Page 35 of Ruined Vows

ISAAK

“Well,you were a lot of help in there,” Kira grouses once we’re in the back of the black Mercedes Benz again, sounding furious between sucking in long slurps of her green drink.

Maybe she’s grouchy because that drink looks and smells foul. I certainly would be. She grimaces each time she drinks. I keep an eye on her, though. She didn’t look so good when she suddenly dashed for the bathroom.

At first, I thought it was the green shit she was drinking hitting her wrong, but when I checked on her and she opened the door, it looked like she’d been crying. Ironic considering her field, I get that she’s not the kind who likes to talk about her feelings. No one ever accused me of being the touchy-feely type, either, so that’s fine with me.

“What kind of help was I supposed to be? I didn’t exactly see any assassins around.”

“Never mind.” She glares out the window for a long moment before swinging her head back toward me. “No, actually, I thought I was paying you to protect me, not flirt with pretty receptionists.”

I tilt my head at her. Oh, I do love it when she gets this fire in her eyes. It’s the kind of passion poor bland Lana could never hope to work up unless talking about the Birkin she hopes to one day be able to afford. I’m not the kind of sugar daddy that girl is looking for; she was just blinded for a few moments by my big muscles. I know her type, and there were plenty of times I would have been happy to let us distract each other for a night or two.

The old dance just felt tired today. The only fun in it was feeling Kira’s eyes burning into me. It only felt like the kind thing to do to give her a distraction since she obviously wasn’t enjoying the day of “pampering” her mother had arranged for her.

“Note taken.” I flash a grin at her. “You will have my sole attention for the rest of the night.”

She looks taken aback at me giving in so easily. It’s clear she expected some sort of fight. But that’s the whole fun of keeping her on her toes.

I have a feeling people usually act exactly like she expects them to. She’s getting a whole degree in figuring out how people work. The more I get to know her, the more I think her whole deal is trying to get control of what’s going on around her.

“Do you like your hair?” I ask.

Immediately, she looks defensive, a hand going to the straightened updo. “Why? Is there something wrong with it?”

I shrug. “Just wondering if you liked it.”

“Stop it.” She pulls her phone out from her bag and puts it on selfie mode, examining herself critically. “You’re freaking me out.” She turns her head this way and that in the camera lens, her face distorted on the little screen.

“Just don’t look much like yourself, is all.”

She snorts and drops the camera to her lap. “Oh, is that all? That’s thepoint. Just wait until they get done with the make-up. Carol wants me actually presentable at these things.”

I shrug, glancing at her updo again. It’s a shame that the weird super blonde streaks they put in it are covering up her naturally red-orange hair like that. “Like I said. You were already perfect this morning.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “This morning I had pores the size of potholes and little orphan Annie hair, as Carol so charitably calls my natural shade.”

“Women only wish they had hair that color.”

“Because you know so much about it?”

I shrug. “I know what guys like.”

“Like I said, I think Texas women just pretend to give a fuck about the patriarchy. We’re all really just preening to be the prettiest peacock in this invisible contest to rank ourselves against each other. Then some people feel like they win and get to feel superior, and the rest are supposed to feel ashamed.”

“Female peacocks aren’t the colorful ones. It’s the males that put on a show.”

“I know that.” She rolls her eyes and smacks me lightly on the shoulder. “It was a metaphor.”

“I like this escalation to physical violence, Red. It’s healthy to let out your feelings, I hear.”

“Physical—What are you even—” She looks aghast.

“The foot stomping and this shoulder.” I mock a wince. “I got a bruise about the size of Texas here already. If you keep pounding away at me, you might put me outta commission. You better be careful.”

Her mouth drops open, and then her eyes narrow. “Oh, I’ll keep pounding away at you.”

Then her cheeks go pink like she just heard the innuendo in those words. She smacks me on the shoulder again, then whacks me on my chest with her other hand.

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