Page 84 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

Khalohn frees a sigh, triggering Porter to switch tactics.

His eyes drift over Jessica and a mischievous smile plays across his lips. “You know what else would be good for business? If you showed up with a stunner on that arm of yours. Bring your girl,” he says, jerking his chin in her direction. “Bet you’ll find the gala more bearable with the right company. Besides—nothing cheers a woman up like a new gown and a night to show off, am I right?”

Khalohn’s body grows stiff at the suggestion. Jessica feels it, but she’s not sure what to react to—Porter thinking a fancy party will cheer her up, or Khalohn bristling at the idea of taking her to a party.

“Careful,” Khalohn grumbles.

Porter is not deterred. “TheKhalohn Morgan with a gorgeous brunette on his arm? You’ll makePage Sixheadlines.”

Jessica’s eyes close in a slow blink. Their conversation is information overload. She wonders if he’s serious. Just the thought that she could end up in a tabloid is absolutely outrageous to her.

“Hey,” murmurs the man in her arms. Jessica forces her head up before Khalohn continues, “I would never ask that of you.”

“You’d never ask me to a party?”

His arm glides from her shoulders down to her waist, his grip tightening as he replies, “As my date? Yes. As my arm candy? No.”

Jessica considers this. Peeking over at Porter, she recognizesthisis what Khalohn is sacrificing for her. Not merely a night out with the man who claims to be his only friend—but a networking opportunity that’s important to men like him.

“If it’s important, you should go,” she tells Khalohn. Drawing in a breath, she steels herself to add, “And if you want me, I’ll be your date.”

“Jessica—”

“See? It’s settled,” Porter exclaims with an obnoxious clap.

Khalohn glares at the man before informing Jessica, “We’ll discuss it later.” He doesn’t give her a chance to respond as he pulls away from her, looks back at his broker and states, “If that’s all you came for, I’ve got a meeting. I’ll see you out.”

A crooked smile lights up his eyes, and he signals his acquiescence with a nod. As he and Khalohn make their way toward the elevator, he calls out, “I’ll see you Friday, gorgeous.”

Jessica is still trying to sort through the finer details of all that just happened when Khalohn returns to the kitchen. He goes straight to his French press, pushing down on the knob to separate what is now the coffee from the grounds.

“Would you like some?” he asks, turning to grab a mug.

“Please.” She watches him pour them each a serving and then tells him, “I meant what I said about the gala. I know you’re a busy man. I know this week you’ve beenlessbusy because of me. I won’t pretend I can give back what you’ve given me, but I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Actually…”

She pauses, an acidic feeling swelling in her belly asrealitysettles there. Among the things she’s been avoiding are her financial responsibilities. Nothing has been easy as she’s waded into life as an orphan; but shoving aside what she’s certain will be her money problems has definitely been easier than addressing them.

“We should probably talk about that. I mean, what I owe you. I know you paid for mom’s funeral. She had life insurance at her old job, but when they let her go—”

“Jessica, look at me,” he demands.

He says the words, and she realizes how intently she’s staring down into the black liquid of her mug. When she forces her gaze up to find his, the hard expression in his eyes causes the burn in her stomach to intensify.

“You do not owe me for your mother’s funeral. And since we’re on the topic, the hospital debt she incurred over the course of her three-week stay, that’s been settled, too.”

Shock hits her like a jolt, and she rocks back a step as she gasps, “What?”

“I took care of it.”

“I—no, I—I can’t let you do that. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s done.”

“Look,” she starts and then she stops. Letting go of her coffee, she takes hold of her side with one hand, using her other to rake her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face. She keeps a tight hold of the strands, as if doing so will help her hang on to her emotions, keeping her from falling into hysteria. “I get it. I get that you’ve got lots of money and you’re trying to be nice—but you didn’t even know her. You never met her. And if you did—I told you. I told you about her, so you know I mean it when I say—she wouldn’t want your handouts. She wouldn’t, and I can’t—Khal, just tell me how much I owe you.”

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