Debt

But that voice was obviously delusional.

On that thought, I ripped the one dress I had packed out of my bag, a simple little black dress that showed off a fair amount of leg, but was tame around the bodice. I pulled off the camisole and shirt and slipped the dress on over the bra, panties, garter, and thigh-highs. And, having brought nothing nearly as nice, I left the loathed shoes on that Byron made me wear. I quickly went into the bathroom, sweeping a little mascara on, grabbing my wallet, and heading back into the hall and down the stairs.

I couldn't say I was exactly thrilled at the idea of going to Mandy's. That place was nothing but unpleasant memories for me, despite all its beauty. But that being said, I had been trapped inside Byron's splendid, sprawling prison for over a week, usually kept too busy to even get more than a couple of stolen minutes out on the balcony for fresh air. I was going more than a little stir crazy. So while I wasn't thrilled about the destination, I was happy to get out for a little bit.

Even if my company was Byron St. James.

"The reason you don't dress like that day-to-day is..." Byron prompted as he watched me descend the stairs.

There was a little thrill inside at the comment because it was, in an off-hand way, a compliment.

"You slip into something so tight that you can't breathe in it and then get back to me," I said with a small brow lift, but try as I might, I couldn't fight the small curve upward of my lips.

"Got everything?" he asked, moving toward the door, his hand resting gently at my lower back.

"Um, yeah," I said, looking around as if anything of mine might be laying around despite the fact that it wasn't even my house.

"Alright, let's go," he said, pressing his hand into my back more firmly as he led me through the doorway and outside. One of Byron's cars was waiting, sleek, black, perfect curves, blackout windows. Like he was some celebrity, I thought with a small airy snort. "Got a problem with my car?"

"No," I said, watching as he reached to open the door for me whilst still holding my lower back. "It's... nice," I said, not sure why I felt like I needed to compliment it. "It must be nice to be driving along and not worried something is going to fall out underneath you," I mused with a genuine smile as I lowered myself into the seat then pulled my legs in.

"True story?"

"Oh, only three or four times," I said, waving a hand dismissively.

To that, his own lips curved upward slowly then he shut the door and moved around the back of his car to his side, sliding into the seat with a sort of casual ease I envied. The car turned over with what could only be called a purr then took off so smoothly that it barely felt like we were moving at all.

The car probably cost as much as two whole years' salary for me. My mind couldn't even wrap itself around that kind of opulence. We hit the boardwalk and I asked Byron if he would roll the windows down.

"Not worried about your hair?" he asked with a mildly condescending brow lift.

"Do I really seem like the kind of woman who is worried about her hair?" I asked as he nodded and rolled the windows down, whipping my hair in every direction and letting the beach scent settle into every strand. We pulled out front Mandy's way too soon, me reaching up to try to smooth my hair into some kind of order as we waited for the valet.

Byron released his belt and half-turned in his seat toward me, arm raising, hand going to the top of my head where he moved a chunk of hair to the right side of my part. "Missed a bit," he informed me, his fingers drifting down the strands before dropping away completely.

Then, by some miracle to save me from trying to find a way to break the tension in the car, the door behind me yanked open, making me jump then lurch into the open door... only to find myself still strapped in. With a chuckle, Byron reached out and clicked the button for me, making absolutely no attempt to cover up his amusement at my expense. "Shut up," I said, trying like hell to not be completely humiliated.

"Didn't say shit," he said, shrugging his shoulder as he got out of his side of the car.

"You were going to and you know it," I told him over the hood of the car before he moved around toward me, giving the valet the key fob and putting a hand to my lower back yet again, leaving me to wonder if it was just force of habit and I should stop harping on it, or if it actually meant something.