Chapter 18
Jillian
MY MOTHER ALWAYS said, A good night’s sleep is like duct tape—it can fix almost anything. I laugh when I think about that now, because I’d bet my hefty trust fund she’s never been within ten feet of a roll of duct tape. I opened my eyes to soft blue light sneaking in through the slats of my plantation blinds.
My body begged for more sleep, but my mind refused. So up I sat, covers falling around my waist as I stretched and checked the time: six in the morning. I yawned and fell back against the down pillows, still warm from where I’d just been. It was Thanksgiving Day and, due to an odd turn of events, I was to spend it with Bennett Hanson. My heart did a little flip, and I didn’t even try to fight the smile that landed on my face at the thought of him.
Being around Bennett was like the thirteen-year-old me riding a roller coaster for the first time after eating a giant turkey leg, cotton candy, and a candied apple… exhilarating, yet sickening. But at the moment, exhilarating was winning. With plans to meet at nine, I had three hours and I wanted to look my best.
After my shower, I set my hair in hot curlers and applied my makeup with the utmost precision, even knowing that I’d probably end up on dish duty, where the humidity would make my face melt and my hair sag by the day’s end. I didn’t care, though. I felt different this morning—happier—like last night had been some sort of emotional test where Bennett was concerned and I’d passed. And been rewarded with the most precious prize. I paused, debating if I wanted to dive further into what I felt when Bennett was around, but the decision was made for me by a knock at the door.
What the hell? It was Thanksgiving. All my friends had gone home. I seriously contemplated not getting it. If ignored long enough, people tended to go away, but in the end my curiosity won out. I stomped down the stairs, throwing my robe on as I walked to the door. I jerked it open, intent on directing some poor lost soul in the right direction, but stopped short at the sight in front of me.
“Hey, beautiful.” Leaning against the doorframe, with an arrogance only a man with his level of confidence could pull off, was my soon-to-be betrothed.
Gareth, with his custom-fitted, double-breasted Calvin Klein suit. Gareth, with his wavy blond hair molded into the perfect shape by what I could only assume were multiple hair products. Gareth, who, before I could even think, was reaching out, grabbing at me and tugging the sash of my robe open as he yanked my now semi-naked body flush with his. Gareth, who held on with great force when I tried to extract myself from his roaming hands and his crushing grip.
“Wh-What are you doing here?” I managed to get away, only after he pushed his way in, his swagger reminiscent of Dean Martin and the rest of the Rat Pack. It was a performance—always a performance—even without an audience. I took a moment to straighten myself out as I moved further into the condo, Gareth hot on my heels.
“Well, that’s not the greeting I was expecting.” He leered, his deep brown eyes drinking me in, head to toe, when a shiver ran across my skin. But not the delicious kind. The repulsed kind. There was a time in my life I would have taken immense pride in the effect my body had on a man like Gareth Johnson, but it was becoming crystal clear that time had passed.
I backed up, stopped by an antique trunk I used as a coffee table, the cool brass hinges biting into the skin at the back of my knees. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms tight across my chest, shivering, but not from the cold. Finally comprehending my defensive stance, Gareth backed off, but he wasn’t happy about it. His head tilted to one side as he sized me up. A wrinkle formed between his brows, and that sharp jaw that couldn’t have been more perfect had it been chiseled from stone, clenched and unclenched as the second hand on the wall clock ticked a stress-inducing rhythm.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he spat, when the silence began to suffocate both of us.
“Me first. Why the hell are you here?” Wasn’t he supposed to be at the governor’s mansion, with MY parents? I’d called both my parents and him a few days ago, letting them know I had a school commitment I couldn’t get out of, so he knew not to expect me. Sure, I strategically planned my calls when I was certain I’d get the answering machines and was successful on both accounts, but still. He got the message. I know he did. So what was this about?
“Surprise! I came to steal you away.”
“What? Steal me away? I can’t just—”
“My dad’s jet is waiting at that weed-ridden concrete slab you call an airport.” I was already brutally shaking my head, scooting around the trunk to put more space between us. Gareth was a large man, both in height and width, and although he never took another step, I felt like every second we stood there he got closer and closer.
“Did you think I was kidding when I said I was needed here? Did you think that was a joke?” I was yelling, but didn’t really care anymore. His sneer was familiar, but it only appeared when he was trying to mask anger, or annoyance, or rage. I walked to my answering machine and listened to the one new message I’d ignored the night before.
Jillian, I think you misunderstood my invitation to celebrate Thanksgiving at the mansion. It wasn’t optional. My parents are not only hosting yours, but several people that will be pivotal in my bid for the senate, so get your ass in the car and get here.
He took a deep breath and took control of his tone, lowering the volume and removing some of the venom, but that was an act. The last part of his message was the part that mattered, and I heard it loud and clear, masked by a more cheery disposition.
My dear, this is not a request and in the future, this behavior will not be tolerated. I will expect you tonight. I love you.
The message stopped. I’d been staring at the machine as if it were a third person in the room, addressing me personally. But when I looked back up to meet Gareth’s eyes, the mask was gone and he was seething.
“No.” One word, one syllable, yet foreign to the man in front of me.
“Excuse me?” His words were unbelieving, and dripped with disgust.
“I said ‘no.’ It’s this word in the English language used to signify a negative response, but you’ve never heard that word before, have you?” I laughed, quick and sharp, more from nerves than from the humor I didn’t feel.
He was dumbfounded, mouth agape and eyes wide. For the first time in his privileged life, someone had the balls to stand up to him.
“Jillian, these people will be arriving at the governor’s mansion for cocktails in exactly,” he checked his horribly gaudy Tag Heuer watch, “four hours. And when they walk through the door, the first thing they will see is their future senator, with a beautiful, smiling blonde on his arm, looking at him with adoring eyes.”
And there it was. To him, I wasn’t a person. I was an item, a trophy to add to his collection. He needed me, though. He knew his conservative constituents had expectations. A family man is what he needed to be, not some entitled frat boy with an inferiority complex and his daddy’s American Express. They wanted a doting husband, with a pretty little wife, the house with the white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a top-of-the-line minivan in the driveway. And the only thing standing in the way of his twisted American dream? Me.
“Gareth, get out of my way, I have somewhere to be.” I pushed my way around him, heading toward my room to get dressed. I closed the door behind me, leaning up against it as I tried to wrap my brain around what had just happened. The quiet tap tap tap on my door prompted me to lock it.
I was disgusted and, had he not been born into Texas royalty, with people fighting at the chance to bow down at his feet, I would let him know how I really felt.
“Jillian?” he called softly, prompting an immediate and automatic eyeroll.
“What? I’m getting dressed.” I sounded more scared than annoyed. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. It’s like those people whose eyes change color depending on the color of their shirt. When they wear yellow, their eyes look green, but when they wear purple, their eyes are blue. I was the eyes… only my personality changed, depending on the man.
With Bennett, I was happy, friendly, and more relaxed than I’d been in my entire life. But with Gareth, I was this conceited, self important, uppity bitch. And that had been my way for twenty years. That was exactly what my mother bred me to be.
Tap, tap, tap.
I squeezed my eyes closed tight, wishing to be anywhere but here with him. Was I cut out for sixty more years of this man? I hadn’t really ever been given the choice, but as I imagined my future, the landscape of my life began changing. No more barren land with a flat, dead end road ahead, but something different. Something I’d never had before.
Choices.
Tap, tap, tap.
I shook my head, thinking about her, my mother, and what must be rolling around in her privileged, entitled head. Because anything less than perfect was viewed as a sin in her eyes. Growing up, I was a show pony—always on display. In reality though, I was ignored. Nonexistent. Interesting how Gareth has ignored me for months, but now that he needs a show pony, he’s flying a private jet into town to get me.
Tap tap tap again.
Damn it!
“Can you at least tell me where you’re going?” For a minute, he sounded like my Gareth, the one I adored, no, worshipped for most of my life. But was that Gareth even real? Just as I’d been bred for the country club set, he’d been bred for politics. He was a born chameleon.
I sighed, tossed my robe to the floor, and quickly threw on my underthings and my denim wrap dress. Yanking the door open, I rushed by to slip on my cowboy boots, not because that’s what I’d planned to wear, but because I was late and needed to get on the road. “I’m going to the Community Cafe.” I looked at the hook beside the front door, but it was empty. I ran back to my room, checked the bathroom, then my jacket pocket with no luck. Now was not the time for my keys to play hide-and-go-seek. Couldn’t I just catch a break?
After checking the kitchen with no luck, I turned the corner and there was Gareth. He stood by the door, tossing my keys in the air and catching them, a boyish grin plastered across his face. Another mask, I was sure of it.
“Well, I guess we’d better go,” he sang with a wink. My mother always said, You’ve got to pick your battles and you should only pick the ones you’re guaranteed to win. Holding the keys, he held all the power and it was time I admitted defeat. I stomped past him and out into the frigid air. The wind was strong, blowing my hair into my face, a few strands sticking to my lip gloss. He may have forced my hand in accompanying me to the cafe, but he wasn’t going to make me like it.
“Jillian, I don’t understand why you’re being so difficult. Why are you even associating with people like this?” I rolled my eyes as we traveled down the road. His choice of words struck me as funny and sad at the same time. Funny, because he was so out of touch with anyone earning less than a six-figure salary… and sad because I’d heard those words before in my own head. Had I sounded like this just a few months ago? I shook my head, already knowing the answer.
“This is where I do my community service. It’s in the agreement you bullied the DA into making for me. You remember, don’t you? The night I caught you trying to examine Lori’s tonsils with your tongue? The night you followed me from the party and chased me up a pole with your fancy new Ferrari? The night our baby died and I almost did too? Surely that fateful night hasn’t slipped your mind. God knows you reminded me about it for long enough.”
“It was a fetus, Jillian, not a baby. And I thought we agreed to leave the past in the past? You need to grow up. Anyway, I figured you’d work in an office or something, not play servant girl to lazy, penniless wretches.”
“It’s not like that, Gareth.” He pretended he didn’t hear me, but he did.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have a talk with the DA. Where’s your phone?” He was already reaching into the console between the seats to pull it out.
“What? No!” Moron. I tried to bat it out of his hand and he nearly steered us into a ditch, before pulling into the all too familiar parking lot in front of a little, run-down building I’d grown to love. He threw the car in park and turned to face me, phone in hand, dialing while he spoke.
“Stop being such a bitch, Jillian. I’m just leaving a message for Dad to let him know we’ve been detained. We must take off no later than eleven or we won’t make it and, well, that’s not acceptable.” He left a quick message with his father’s personal assistant, who apparently wasn’t allowed a holiday, then stuck the phone back in its hiding place.
“Alright, now let’s go in there so you can get this nonsense out of your system and we can get back to being us. I’ve missed you, Jillian.” From his lips, my name was vile. When he trailed one finger down the side of my face, the only skin visible and within his reach, a cold chill crept down my spine. I thought I might vomit. This was wrong… everything about him was wrong. Because with Gareth, I felt stunted by his stagnant disinterest in who I was as a person. I hadn’t realized how vital that was to my existence until meeting Bennett and I found that utterly terrifying. Things couldn’t go on the way they were, that was obvious. Gareth reached for the door handle and I screamed inside, knowing I was about to introduce a toxin into the purest part of my life.
My worst fears were confirmed when Bennett turned the corner at the exact moment Gareth unfurled his lanky body from the driver’s side of my car. “I thought you said the homeless people weren’t going to be here until later.” I froze. Gareth was a big personality, with a big booming voice that carried. Far. I had no doubt anyone within a two-block radius heard him, as I’m sure was his goal. He was the Bobby Fischer of intimidation.
“Jillian?” Tears pricked my eyes, and by closing them I could so easily picture the little boy, whose parents had just been taken away, scared and alone, wondering where he’d lay his head that night. Bennett’s voice was a mixture of curiosity, disappointment, and fear. And it was because of me. My heart cracked.
“Jillian, stop.” Gareth boomed. How was it that my name from one man’s mouth sounded like a song, and from another just seconds later, sounded like an expletive?
“What?” I continued to the sidewalk that lead to the cafe doors.
“No, Jillian. I said stop. Get behind me. Now.” Gareth’s words were clipped and harsh, more appropriate for a petulant child who was about to run into the street or touch a hot iron. Not for a grown woman. And he huffed in annoyance when I didn’t immediately comply, rounding the car to do what? Physically force me to move?
That’s when Bennett stepped up. “Hang on there, bud. If I know anything about this woman right here, it’s that she does what she wants, when she wants. And right now, it appears she doesn’t want to get behind you.”
Gareth’s chest started to puff out, reminding me of those bullfrogs that blew bubbles from their necks to make themselves look fierce, or a peacock preening his feathers. If he was trying to make himself look intimidating, he picked the wrong soldier to engage in a pissing contest.
Each step Gareth moved toward me, Bennett matched. Soon, I would be a Jillian sandwich, and while that would be a dream for the majority of my sorority sisters, it was becoming my worst nightmare.
“Both of you boys need to take a step back. Gareth, this is Bennett Hanson. He’s a student, as well as an army vet, and he volunteers with me.” Bennett offered his hand and Gareth growled as he took it with enough force to crush a can from the look of his white knuckles.
“Good to meet you Ben, I’m Gareth Johnson, Jillian’s boyfriend. And thank you for your service.” If Gareth’s utterance of our relationship status came as a surprise to Bennett, it sure didn’t show, as he shook the idiot’s hand like the strong, self-assured man he was.
“Good to meet you, too. Are you two here to volunteer… together?” His once bright golden eyes flickered to mine and he was that little boy again—so full of questions, but lacking the words to ask—and the fissure deepened, threatening to split my heart in two.
“Yeah, man. Apparently Jillian needs to get in there and put in her time, but we really need to get moving. My plane is waiting at the airport to take us to our family dinner and we can’t be late, right honey?” He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the crook of his arm, a place that used to bring me such comfort. Oh, what I would have given, just a few short months ago, to find myself wrapped in Gareth Johnson’s long, tanned arms. But a lot can change in a few months. Now his touch felt like fire ants under my skin. What was wrong with me?
Bennett held the door open as Gareth entered first, dragging me over the threshold behind him. I did all I could, short of flashing Bennett, to get his attention… but he was having nothing to do with me. This wasn’t the Bennett from last night. This wasn’t the man who held me in his arms while I cried. This wasn’t the man I was falling for. This was Bennett Hanson, Soldier. And I was the enemy.
We fell into a semi-normal routine in the kitchen. I manned the stove, the Lowes did food prep on the stainless steel island, and Bennett was all over the place doing whatever was asked of him. Gareth, meanwhile, sat at a table in the dining room reading the Wall Street Journal, though where he dug that up, I’ll never know.
When I had accepted the fact Bennett was at a new level of pissed and was not going to acknowledge my existence in any way, shape, or form, I started telepathically sending him messages. First, I launched into a heartfelt apology for the way I treated him the night before, then I explained Gareth’s sudden and unwanted appearance. After that, I poured my heart out, letting him know how good he made me feel and how I loved the person I was when I was with him. When I was done, I looked his direction, but he was staring at the wall shared between the kitchen and the dining room. If he had x-ray vision and looks could kill, Gareth would be zapped to smithereens.
“Jillian, sweetie, I need a new roll of aluminum foil. Could you run and grab it from the pantry?” Surely Mrs. Lowe was throwing me a bone, trying to give me a break from the tension that was currently a monster with three heads.
“Sure.” I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it. At the sound of my voice, Bennett looked my way, meeting my eyes. Time froze. And without uttering a word, I told him I was sorry with every fiber of my being. He told me he was sorry, too.
The aluminum foil was on the top shelf. It always had been. And I was five foot four on a good day, so even with the aid of the stainless steel step stool that hung neatly on the inside of the pantry door, there was no way I was getting that roll of tinfoil on my own.
“Bennett, be a dear and go help her. I forgot how high up it is.” I heard her request from where I stood, trying to decide whether or not to climb the shelf when Bennett shuffled in. The pantry was just that—a pantry. Add two people to the collection of supplies it took to run the cafe, and it became a sardine can. But even knowing this, I didn’t move to allow him room when Bennett cleared his throat. I just stood right in his path and looked at him with a wide stance, a set jaw, and loads of fake confidence. I was trying to say, If you want me to move, you’ll have to do it yourself.
It didn’t work. The man was like a mouse, contorting around me, able to fit into a space no bigger than a coffin. It was impressive.
“How’s the leg?”
“Same as it was yesterday. Fine.” He stood on his toes and stretched his arm high, causing his deep green thermal to rise up, showing the well-toned muscles in his back. “You’re in my way.”
“Bennett, why won’t you talk to me?” Stand your ground, Jill, stand your ground.
“I’m talking to you now.” His air of disinterest caused physical pain in my chest and I wanted to bang my head into the metal shelves that surrounded us. Men were impossible. I threw my arms up. Or, I tried to, but in the process, I hit the back of my left hand on an industrial-sized can of green beans, so I dropped them to my side in defeat. Bennett, by that point, had stopped trying to get the foil, probably figuring out that the task was just a ploy by the Lowes to force us together. It had to be uncomfortable for them, being right smack in the middle of our unspoken emotional crossfire.
“Fine. I’ll talk. Since when do you have a boyfriend? And since when is said boyfriend the governor’s son? How did I spend the entire last month with you—working together, sharing meals, sharing my life with you—without this coming up, Jillian?”
“Jill. Please.”
“What?” His patience was growing thin. He wanted answers.
“Please don’t call me Jillian anymore. Just Jill from now on, okay?” He nodded. “I’m sorry I never told you, it just never came up and… when I was with you, it was like he didn’t exist.”
He chuckled, but not the funny, haha kind. No, it was more like the, quit feeding me this line of bull, spoiled rich girl who wants to have her cake and eat it too kind. I was familiar with both.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter at this point anyway.” He checked the time on his simple watch—black with a rubber band, few dials, and even fewer features—probably purchased at Walmart for fifteen bucks. Because that’s who he was. Bennett led a simple, uncomplicated life, while the place I came from was demanding and convoluted. And how I felt about him or how he didn’t feel about me was of no matter. “Y’all should get on the road. And board your plane. To Austin. To the governor’s mansion, is it?”
And that was the root of it all, wasn’t it?
At the end of the day, we were of two different worlds and the walls separating us were too great to scale. For Bennett’s sake, of that I was glad. He was out of my league. He was pure and good and drew his happiness from the happiness of others. He was hardworking, bighearted, and gave everything in life all he had. One day, he’d meet a girl and love her the same way. And in that moment, looking into his eyes, I knew without a shred of doubt that I’d give up my whole world, everything I’d ever known, to be the woman on the receiving end of his love. That was the truest truth in all of this.
I reached out and placed my hand on Bennett’s jaw, feeling the golden scruff of his beard against my skin. And for a few beats of my heart, he leaned in and closed his eyes. But love has consequences. Millions of them. And we both knew that.
We both heard Gareth’s voice at the same time. He stiffened, and I yanked my hand away from the sweetest touch I’d ever known, feeling the loss like a death. Bennett backed out of the pantry and swept by as Gareth moved into the hallway.
“We’ve been here long enough, Jillian. Get your things and let’s go.” Another command, the only way he knew to communicate. I caught Bennett’s eyes over Gareth’s shoulder. Say something, I willed to him. Say anything to keep me with you. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me walk away.
But it was all for nothing. Bennett jerked his head toward the door and with a sad smile, mouthed, Go! That was it. The decision was made. He didn’t want me and he was telling me to go back to my life, to my comfort zone with my Prince Charming. The place where I really was the princess he accused me of being all those months ago, when my world still revolved around me, and not him.
Gareth grabbed my hand. I didn’t resist and within twenty minutes, I would be on the governor’s plane, Austin bound, to face a perfectly orchestrated life I no longer wanted any part of.
We left my car in the covered parking lot and raced on to the tarmac, to the awaiting plane. From the corner of my eye, I saw people gawking at us, probably wondering who would be boarding a private jet in a small, country town on Thanksgiving. Gareth saw them too and pageant waved to his adoring fans. They probably had no idea who he was. No one on the planet thought Gareth Johnson was more important than Gareth Johnson.
“Mr. Johnson, your father—” Gareth held his hand out flat just inches from the pilot’s face to halt his statement. I’d have given my eyeteeth to see the older man sucker punch him right in the jaw. He deserved it. Arrogant asshole.
“Davis, I am well-aware of the time and I’m sure my father will hold nothing back in letting me know his feelings on my sudden disappearance, but right now, I need you to get us in the air.” Without waiting for a response, Gareth walked past the man, clanking up the steel stairs rolled out for just such an occasion, dragging me behind him.
I hated flying. Hate wasn’t even a strong enough word, so when Gareth started in on me the minute the door was closed and secured, I closed my eyes and turned my head.
“Stop being a child, Jillian.” His words were dipped in hate and disgust. He was baiting me. A woman I hadn’t noticed before gasped and I opened my eyes just in time to see her cast her wide eyes to Gareth. Her pointy little chin was trembling and she swallowed over and over again, her mouth opening in between, like she had something to say but kept forgetting. Gareth cleared his throat.
“Uhh, Jillian, this is Mallory.” He swiveled in his chair to face her and with a much softer tone, said “Mallory, this is Jillian. My, um… she’s… ”
“The Walker girl. Yes, I know who she is, Mister Johnson.” Cutting his eyes back to me, I raised my eyebrows, questioning him on her sudden onset of hostility. “May I get you a drink, Miss Walker?” Apparently, her anger extended to me as well.
“No thank you, Mallory. If you could just leave us, please.” She lowered her head, shrinking a good three inches, then spun on the toes of her four-inch stilettos. She disappeared back into the cockpit, calling behind her that we’d be taking off shortly.
“Jesus, Jillian, did you ever think I may have needed a drink?” He ran his hand through his hair, which had been neatly combed to the side. He had the hairstyle of a five-year-old boy on Sundays. I just laughed.
“Oh, I’m surprised good ole Mallory didn’t quench your thirst on the flight in.” He shook his head, but his silence and the color rising from his neck to his cheeks spoke volumes. I heard the engines come to life as our speed picked up. This was the worst part. I’d rather have a root canal than fly anywhere. Unless it was Scotland. I think I could manage that flight, knowing what was on the other side. I pinched my eyes shut and pictured the moors of Scotland, all patches of heather and peat moss. I’d been obsessed since I was small. It was my happy place, so I let imaginary bagpipe tunes drown out the confuzzled thoughts pinging around in my brain.
“I’ll be right back,” Gareth announced as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. Takeoff was uneventful and the pilot assured us it would be a smooth flight. I opened my eyes, assuming he was headed for the lavatory, but he turned the other direction.
“Really, Gareth? It’s bad enough you’re screwing the help, but do you have to do it when I’m right here?” I was shaking my head. He sat back down, looking like a dog caught digging up its owner’s prize-winning petunias.
“Why do you even care? I certainly can’t get it from you?” Well, we were finally going to do this. Okay.
“You did once. After plying me with Southern Comfort and Sprite. After I was so drunk I didn’t know my own name. You remember that, don’t you?” I was practically yelling and he was smoldering, his breaths deep and audible. I took it down a notch or ten and added, “You raped me that night, Gareth. You couldn’t get what you wanted, so you just took it.” I tucked my chin to my chest to gather some composure.
“It’s not like I wouldn’t have gotten it eventually. It was mine to take.” There was no remorse in his voice, no compassion, no guilt. And the sad thing was, he probably believed the shit he was spewing. Because it was his, wasn’t it? My father had promised him a virgin and that’s exactly what he got.
“Why screw me when you were getting plenty from Lori and whoever else? You couldn’t have waited a little longer?” The tears that had been stinging the backs of my eyes vanished, replaced with a new awareness. This man was my betrothed. He was the one whom I was supposed to promise to love and cherish and obey in a few short years. This was my future, wasn’t it?
“Lori and I were just messin—”
“Is this what my life will be like with you? Am I expected to marry an off-brand Kennedy, just to be an off-brand Jackie O? You really think I’m just going to stand there and look pretty, while you sleep your way across Texas and then Washington DC?” His Adam's apple bobbed, but he didn’t answer right away.
“Mr. Johnson, Ms. Walker,” a deep voice said over the intercom. “We will be landing in Austin in roughly ten minutes. Please remain seated and buckle up if you aren’t already.”
“Jillian,” he started. “You grew up with your parents. What was their marriage like?” They were roommates at best, married in name only. “Once we’re married, I honestly couldn’t care less what you do, as long as you’re discreet. And the sooner you pop out a kid or two, the better.”
“Pop out a kid or two? Are you kidding me? Do you even listen when I talk? The steering wheel of my car punctured my uterus. It’s highly unlikely I’ll ever have children.” I choked on that last part. It was the first time I’d said it aloud.
“Good. Then I won’t have to worry about you bringing some bastard home from your dalliances.” His toxic words stole the breath from my lungs and I had to take a minute to recuperate.
“And what dalliances would those be exactly?” This jerk is unbelievable.
“Like the one you’re having with that blue-collar trash pretending to be your knight in shining armor this morning.” Oh my God, he is talking about Bennett.
My breath caught in my throat as the wheels touched down on the runway. It seemed like only seconds went by and we were coming to a complete stop and men in navy blue work coveralls and orange vests were pushing a rolling stairway to the door of the plane. Gareth retrieved his attaché case from the overhead compartment and stood by the door, staring at it, as if he could make it open with the power of his mind. I may have chuckled a little as I fetched my own bag from the same overhead bin, thinking, Bennett would have gotten my bag down first, and maybe even carried it for me.
The second the doors opened, Gareth flew down the stairs to the awaiting town car that would, no doubt, take us both to the governor’s mansion. I, however, took my time. “Goodbye, Miss Walker,” Mallory chirped, regaining her cheerful composure. “I hope you had a nice flight.”
I smiled, then straightened my expression and looked her straight in the eyes. “My flight was delightful, thanks so much. But I recommend you get an appointment with your lady doctor as soon as possible. Mister Johnson is coming off a bad case of the clap and he’s also known to have crabs.” I smiled again, and waggled my fingers at the now teary girl. “Toodle-oo. And have a happy Thanksgiving.” Next thing I knew, we were flying down the highway, headed toward the heart of Austin, and with a police escort to boot.