Page 119 of Submission

He rakes a hand down his face clearly affected that he actually forgot about my plans. Hunter strives to have control over all of the moving parts in his life and part of control is remembering the important things. In his world, forgetting important pieces of information can lead to disaster, although forgetting that I’m hanging with the same women I always do to paint is not a life-or-death error.

“This is the whole paint and sip night, right?”

The girls and I have planned a relaxing night of painting, complete with wine and dinner. I will be having apple juice with my dinner, but it’s still going to be a great time.

“Yep, I’m going to teach Naomi and Lena how to paint a high heel.”

“A shoe?”

“Yep.”

“Have you been working on your commission piece?”

“Of course I have, Paw-Paw,” I tease, knowing he hates it whenever I give him a name that reminds him of his age.

“Megan–”

“Calm yourself. This is just a night for me not to have to worry about work, about you, or about my piece for the gallery. I just want to hang out with my girls and kick back.”

“Right, of course, and I want you to do that as often as you want to. If it were up to me–”

“I wouldn’t work at the Blue Whiskey anymore. I know, Hunter, you’re like a broken record. But I think you and I both know that there’s no completely safe place. I’ll be just as safe at work as I am here tonight. The security dudes Vaughn hired are scared shitless of you.”

That elicits a small smile from him, the one I find so sexy.

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, well, have a good time tonight. I’ll be home at the usual time.”

“Kiss me when you get home.”

“Right between your legs.”

I chuckle as my nipples pebble at the mere thought of Hunter’s mouth in between my legs. These pregnancy hormones are wild.

“I can’t wait.”

I set up the large television to mirror what’s displayed on my laptop. That way, Naomi and Lena can see exactly what they should be painting.

“Is that a Louboutin?” Lena asks about the image we’re painting tonight.

“Yes, Naomi’s favorite shoe brand.” I grin.

“Aren’t they expensive?”

“Yes, ma’am, they’re high as hell but worth every penny,” Naomi replies, taking a sip of her pinot noir in a long-stemmed, Olivia Pope kind of wine glass.

“How can you afford them?” Lena asks.

It’s a reasonable question.

A few months ago, neither one of us could barely afford dinner, and now we live in one of the most expensive high-rise apartment buildings in downtown Los Angeles. But now that I have new information about Naomi’s family, some of her expensive tastes make more sense.

“I, um– I can’t.”

“Then how do you know they’re worth every penny?”

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