The Favor

I cleared my throat, still feeling stupidly awkward. “Okay. Great. Thanks.”

Amusement lit his eyes, and one corner of his mouth hiked up.

“What’s funny?”

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Be fast.” As he turned toward the door, his eyes flicked to the nightstand. “Don’t forget your rings.”

Watching him walk out of the room, I took a steadying breath. Well it was safe to say that, as I’d anticipated, he didn’t feel awkward. It also seemed that we weren’t going to address what happened last night, which suggested that he might well regret it.

Disappointment sat heavy in my stomach. And I realized a tiny part of me had held some pointless hope that last night was the beginning of something. It was the same tiny part of me that had gotten us into this entire freaking situation by making a deal with the devil. So, yeah, that “tiny part” was absolutely fucking stupid—there was no question about it.

He might have been so brazen as to waltz into my room uninvited like it was his right, but there’d been no morning kiss, no eye-fuck, no touching—hell, he hadn’t even wished me a good morning. So it was abundantly clear that nothing between us had changed. I had to accept that they never would.

Shaking off my dull thoughts, I quickly got ready to leave and packed my small suitcase. After placing my luggage near the front door beside his own, I headed to the dining area to grab something from the spread of breakfast foods on the table.

Dane was nowhere to be seen. His empty cup and plate told me he’d already eaten.

I poured myself a coffee, nabbed a few Danish pastries, and took a seat at the table. I was halfway through the last Danish when he appeared. And I immediately felt awkward again.

He lifted a brow. “Ready?”

I pushed away from the table. “Yep,” I replied, going for casual.

That glint of amusement was back in his eyes, as was the odd little curve to his mouth.

I frowned. “Is something funny?”

He shook his head, but that secret smile didn’t dim.

We left our luggage with the concierge on the understanding that we’d collect it in a few hours when we were on our way to the airport.

Walking around the museum with Dane was much like it had been when we strolled around the zoo. At first, he showed little to no interest in his surroundings. But bit by bit, that changed. And, although I suspected he’d rather swallow glass than admit it, he did actually enjoy himself. Well, to an extent anyway.

He didn’t once bring up last night—not even to say that there couldn’t be a repeat of it. He behaved perfectly normally; didn’t touch me any more or less than usual. It was honestly as if nothing had happened between us. I supposed that was because it had been of no significance to him. Damn if that didn’t chafe.

He behaved just as normally on the flight home. We didn’t talk much, as per usual. He mostly worked, and I mostly read.

Finally back at the estate, I let out a long sigh as I stood in the foyer. Despite my efforts to fight it, I’d began to think of the place as “home.” And I’d missed it. It had become my safe zone; somewhere I could fully relax.

“I have a conference call soon,” Dane declared. “So I probably won’t eat dinner until late. Don’t wait for me.”

Oh, we were back to that, were we? Ugh. “No problem,” I said, aloof.

I headed up the stairs and went straight to my room, somewhat annoyed that he seemed intent on putting space between us again. Fine. Whatever. It wasn’t as if I cared.

God, I hated it when I tried bullshitting myself.

I quickly unpacked, none-too-gently returning each of my things back to their original place. After bagging up my laundry, I tried calling my father. The call went to voicemail, so I dialed Melinda’s number instead.

She answered after a few rings. “Hello?”

“Hi, how are you?”

“Good, thanks, honey. I take it you’re back from New York.”

I frowned. There was an odd note in her voice that I couldn’t quite interpret. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Wyatt and I are doing fine. I paid your dad a visit yesterday; he’s fine, too. I also spoke with Maggie for a few minutes at one point; she confirmed that all is good with him. Oh, and Heather’s birthday meal was a lot of fun. Such a shame you couldn’t be there. The food was amazing.”

“That’s great,” I said, conscious that Melinda had quickly taken over the conversation before I could question her further. “But something is wrong. What?”

“Nothing,” she replied, the word loaded with a little too much innocence. “How was your flight?”

“Melinda, you are the worst liar ever. Tell me what’s wrong.”