Page 33 of That Weekend in Paris
“You mean like you have?” I asked.
“I can handle my liquor.”
“That remains to be seen,” I said.
He studied me for a long moment and then said, “You think no one has you figured out.”
“You think you do?”
“Oh, I know I do. You’re planning on getting a ring from Klein, and there’s not much you won’t do to make sure that happens.”
“I’m not going to deny that I want a future with him. Why would I deny that?”
“The question is, does he want a future with you.” The words struck their intended sweet spot, and I gave him a deliberately neutral smile.
“It seems like you have some idea of why he would want that.”
“Yeah, no doubt. I’d like to know what you’ll be giving him when you go back there in a bit and slip in bed next to him.”
“You know he would fire you if I breathed a word of this, right?”
“Right,” he agreed, “but I also know he would dump you if I breathed a word of the mess you made of Aaron Rutgers’s life when he decided he didn’t want to make you a permanent thing.”
I felt the heat rising from the center of my chest, flaming my face. Even as I tried to tamp it back, I wasn’t willing to let him see that he had gotten to me.
“What do you know about it?” I asked in a deliberately smooth voice.
“Enough,” he said.
I could see by the look on his face that he did indeed know more than I was comfortable with him revealing at the moment. So, I changed course. Used the one foolproof weapon that had never failed me. I put my hand on his thigh and rubbed my palm back and forth across his jeans.
“Nothing is going to happen here tonight, Pete. Are we clear?”
“Yeah,” he said, waiting.
“You have my number. When we get back to Nashville, give me a call.”
He stood, looking down at me with a satisfied smile on his face. “Oh, I will, Riley. I will be giving you a call.” And with that, he headed for his bunk at the back of the bus.
I had barely gotten through the front door of my apartment once we were back in Nashville before the phone rang, and Pete’s number flashed across the screen. I considered not answering, but I fully believed Pete when he said he wouldn’t hesitate to share what he knew with Klein. I declined the call, sent him an abrupt text:Be here in one hour or don’t come at all.
The knock at the door announced him as right on time. No surprise to me. I pushed back a surge of irritation, telling myself there was this and nothing more. I opened the door to a grinning Pete, barely able to conceal his obvious interpretation of victory. I waved him in. “You didn’t waste any time, did you?”
“I’ve never been one to ignore opportunity when it presents itself.”
“There are other words for that,” I said. “Blackmail. I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“So why did you invite me over here?”
“We both know why I invited you.”
“And I’m a man of my word. You keep your part of the deal. I’ll keep my part of the deal. Klein’s not ever going to hear from me what went on with you and Aaron.”
“Might I ask how you know?”
“Believe it or not, we found ourselves in the same waiting room of the counselor I see. Aaron was pretty messed up.”
“I think his state of mind is strictly his responsibility. I had nothing to do with it.”
