Page 89 of A Certain Appeal
“I’m sorry if anything got wrinkled,” Jane says, indicating the bag. “I was a little flustered and swept everything off the top of your desk into the thing. I think your pen cup ended up in it.”
I laugh. It feels good. “Thank you, boo.”
“You okay? I mean, all things considered.”
“It will be good to get everyone here, I think. Have us all on the same page. Charles,” I say, and sit up as he joins the table, scooting into the booth to sit on Jane’s other side. “I’m so sorry about your deal.”
“It’s pretty awful.” He sighs, shoulders falling, looking for all the world like a reprimanded golden retriever. One glance at Jane has him perking up some. “But I’ve already gotten more than I could have dreamed from the arrangement.”
Jane purses his lips against his smile, but his eyes go bright. “You.”
Darcy makes his way toward us, sliding his phone into his back pocket as he walks. I stand and join him at the end of the room’s long dining table.
“Fitz isn’t the strongest on intellectual property,” he says, “but he’s gotten hold of the partner who is. She agrees with Charles’s lawyer about going over your work.”
I grip the strap of the bag, my nails digging into the cotton weave.
Darcy’s eyes go soft. “It’s your call, Bennet. I don’t want to stress you any further, but they want us to act quickly. I’m happy to go, so you can stay with everyone here. If you’d rather send copies, we can do that. Or you and I can take them up there together.”
“No. You can take them,” I say, though I still don’t let go of the bag. “But I can’t. I can’t look at them right now. It’s raw, is all.”
Darcy reaches out, but instead of taking the bag, he rests his hands on my upper arms, gently guiding me closer. “It’s up to you.”
“If you go, will you stay with them? With the designs, I mean. I know I’m being paranoid, but I don’t want my stuff with people I don’t know. I trust you.”
I said it last night, but something about repeating the words now makes the room go still. Because I mean it. I trust him. Not because I’m trying to be brave, but because he deserves it. Darcy’s made missteps and gone above and beyond to remedy them—he’s proven himself.
His throat constricts in a swallow. “Of course.”
“You don’t have to do all this,” I say belatedly. “I appreciate it, but don’t feel obl—”
“Bennet.” His face is tight, not in the lights-out way, but paired with the set of his shoulders, he’s clearly holding himself in check. It’s actually pretty hot. “You know my history with Wickham. On one level, this is just another underhanded move from him, but he’s brought you into this, and he’s screwed up an opportunity for Charles. I’ve half a mind to hunt him down so you could strangle him with your garter belt.”
This gets a rusty laugh. “A little kinky, no?”
Some of the tension leaves him. “I’m in this, too, Bennet. Right now, I can offer the legal angle. IP is tricky, but I’m going to do everything I can. You just give yourself a break.” When I frown, he rubs my cheek. “This isn’t your fault.”
The sentiment is so ludicrous I could laugh, but the gentle way he says it has me drawing in a breath instead. My chest expands beyondthe crushing tightness it’s been bound in since Jane’s call. The relief is dizzying. Darcy’s face is already angled toward mine, and I tug him in for a kiss that makes me deeply appreciative of the complimentary toothbrushes in the suite’s bathroom.
When we come up for air, he looks a little shell-shocked. “What was that for?”
“Saying what I needed to hear.” I give him another quick peck. “Even if I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I do.” He squeezes my shoulders, then lets me go. I hand him the bag, and he takes it, pulling the strap over his head to wear it cross-body, like I did.
“Call me if you need anything. I’ll be in touch,” he adds, patting the bag. It makes a crunching sound, like crumpling paper, and he winces.
“You might want to look through that on your way,” I say. “I think there was an X-Acto knife in with my pens.”
“Will do.” He gives me a final kiss on the cheek. I watch him stroll down the room, and he opens the door, stepping back to let Ming enter before stepping out.
Her leopard-print caftan billows as she struts my way, a pitcher of mimosas aloft in one clawed hand, like she’s presenting a prized kill. “I figured we could use a little something.” She deposits her bounty on the table, then yanks me to her for a fierce hug. “What a morning, eh?”
“Understatement,” I manage to say, the air in my lungs forced out by the crush of her boobs. “Have you heard from the band?”
She releases me to smother Jane and then Charles, who have joined us and squeak out salutations of their own. “They’re playing a booze cruise on the Hudson. Johnny, too. I’m going to give them a shoutlater.” She bumps me with her hip. “How’d your night go, by the way? Mr. Tall Dark and Fuckable got you walking funny?”
Normally, I’d groan, but Ming’s steadfast commitment to filth is actually refreshing. Charles doubles over in laughter, and Jane lets out an exasperated, “Ming!”
