The auction was tomorrow.
Jane tried to ignore the pain in her chest.
Clearly, he was going through with it.
Without her.
Two days had passed and there’d been no word from Brock. She wanted to trust that he was dealing with it, but, really, part of her was already so depressed that she still hadn’t heard from him that all she wanted to do was sob into her ice cream and watch crap TV.
With a grimace she walked over to the freezer and pulled out some Rocky Road, then took a seat on the couch. After the fight with her sisters they’d come home, grabbed some of their things, and told her yet again not to wait up.
She was pretty sure they were still going to the auction.
Without her, unless she used the money that was burning a hole in her pocket to buy a ticket to the dinner.
She groaned.
Did she really have a choice?
Her own sisters were sacrificing everything to go.
They’d see Brock.
Brock.
Another groan escaped her lips. Why hadn’t he texted her?
Had he stood up to his grandfather?
Was he happy? Sad?
Why the hell did she care? She was sad. She was eating Rocky Road.
With a frustrated sigh she dug her spoon in.
And then.
Her doorbell rang.
“No!” she yelled. “Not more.” Probably because even though she was going crazy, the last thing she wanted was for another visit from the media. They’d been relentless all day, since it was the night before the auction.
The doorbell sounded again, then someone knocked so hard that she thought they’d break the door down. She shot up from the couch and stomped over to throw it open.
“Bentley?”
“Jane.” He smiled. He really did have a killer smile.
“Um? What are you doing here?”
“Getting your sizes, of course,” he said as he handed her a garment bag. “For some reason women keep leaving their clothes in my apartment. As if I’d invite them back. Ha. Anyway, let’s see if any of these fit.”
“Wait, what—”
“Trust me,” Bentley shrugged. “Can you do that?”
It was the same thing Brock had said to her.
“But Brock—”
“Trust him, too.” Bentley said gently, although his gaze was a bit harsh, as if he didn’t have the patience for her to argue with him. “Now, let’s get you out of those clothes.”
She jerked back and eyed him up and down. “Some things never change.”
“Shit.” Bentley rubbed his temples. “That came out wrong. What I meant was, let’s see if any of these fit. So we can figure out what kind of dress to get. Please?”
“For?” Jane rubbed her arms and stepped back into the house.
“Cinderella has to go to the ball, don’t you think?”
She shook her head. “Bentley, this is sweet, you’re sweet, but I haven’t heard from him in two days and, even though I have the money to buy a ticket….” Had she really lost trust in him that fast? When he swore he’d make things right?
“His phone was dead on day one and he’s been…advised.” Bentley chose his words carefully it seemed. “He’s not supposed to make actual contact with you until the right time. He’s working on a solution to this whole mess, believe me. And you’ve had the media camped outside your house for God knows how long. It’s a simple question, Jane. Do you trust him?”
She stared Bentley down. He seemed genuine, but oh how her heart hurt. “Yes,” She finally whispered. “I do.” Tears threatened again. “But the company, it’s everything to him, and not letting you guys down and his grandfather; don’t even get me started on that piece of work and—”
Bentley pressed a finger to her lips. “Do you care for Brock? Possibly love him?”
Tears spilled onto her cheeks. Ah! Why couldn’t she stop crying! Three weeks shouldn’t have affected her so much—but Brock had found his way into her heart and no amount of tears or logic that he was doing what he had to do made the pain go away or the sadness at potentially losing him. And really, what was she losing him to? A nameless face? Not really. The messed-up part was that really when she thought about it, she was losing him to his grandfather.
“Thought so.” Bentley grinned, bringing her back to the present. He removed his finger and then let out a whistle. To her horror several people piled out of a black SUV and started shuffling into her house.
“Is this necessary?”
His eyes twinkled and that practiced, devastating, panty-melting smile was back in full force. “For a Wellington? For Jane? For the princess of the ball? Absolutely. Besides, my brother would have me by the balls if I did anything as half assed as sending you to the mall.”
* * *
“Should you maybe stop at the stop signs?” Jane gripped the door handle and held on for dear life.
“Speed makes me feel alive!” The driver of the Uber car Bentley had hired chuckled and then took a hard right followed by another hard left that had the tires screeching in protest. “Ah hah! I knew we were close.”
They were in an abandoned parking lot.
“To where you plan on murdering me?” Jane scooted next to the door just in case she had to actually make a run for it. Two hours after taking her measurements Bentley had insisted on sending a car for her. In his words, she needed to pick out a dress.
But still.
No Brock.
And yet Bentley’s words bounced around in her head. Trust Brock. Which meant Brock was in on all of this, but she still didn’t even know what this was?
At Bentley’s insistence, she purchased a ticket for the ball. His instructions were clear. “Your money is your own.”
What does that even mean?
Should she bid on Brock?
Well, duh, of course; but thirty grand wasn’t going to win her anything!
Nothing made sense.
Doubt crept in the corners of her mind.
And then the driver put the car in park and turned it off. “Parking lots are too out in the open, now a parking garage…” He tapped his chin and grinned. “I could commit a crime there, I suppose.”
Jane made a mental note to stay out of every parking garage within the city limits.
The van door slid open, a gorgeous Asian woman with bright red lipstick stepped out. “Right off the runway. But some may need adjustments.”
Curiosity got the best of Jane, so she got out of the car and peered behind the girl. The back of the van was filled with at least twenty, maybe thirty, gorgeous ball gowns in every color of the rainbow and in every type of material she could imagine. Silk, satin, tulle.
With a gasp, she covered her face. “Those are beautiful.”
“I’m glad you think so, sweetheart.” Suddenly Bentley walked up, his swagger even more pronounced. “Pick one. Oh hell, pick two. Nothing’s too good for my date.”
“Your what?” She tried to hide her disappointment, but it was impossible.
Bentley wrapped a muscular arm around her and smiled harder. “Now, I want you to pick one that screams sexy. Brock’s favorite color is black—shocker, I know—but he gave me strict instructions for you to make sure it’s what you want, not what he wants, not what I want, not what anyone else wants but you.”
Jane was still stuck on the fact that Brock had given his brother instructions. He had to care. He just had to. And in her heart she knew he did; she just didn’t understand why a simple text message or phone call would hurt anything. The media was still hounding her. Maybe he was afraid something would leak? Ugh; and now Bentley was escorting her, instead of Brock?
“Brock knows you’re my date? And he’s okay with it?”
Bentley rolled his eyes. “Women are so damn complicated.” He pointed to the dresses and then back at her. “Just because you’re arriving at the ball on my arm doesn’t mean you’re leaving on it. Make sense?”
“No.” Jane shook her head. “Not at all. In fact none of this makes sense!”
“Trust. Remember?” Bentley smiled. “Now hurry up. I have places to be, women to seduce.”