Page 43 of Renegade Ruin

“Wills,” he replies sternly.

“I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you. I know I’m not your father, but he’ll haunt me if I don’t keep an eye on you.”

“Thanks, Graham.”

“Have fun,” he says before ending the call.

My phone screen jumps back to the dating app that was open before Graham called and shows the altogether too wholesome Hank, 35, CEO of Johnstons Enterprises. I’d been contemplating for the hundredth time if I should just cancel. Sure, I’d be the bitch who did so on Valentine’s Day of all days, but I’m second-guessing if I can paste a smile on my face through a five-star Michelin dinner and pretend I’m the society sweetheart-turned-baseball-team-owner this man expects me to be.

But it’s a step in the right direction, I remind myself. A step toward healing. And that’s the only thing that has me inhaling a steady breath and moving toward the door despite my shaky hands.

I check my hair one last time in the mirror in the entryway and ignore the way the clicking of my heels against the hardwood reminds me of a ticking clock.

I can do this.

For me.

Lips turned upward in an award-winning smile, I swing open the heavy door, ready for what the night will bring.

Only it’s not Hank staring back at me with flowers or some other stereotypical first date item in hand. Instead, I’m greeted by the last person I expected to show up on my doorstep.

“Hi,” Bishop mutters, his eyes roaming freely over my done-up form, lingering on every curve a moment longer than is appropriate for a man who wants nothing to do with me. “I—are you going somewhere?”

My mouth hangs open, mimicking a fish out of water as I look him over, making sure he’s okay. His eyes are clear, and he doesn’t reek of booze. I’m fairly certain he’s not drunk. He isn’t bleeding and there isn’t a police officer escorting him to mydoor. So, that rules out a fight. Which means there is no good reason for him to be standing here.

Eyes narrowed, my hands find my hips.“What are you doing here?”

“I—” He runs a hand through his dark chestnut hair. Something I’ve learned he does when he needs a moment to think. “I needed to talk to you.”

I’m torn between being angry and welcoming him inside. It’s the blurry line between head and heart, but I made a vow to say goodbye and as much as there’s a part of me that wants to let him back in, I can’t.

“Then make an appointment. You don’t get to just show up here unannounced.” I look past him to make sure my actual date isn’t about to stroll up to find me on the porch with another man. “How did you even get past the gate?”

A wicked smile curves his mouth. “You really should change the code more often.”

The thought never crossed my mind that he’d remember the code given to guests of the party last year. Normally it would’ve been changed after the event, but Dad must not have done so, and I didn’t even think twice to change it when I arrived since I have a key card that lets me through the gates.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” he asks again, a hit of agitation in his tone.

I run my hands over the front of my dress, mostly to distract myself, so my words come out steady. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a date tonight.”

Bishop scoffs. “On Valentine’s Day?”

I throw my hands up and let them fall. “Why does everyone keep saying that? It’s not like the day changes anything. It’s a made-up holiday for greeting card companies and restaurants everywhere to make a buck.”

Bishop’s lips draw back in a snarl, jaw tight, and his eyes darken. “Cancel it,” he demands.

“What?” I heard what he said, but I need him to repeat it one more time because it sounded like he just asked me to cancel my date, and I know damn well he doesn’t give a shit about me enough nor does he have the right to demand such things.

His eyes narrow, and he lets out a low growl as he steps forward so that I have to crane my neck if I want to meet his stare. Which I do.

“Cancel the damn date,” he says again.

I keep my eyes locked on him in an act of defiance. “Why would I do that?”

My words come out harsh, despite the fact he’s giving me the out I’ve wanted since I agreed to the damn date. I wanted to prove I could do it, not because I actually wanted to go. But now that he doesn’t want me to, I’m pretty sure I’ll go. Just because the petty is real, and he needs to know he can’t expect me to say “how high” when he says “jump”.

---