Page 48 of Into the Woods

“I absolutely do,” I agreed with a laugh. “We don’t get to choose who we grow up with.”

“Spoken as though from experience,” he replied, his hands tightening for a moment on my waist.

I shrugged. “I’m Malcolm Whittier’s only child. You’d be surprised by the things—and people—that I know.”

He hesitated just for a heartbeat. “Oh?”

I patted his chest, hoping that I was infusing the right amount of mystery into my words. Enough to make him curious. “Of course.” A coy smirk lifted my lips. “Every year we used to vacation with—” I cut myself off with a giggle. “It doesn’t matter.”

His arms slid around my waist, pulling me closer. “Actually, I’d love to know about how you grew up. I’ll admit, I have heard of your father. Then again, most of the world runs on computer chips manufactured by Whittier Corp.”

I resisted the urge to shudder. “I’m well aware. I swear, growing up my dad and his friends would have dick-measuring contests based on whose business did the best that year. If I had to listen to Kent Westford brag about another hotel opening, or what nuclear conflict General Woods stopped in Iran, I would go crazy.”

“Sounds positively tedious,” Eric mused as the valet pulled up with his car. “Shall we?”

I nodded and stepped out of his embrace, smothering the urge to shake off my nerves as I moved toward the car. Eric opened the door for me and waited until I was situated inside to close it and move around to the driver’s side. I watched as he tipped the valet and exchanged an easy smile with the man before sliding behind the wheel. He flashed me a grin and then pulled into traffic.

Holding my purse on my lap, I watched the facades of buildings and shops blur past while trying to come up with something to say to bring up the auction again. Something to make him give away some detail that might help Court.

“General Jasper Woods?” Eric’s question came so suddenly that I thought I’d imagined it.

But when I turned my head, he was glancing at me, his brow furrowed.

I smiled. “One and the same. I’m surprised you know him. Or do you make it a habit to keep up with the American military rankings?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Not quite, but we are… acquainted.”

“So you’ll be meeting with him while he’s in town?” I kept my gaze as neutral as possible.

Eric’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his fingers unfurling and closing around the steering wheel.

Fuck it. Gamble big, win big, right? That was a saying?

I made an ah-ha sound. “I mean, it makes sense. The auction.”

His gaze whipped to me so fast the car swerved. I gasped and threw out a hand to the dash for support. Several cars honked behind us, tires squealing as the evening traffic tried to avoid collisions. Finally, Eric got it together enough to pull over, idling near an upscale lingerie boutique.

“You know about the auction?” His voice was low, controlled.

I barely held back the urge to swallow as I met his gaze, stunned by the blazing intensity. Slowly, I arched a brow. “Did you miss the part where I said my father is Malcolm Whittier? The same Malcolm Whittier who created the cybersecurity systems currently used by men like General Woods?”

God, this was such a gamble. My heart was pounding in my chest like a war drum, and if Eric decided he wanted to hold hands now, he’d find my palms dripping with sweat.

He still looked skeptical.

I shrugged one shoulder and studied my nails. Hopefully he was buying my I-don’t-give-a-damn bravado. “The only reason I even know about the auction is because Daddy is missing Mémé’s eightieth birthday celebration.” I rolled my eyes with a dramatic flair as the lie slid off my tongue like ice. “Business.”

“But the auction is two days after her party,” Eric pointed out. “Wouldn’t he have time?”

Holy shitballs.

He’d told me the goddamned date and it was in less than a freaking week!

Stay calm, Bex.

“Uh, he usually would, but he’s finishing up some other deals and the timing is just off.” I winked at Eric. “Honestly I think it’s because he can’t stand to be around my mother. And seriously, I’m so sick of them fighting. It’s easy to see why she filed for divorce, but it’s about eight years too late. It’s a shame, because my grandparents still think of him as their son.”

Total lie. I’d hear Papa ranting about how Dad had never been good enough for his baby girl. If Dad showed up at the party—which he definitely had not been invited to—Papa would probably punch him.

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