Page 7 of His Perfect Little Heirs

“I overshot the turn,” I finish softly.

“You have a Learner sign on your car, Miss. I shouldn’t have been on the side of the road. I should have been—”

“Considerate,” Clay grounds.

The man agrees with a nod. “Yes.”

“Now, be a good boy and tell her that you didn’t have your hazard lights on; therefore, it was your fault.”

“Yes,” he says, sweat gathering across his brows. “I didn’t have my hazards on. You probably couldn’t see me properly.”

This is surreal, but my panic has mellowed some. Pregnancy does that, too. A whirlwind. One minute you’re crying and the next, laughing. And I wipe the tears from my eyes, feeling better about this conversation. “That’s okay. We all forget things sometimes.”

“No. It is notokay.” Clay lifts his chin to the distance, dismissing the man—the Clay Butcher nod.“Leave.Now.”

The man jogs quickly to his car, his shoulders dropping with relief as he is allowed to climb back into his vehicle, unharmed but clearly rattled.

I arch an eyebrow at Sir. “That wasn’t fair.”

Something carnal with warning moves through his clear blue gaze. “Did your eyebrow just give me attitude, little deer?”

I relax my forehead. “Um..”

He drinks me in through slow lusty strokes, before adjusting his tie at his thick neck. “You heard the boy,”—he opens the car door and gestures with a nod for me to step from the driver’s side—"He didn’t have his hazards on.”

“He’s not really aboy—”

“To me, he is.” Clay darts his unamused gaze between me and the open car door he is silently signalling me through.

“Okay.” I crawl across the centre console and nestle into the seat, crossing my legs, unable to stifle my glee when he growls with frustration at still holding the door open.

“Are you being facetious on purpose, sweet girl?”

I bite my lip to hide my budding smile. “I don’t know what facetious means, Sir.”

He ducks into the driver’s seat and with a roar of the engine—a noise I didn’t know this car could make. “Purposely difficult. Treating serious situations with mockery.” He pulls out onto the quiet suburban street.

“Oh.” I smile harder. “Then yes. I am.”

* * *

We pull into a drop-off circle under the shelter of a grand canopy, where a man rushes to open Clay’s car door and take his keys. I sit and wait like a good girl.

Clay circles the car and opens my door. This time, I step from the vehicle, and he places his hand on my lower back to guide me into the store.

Immediately, I’m confused as we enter the large rectangular room that ends with an impressive, exposed-brick fireplace. It takes me a few moments to deduce we arenotin a restaurant because although there are tall, cushioned stools in dark leather and women and men drinking champagne at high marble counters, in front of them are glass display cases.

Each couple has an attendant, a pretty woman or handsome man showing them various pieces of jewellery.

Oh. My. God.

It’s a jewellery store.

Keep your cool, Fawn.

I stop midstride. “A jewellery store?” I touch the diamond-encrusted butterfly pendant around my neck, the strategically set spotlights overhead dancing inside the facets. “I have this. I don’t need an—” Then it hits me, but I’m too dazed to speak. I find myself walking with his assistance to a private room behind the fireplace.

It is a miniature replica of the larger room but with one case and two chairs. I approach the display. Inside the navy moulds are rings. Only four. Each with a different band, clasp, and setting. Two are solitaire. Two have smaller diamonds haloing the larger one. The central rock is the same size in each and the same shape. My pulse thrums along my neck.

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