I stood, eager to find Martha so that I could get back to my little guesthouse desk and start writing all of this down.
Unfortunately, as I stood, the surface of the Earth decided to take up waltzing.
Shit. The punch hadn’t been nonalcoholic after all.
I never should have trusted that douchewaffle trying to bring the seventies po**rn mustache back. That had been the most untrustworthy facial hair I had ever seen. You just knew his whole life was going to be a series of increasingly terrible decisions. And I thought it had tasted a bit off. Crap.
I wandered through the house, trying to keep my legs steady as the walls spun around like a teacup ride. My eyes refused to focus properly on the faces of the people I passed—they were doing all they could to keep track of up vs. down—and I couldn’t see Martha anywhere. Damn, whatever had been in that drink was strong.
I pulled up a cab number on my phone before remembering that it was for a company in D.C. Damn, I wished I could afford a smart phone! One Google search and it’d be problem solved. I eyed the iPhone in a rich frat guy’s hand, but didn’t approach him. Considering these guys’ track record with the punch, a request for a cab company number would probably get me the digits of a crack house.
Still…asking someone for help wasn’t a bad idea. I scrolled down to the number for the manor house. I hated to get one of the servants up out of bed, but they could fire up a computer and get me a cab number, and I’d get them something nice in thanks.
But it wasn’t one of the servants who answered.
“Hello?”
Hunter. I almost hung up.
“Hello?” he asked again. There was a pause—he must have been looking at the Caller ID. “Ally, where in the world are you? We’ve been worried sick.”
A silly grin spread itself out over my face before I realized what I was doing. Why should I care if he was worried about me? He was strictly off-limits.
But that grin wasn’t going away.
I leaned into the wall, my eyes sliding shut as I imagined leaning into his arms.
“Did you miss me?” I teased. Shit, was I slurring? I tried to focus, make my words come out crisp and clear. “There was a, a party. Martha. Martha party. At a frat.”
Hunter sighed, a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Of course there was. I know exactly where you mean. I’m on my way.”
“No, I didn’t mean, I just wanted—”
But he had already hung up.
Well, I guessed that meant Prince Charming was on his way in his carriage, whether I liked it or not.
#
“Well, this is a new side of you,” Hunter said, eyeing me up and down. His voice was tight—almost…angry? “And here I was, thinking you were a pure professional.”
“Well, I’m not onna—on the clock, am I?” I snapped back, embarrassed. I could feel my blush burning my cheeks as I became even more aware of the short plaid skirt, kitten heels, and low-cut red blouse that Martha had talked me into purchasing at the mall en route. “Is it a crime to wear nice things?”
“Depends on who you’re wearing them for,” he growled, sending a look at a nearby frat guy that was pure poison. Frat guy had been coming forward proffering a drink; he back-pedaled like a mouse who’d just seen a lion.
“Didn’t realize you were CEO of my wardrobe too,” I grumbled. Who was he to comment on my outfits? Just because we’d slept together once didn’t mean he owned me. “Look, if you’re taking me home, take me home.”
I tried to stand, and Hunter grabbed my arm to keep me from falling, walking me gently to his car. I leaned into him, savoring his solidity, his strength.
The feel of his hands on me made it very difficult to remember why I was angry at him.
He helpfully reminded me. “I don’t understand why you’re here to be taken home in the first place.” His voice was a tightly wound spring, emotions I couldn’t quite grasp bottled up under pressure. “After what happened last time, I would have thought you’d swear off ‘research’ of this nature.”
I fumbled at the door handle to the car, my face flushed with drink and embarrassment. “For your infor—infor—informayshun, I wasn’ planning to drink at all.” I flopped onto the car seat, nearly strangling myself with the seatbelt. “Dammit! Shit. I’m fine, just—” I waved away his as**sistance, buckling myself in with only a few dozen fumbles. “Some as**shole spiked the punch.”
“Well, that explains why you’re currently walking as if your legs are made of Jell-O,” Hunter said. “It doesn’t explain why you’re here in the first place.”
? Also By Lila Monroe
· Billionaire With a Twist · The Billionaire Bargain 3 · The Billionaire Bargain · The Billionaire Bargain 2 · The Billionaire Game 2 · The Billionaire Game · The Billionaire Bargain 3 · The Billionaire Bargain 2 · The Billionaire Bargain ? Last Updated