Page 49 of Crocodile Tears
“You’re staying with me,” Deacon balked as if it would be offensive to stay anywhere else.
My stomach curdled at the thought of beingalonein an apartment with Deacon, especially with all of the dangerously alluring thoughts I’d been having about him recently. I really shouldn’t have been so flippant about kissing him. There was no way my traitorous lips could be trusted around him now.
“I’m not staying with you,” I said flatly.
“My apartment is right around the corner from the venue,” he countered. “And I have a feeling it will be quite late by the time we leave—especially for an early bird like you. Do you want another half-hour car ride through Saturday night traffic to get to a decent hotel?”
“I don’t mind taking the subway?—”
“You arenottaking the subway.”
I scoffed. “Afraid I can’t handle myself?”
“Afraid I’ll have to bail you out of jail at 2 am because you went full rabid raccoon on someone who catcalled you,” he replied with a begrudging smile.
“Damn straight.”
“It’s a three bedroom,” Deacon added. “You can have your own room and en suite just like a hotel, and the kitchen’s fully stocked, and the water pressure is amazing.”
“It will be weird.”
He arched a brow. “I promise it won’t be any weirder than sleeping in an old monkey enclosure.”
I gave him an incredulous look, hating that he already knew what I was thinking. But the idea of Deacon and me beingalone in an apartment together made my heart skip a beat. I got nervous and jittery whenever he and I were alone together, but at least then we always had the constant interruption of siblings and publicists to buffer any awkwardness.
But to be truly alone with him . . . It felt like standing on a cliffside and thinking my body might involuntarily fling itself off the edge, but instead I feared involuntarily launching forward and kissing him. Especially after on set the other day . . . Now that I knew how good of a kisser he was, I was bound to trip and fall directly into his mouth,especiallyif we were alone.
But my protestations were getting less and less robust when it came to Deacon. After the conservation trust fundraiser tonight, he’d stay in New York and I’d take the train home and that would be it. We probably wouldn’t see or speak to each other again except for the occasional board meetings he deigned to attend, if ever. And once I passed the torch on to the permanent director, he and I might never cross paths again. So maybe it wouldn’t matter how weird tonight was anyway.
. . . and I had to admit I was very curious to see what his apartment looked like.
“Luca’s already arranged for your outfit to be delivered to the venue, and the hair and makeup teams will meet us there.”
“Teams? As in plural?” I asked, feeling like a complete fish out of water. What was this life? Did I need wholeteamsof people to make me look red carpet worthy?
“Your dress has already arrived. I’m doing an Armani campaign right now, so I hope that’s okay?” I just stared at him like he was slowly morphing into a fluorescent green alien. “Dove?”
“Did you just ask me if an Armani gown wasokay?”
He laughed, looking me up and down. “I did. I’m sorry we couldn’t get it fitted, but they have your measurements so it should be fine.”
“Howdid they get my measurements?”
Deacon’s smile widened. “I have my ways.”
My mind started wheeling through the memories of the past few weeks, when it snagged on one. “Wren!” I exclaimed. “She said she needed to measure me for a sewing project. That little traitor. Why didn’t she just tell me?”
“I think she liked being an accomplice to Luca’s shenanigans,” Deacon said with a wink. “And if she told you what it was really for, you would’ve freaked out.”
I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “I don’t know how I feel about you being in cahoots with my siblings,” I muttered. “But like, is a dress even necessary?”
“And this right here is exactly why Wren lied,” Deacon jeered.
I let out a little groan. “I kind of thought maybe as director, I should just go in my zoo uniform and a blazer or something,” I said. “It’s more official that way. That’s what Baz Madigan does with his charities.”
“It’s not what his wife and kids do,” Deacon countered. “They are designer brand people all the way.”
I shot him a look. “Keeping up with the Madigans, are we?”
