The Favor

Her lips parted in surprise. Apparently, she hadn’t expected him to tell me. She cleared her throat. “Yes. It was silly and immature and I’m sorry. It will not happen again.”

No, it wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t stand for it a second time. “Good to know. Apology accepted.” Sort of.

“What was the other reason you came?” asked Dane.

“Ah, well, I’m thinking of throwing a surprise birthday party for Kent this year, since it falls on a Saturday,” she replied. “Would you be able to make it?”

“It’s a few months away, so I’m not sure what my schedule looks like for that weekend. But Vienna could shuffle some things around for me if need be. She and I will be there.”

Her smile was somewhat brittle. “Excellent. I could use your help with the planning. You could spare me a few hours here and there, right?”

I almost gaped. She’d obviously never gotten a peek at his calendar. Or she expected him to happily cancel all kinds of meetings just for her.

“I don’t have enough free hours to give you,” he said. “Vienna’s planned events for me in the past. She can help you, if you really need it. But she’s as busy as I am, so she doesn’t have a lot of spare time either.”

Her smile dimmed, and she flicked a hand. “It’s fine. I can ask Hope to help. Thank you, though.” She shrugged. “Well, bye.” With that, she left.

Dane let his hand slip from my hip. “If she does go through with the party—and she probably won’t; Jen comes up with ideas all the time but rarely follows them through—she won’t manage to keep it a surprise from Kent. He’s a hard man to fool.”

Then the guy was much like Dane himself. Nothing got past him. I wondered if Kent handled shocks with the same ease as his brother. It still awed me how well Dane rolled with Simon’s switch of personality last night. He hadn’t even seemed spooked.

I wasn’t looking forward to the other Davenports meeting Simon. If one of his alters took the wheel, I doubted they’d all handle it with the same ease and sensitivity—especially Travis. If they made any taunting comment toward my father, I wouldn’t need to step in and deal with them. Deacon would do that, and fists would fly for fucking sure.

Chapter Eight

Sunday afternoon, I blew out a breath when Sam pulled up in front of my foster parents’ house. He and Dane had picked me up on the way to the barbecue. A few cars were parked nearby, including Simon’s, Ashley’s, and—ugh—Heather’s.

I’d offered to give my dad a ride to the barbecue, but he’d wanted to get there early to help Wyatt set everything up. The two men got along seriously well, and I loved that. Loved that neither felt threatened by my relationship with the other.

I looked at Dane, whose thumbs were tapping away on his phone. I’d never seen him in jeans before. He didn’t look any less appealing. Or any less smart, for that matter. That was mainly due to his crisp, white shirt that was open at the collar and flashing a patch of lick-able golden skin. No one should possess that much natural raw masculinity. No one.

He seemed utterly relaxed. But then, of course he was. He wouldn’t be feeling the standard “meeting the parents” pressure. It wouldn’t matter to him if my family liked him or not. He didn’t need it to matter. He only needed them to buy that we were a happy couple.

“We’re here,” I told him.

He briefly looked up, but his thumbs didn’t still. “So I see.” A few moments later, he finally pocketed his phone. “You ready?”

“Yes. Are you? Because they’re going to quiz you and study you and watch every move you make. And considering you plan to marry me in a few days”—cue stomach roll— “you’re going to need to convince these people that you care for me so that the elopement isn’t too much of a shock for them.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. Now come on, let’s go.”

“Wait, one more thing. You should know that Melinda and Wyatt’s daughter, Heather, is going to flirt with you. Like a lot.”

He frowned. “Why, when she believes I’m with you?”

“Being a bitch is kind of her thing. She loves to provoke me; gets off on it. No one’s going to tell her to stop flirting, because they’ll want to see how you react, so just be aware that your response to her will be watched closely. If you show the slightest bit of interest in her, they’ll write you off as no good for me.”

“Understood.”

We both exited the car. By the time he’d joined me on my side of the vehicle, his demeanor had changed. Gone was the cool, curt, indifferent male I worked for. In his place was a guy who looked open and easygoing, and I was confident that he’d fool every person waiting to meet him. And that made me feel like utter shit.