Page 32 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
Excited to have her help, I clap. “I knew I could count on you! What do we do?”
She glances at the door. “You go back to your room. Let me have a few words with him before you come out. Give me five minutes. That’s all I’ll need.”
“What’re you going to say?”
She glances back at me with a dry smile. “There are only two things a man really needs from a woman, girl. One is affection. The other is admiration. But since you’re not the simpering, flirty type—and you’re about as warm as an igloo in Antarctica—we’re gonna have to make him think it’s all a big show. That underneath the permafrost there’s an actual human being. And that he’s the only one who can melt all that ice.”
I beam at her. “We’re totally on the same page! That’s exactly what I was doing Friday night!”
“Great minds think alike,” she mutters.
It doesn’t sound like a compliment.
When the doorbell rings a third time, Darcy snorts. “Well, whatever you’re doing is working, because judging by his patience level with that damn doorbell, Captain America has a serious boner for you.”
I give her a quick, hard hug, and then I’m off with a giggle. I trot back down the hall but don’t go all the way to my bedroom. I hide in the powder room instead, with the door cracked an inch so I can hear. There’s a short silence, and then I hear the front door open, and the sound of low voices.
Though I strain to hear, I can’t make out the words.
Shit.
Well, she can tell me exactly what she said later. I look at my watch. Five minutes.
I sit on the toilet, tapping my toe against the marble, chewing my thumbnail, feeling like a herd of wild stallions is thundering across an open plain inside my chest. When finally the time is up, my heart is beating so fast I’m a little shaky when I stand. I look at my reflection in the mirror. What I see there doesn’t help me feel any better.
My face is red. My eyes are wild. I look like I just shot something into a vein.
I hiss at my reflection, “You’re a badass bitch and nobody fucks with you! Now get your shit together and focus!”
Instantly I feel better. Maybe next time I’m on the phone with Katie Couric, I’ll try that line on her.
I open the bathroom door, put my shoulders back, take a deep breath, and walk slowly down the hallway, my head held high.
When I get to the living room, Darcy and Parker are nowhere to be seen.
I stop, frowning, but then hear voices coming from the kitchen. Why the hell are they in the kitchen?
The kitchen is my second-favorite part of my home, aside from my bedroom. It’s all white marble and glass, like the rest of the place, but there’s a built-in fireplace that separates it from the dining room, which I have lit most every night of the year, lending it a warm, homey feeling. And it’s usually a little messy; I often stand over the sink to eat and leave the dishes and a mess for the housekeeper. And I read the morning paper with my coffee at the breakfast table, which is usually strewn with other papers and magazines, some mail, my vitamins, my medicine…
My medicine.
Dear God. Darcy’s just walked el diablo right into the most personal space in my home.
I sprint toward the kitchen. My heels clatter against the marble. All the blood drains from my face. I round the corner and stop short, because there they are.
Parker is seated at my breakfast table, in my chair, drinking a glass of what I know is my most expensive scotch, because the crystal decanter is sitting on the table in front of him. Leaning back in the chair with a satisfied grin as if he’s king of the hill, he’s looking up at Darcy, who stands over him with her hands on her hips and a look of maternal affection on her smiling face.
Her traitorous, back-stabbing face.
Why the hell is she smiling at my sworn enemy?
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” I say, too loudly and without an ounce of warmth.
They both look over at me. Parker’s smile dies. His burning gaze rakes over me. Slowly he sets his glass of scotch on the table.
Darcy says brightly, “Oh, there you are! I didn’t think you’d be ready so soon. We were just talking about my review of Xengu.” She laughs. “I told him it won’t be published until Monday, but he can rest easy, because other than the truffles, he gets an A-plus.”
An A-plus. She’s giving the man who ruined my life an A-fucking-plus? What’s going on here? Bristling, I take a step forward.
