Conceal

“Supplies?”

“Well, obviously. If you don’t want to talk, then we at least have to drink . . . and eat. I’m starved.”

It’s only a few minutes before Jax returns. I look over my shoulder and find him carrying a bunch of stuff. In the dark of the night, I can’t make out what’s in his hand.

He hands over what he’s carrying and then drapes a coat over my shoulders. “I thought you might be cold.”

“Thank you.” Now that he mentioned it, I realize I am, “What is all this stuff?”

“I brought some booze. Some food.” He hands me the bottle. “And some chocolate. Not a Kit Kat, but I hope cake will do.”

I lift the bottle up to look at it before taking a sip.

“Seriously? You swiped a bottle of Don Julio?”

“Actually . . . I swiped a bottle of Don Julio 1942.”

“Is there really a difference?” I ask.

His eyes go wide and he feigns shock. If I wasn’t so high-strung, the look on his face would send me into a belly laugh. It might not make me giggle, but it loosens the tension in my shoulders nonetheless.

“The fact you have to ask that proves to me you don’t drink tequila.”

“Sorry, I don’t have your refined palate.”

“It’s not about my palate. This shit is better than everything else.”

“You’re a snob.”

“I very well might be, but until you try it, don’t knock it.”

“Fine. Whatever you say.”

“So . . . Willow . . .” he says my name slowly, letting it drip off his tongue like a spoon full of molasses.

Decadent and sweet, and one hundred percent bad for my health.

“Yes?” The word comes out short, probably because I’m frustrated by how much hearing my name from his mouth does to me. You would think I’m a lovesick schoolgirl rather than a woman on the run. One who doesn’t have time for crushes.

“Nothing.” He’s still staring at me, and I cross my arms.

“Then why did you say my name?”

“I like hearing it roll off my tongue,” he retorts in his smug and cocky voice.

If cocky bastard had a picture in the dictionary, Jaxson Price would be in it.

“Lord. Does that work?”

“Does what work?”

My head lowers. “Your cheesy pickup line.”

“That wasn’t a pickup line, and if you think it was, you need to get hit on by someone else. Because if I was hitting on you, you’d know, and cheesy wouldn’t be the word you’d use.”

“What else do you have?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Food.”

“Vague much? What type of food did you get?”

“I really have no idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s the fancy food they always serve at these types of parties.”

“Canapés,” I answer for him.

“If you say so.”

“It’s not me who says so. It’s everyone.” He nods, and I shake my head. “No, really. It’s even in the dictionary and shit.”

That’s when his lip tips up. “You were messing with me.”

Full smirk.

“I was.”

“You’re so annoying. You can leave now,” I say.

“And miss the canapés or hors d’oeuvre or whatever you want to call it . . . small meal?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an ass?” I grab the platter from him to look at what he has.

“Why yes, actually, on a daily basis.”

“Only once a day?”

“Sometimes twice, but that’s when I’m in a good mood.” And then he winks, and a part of me melts. That’s right. Right there on the cold stoop of the back door, I melt.

Pathetic.

“Do you go to a lot of fancy parties?” I ask, and I want to know more about this guy. Sure, I have heard about him. He’s usually dissed on all the gossip sites, but he’s not at all like I expect. Sure, he is playful and flirty, but there’s more to him. How many other rich billionaires would leave a party to sit outside with a server even if it was only to get into their pants?

None.

At least no one I know would put this much work into getting laid. But he’s not even about that. He’s playful, but I don’t feel unsafe with him.

Not at all, actually, and I don’t trust anyone.

Not anymore at least.

“What about you? Is this your first party?”

“No.” I stop myself. He means as a server and not as a guest. “I mean yes.”

His eyes narrow as if he’s trying to understand me.

“I have never worked a party like this.”

“You normally do . . . ?” he leads.

“I’ve never worked serving before. The poker game was my first time,” I admit. I’m not sure why I tell him this, but it comes out naturally. Maybe it’s where we are, or maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through my veins, but it’s easy to speak to Jaxson.

“If you’re not a server, what is it you do?”

“Pass.”

“Pass? Seriously.”

“Yep. Have a problem with that?” I lift a brow and he gives me a look I can’t place.