Page 61 of Hide and Keep

I retrieve my shoes from the back. While putting one on, I say, “Nobody meets my father’s impossibly high standards, not even me.”Especially not me.“Yeah, I’m on a collegiate team but it’s for something he doesn’t consider brag-worthy. If it was fencing, or crew, or…” I sit back and throw my hands up momentarily. “Golf even, then maybe he would.”

That’s a lie. Nothing I do will ever make that man proud.

With a sigh, I lean forward again to continue with the other shoe.

“I was going to say the rest of your life wasn’t relevant, so I didn’t bother looking it up. Whether you went to college or not, you still ended up working for the wealthiest man in Connecticut. Maybe you don’t meet anybody else’s standards because you’re too busy setting your own.”

When I’m finished, I peek up through my lashes, finding Crue watching me. This is how I wish I could talk to him all the time. No snobbery bullshit. Just real-life conversation.

After a moment, Crue holds out his hand for me, palm open.

“Your school has its own rowing team?”

I grin and slide my hand into his.

“Two. Men’s and women’s.”

We go into the store together—Crue opening the door for me—but cross paths when he goes to the women’s side and I head for the men’s.

“Oh. Um.” He kind of hesitates in the middle, his hands clasped in front of him as he pivots to keep an eye on me.

He’s so adorable. If spoiling him is half as fun as fighting him, then I’m in for a real treat.

“Miss Munreaux, we’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” the store manager, Thierry, comes right up to me and greets. “Your messages stated you’re looking to update some wardrobe staples. Will your companion be joining us or do you happen to know his measurements?”

Even out of the corner of my eye, I catch Crue’s shoulders squaring at the mention of mymalecompanion.Always assuming I’m after the dick.

As much as I do like dick, it doesn’t rule me.

“He’s right here.”

Thierry’s eyes sweep the store, glossing right over Crue, who dips his head, clearly wanting to be missed.

“He is?”

“Yes, he is.” I walk over to Crue myself.

Crue looks behind him like a puppy who lost sight of his tail.

You, Crue. I’m talking about you.

How is anyone else going to take Crue seriously if he doesn’t even take himself seriously?

“I apologize for the confusion—”

“That’s quite all right, Miss Munreaux. We can wait until your—”

“—in my texts. I’d like him to get an entire new wardrobe, not just pieces.”

Despite the dollar signs lighting up his eyes, Thierry still refuses to so much as glance at Crue, so I rest my hand on my bodyguard’s forearm, forcing him to.

“This is Crue Brantley. He’ll need to be measured, then anything he wants—”

“Me? I don’t want anything. I thought we were here for you.”

Of course he doesn’t want anything. The price tags are too high for him to even allow himself to.

I glance from Crue to the manager. “Anything we choose for him, put it on my tab.”

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