Page 26 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Maybe one’s not good enough.” I lift my arm to swing again, but Damon catches it, gaze hardened.
“Let’s try to use our words, Miss Jones,” he says, tightening his grip around my wrist as he lowers my arm. “Violence seldom solves our problems.”
“Really?” I ask, yanking my hand away. “I personally feel a lot better now.”
“I’m glad,” he says, checking his watch. “Now get in the car.”
“No.”
“Get in the fucking car, Miss Jones.”
I cross my arms. “Make me.”
Damon sighs. “You're being rather difficult right now, Miss Jones. Just get in the car.”
“I wonderwhyI’m being so difficult,” I muse sardonically. “Perhaps it’s because you’re essentially attempting tokidnapme. Which,” I shrug, “fits the MO of acompleteandtotal lunatic!”
Damon ignores me, opening the passenger’s side door. “Get in. You can continue your meltdown on the drive to Manhattan.” He looks back at me, grinning. “That’s two hours of uninterrupted yelling. How exciting, right?”
I glower at him. “I’ll take my own car. It’s in the—” I freeze, the scent of copper filling my senses. Really? Again? I wipe the underside of my nose, blood coating my index finger. “Goddamn it!”
“Jesus, Emery. Stay there,” Damon hisses, running around the car. He opens the back doors and pulls out a tissue box before coming back. “Here.” He motions inside the passenger’s seat. “Sit down and tilt your head forward.”
“No,” I whine, tears welling in my eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do.” I sniffle, defeat washing over me. “Just let me bleed out anddie.” Damon stifles a muted chuckle, and I whip my head at him. “Are youlaughingat me right now?”
“I wouldn’t dare laugh.” Damon offers me a small amused smile. Annoyed, but slightly lightheaded, I sit down sideways, my legs hanging out the side of the car. “There we go,” he says, rolling up two tissues and sticking them up my nose. “Perfect. Just hold your head up like that for a few minutes, okay?”
I shoot him an unimpressed glare. “I hate you, you know that?”
“I’m aware,” he says. “If it makes you feel any better, I hate you right now too.” He glances at the edge of his cream-colored leather seats. “I hope you don’t stain my seats.”
“I hope Ido,” I grunt, pretending to remove the tissues. “If you had let me take my own car, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Damon sighs. “Fine. Go ahead.” He steps to the side, creating a clear path. “We can convoy to Manhattan.”
“And stainmyseats? No. Just drive.”
“Emery…”
“Drive.”
Damon lets out a heavy breath and circles the car. As he starts the engine and pulls out, I close my eyes and attempt to pinpoint where exactly this all went wrong. The check. It must have been the check. I should’ve never tried to be funny. Funny equals kidnapping.Noted. So…be funnier, is what you’re saying?Hush.
“Was it the check? Is that why I’m here?”
“What?” Damon asks. “The check?”
“Yes, the million-dollar check I wrote myself when we first met,” I grumble. “Is that what did it for you? You were like,oh, she’s naked and witty, I must have her. Was that it?”
Damon’s melodic laugh fills the car. “You’re funny.”
“No, I amnot,” I state with an edge.
“Okay, you’re not,” he chuckles as I open my eyes and turn my head to the side, glaring at Damon’s annoying perfect side profile. He catches me staring. “You wish to slap me again?”
“Among other things,” I grumble as my phone rings. Wincing, I bend down and fish my phone out of my purse. Tom’s name appears on the screen. “Shit.”
Damon peers over, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he says, “Better pick up.”
