

“I’m not interested.” Her eyes glisten, and it’s like a kick to the gut. I did this to her. I made her cry. Again.

“Please. Just read it. If you want to talk to me after, I left my number in there.”

Still, her arms remain tightly folded, and she doesn’t so much as glance at it. I deserve that, but I’m hoping the temptation will be too strong once I’m gone, so I set it on an end table.

“You really do look beautiful,” I say, then turn and leave, hearing the click of the door latching, followed by locks engaging. Good girl.

Before I can press the call button for the elevator, the doors open, revealing who I can only assume is the date. His neck cranes as he looks up at me, which fills me with male satisfaction that I could kick his ass if I wanted. I won’t. But I could.

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