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Kayla was hyper-conscious of the way the skirt of her dress brushed against her upper thighs. This thing was far too short for her. Parker might not know it, but he'd passed a major test by telling her it didn't suit her.
Her phone buzzed and she held it up as she walked. Sloan again. Seriously, where the fuck are you?
"I'm here, dumbass," she muttered.
She stopped walking so she could text him back, but footfalls on the path ahead caught her attention. Seconds later, Sloan stood before her, clicking his teeth. The sneer on his face quickly faded as he took in her figure.
"You wore the dress," he said.
Forcing a smile on her face, she tried to remember one nice thing about Sloan. Just one. Sadly, her brain came up blank. All she could think of was Parker, and how Sloan could never hope to compare. Sloan was full of petty cruelties, accusations, and manipulations.
His calculating gaze hinted at what lay within, and she couldn't believe that she hadn't seen it before. Why had she fallen for him? Youthful ignorance? A desire to find what her mother and father had enjoyed before his death, no matter what? She could have that with Parker, though—she would have that with Parker. Why she'd ever thought Sloan was up to the task boggled her mind.
But she had a job to do, and it didn't involve enumerating Sloan's faults. Reaching out, she took his hand in hers. He'd be suspicious if he were the only one initiating physical contact.
Oh, how she wished she held Parker's hand instead.
"You smell like tiger again," Sloan said in an expressionless voice.
"My driver, again," she said shortly.
"You two must be getting close. All these long drives to my territory."
"Funny," she said, in a voice that didn't sound amused at all, "because I spent most of the way here arguing with him."
"You're not getting close?" Sloan asked, unable to mask the hope in his voice.
"I was just telling him how much I hated him."
All true words.
"What were you arguing about?" Sloan pressed.
"Do you want a play-by-play of every conversation I have with every other person in my life?" she asked.
He clicked his teeth. Once, twice, and once more. "No, just this conversation. Unless you're hiding things from me again."
"Again?" She shook her head.
Sloan waited, not bothering to explain his bizarre accusation. Typical of him—hint that she was guilty of something, wait for her to take the bait, and then accuse her of overreacting.
They were almost to the mansion. Kayla wanted this resolved before they reached Bronson's line of sight or hearing. If Bronson sensed discord between them, he'd be even more suspicious of her.
"My driver," Kayla said, "like most of the clan, doesn't want me to come here anymore. But Sloan, what you and I have is worth a shot."
What they had was nothing, and it was worth a shot to the head, but he didn't know that.
He raked his gaze up and down her form. "I hope you'll spend some time with me alone tonight. I got your old room ready and everything."
"I'm still surprised Bronson didn't give that room to someone else by now, all the new people he's let into the pack."
"It's not that many people," Sloan said.
Kayla snorted. "I hardly recognized anyone when I came here last week."
"Sure you did," he said. "You seemed friendly enough with Colby and Rhiannon."
Of course. Because Sloan knew who she recognized better than she herself knew. Kayla shrugged, because it wasn't worth the argument. None of their conversations was worth an argument. If she was going to argue with someone, it would be Parker, and that argument had better end with some kissing.
They reached the front door to the mansion, and Sloan opened it and gestured her inside with a flourish.
"Mademoiselle," he said in a mocking tone.
She gave him an equally mocking smile and stepped into the house. The entryway opened into a great room, where Bronson had arranged several couches and plush chairs. If the pack was going to hang out, everyone would rather be outdoors, but he probably liked the show of opulence and grandeur. It was so very Bronson to flaunt the wealth he'd accumulated since leaving the RCC.
Kayla had appreciated that wealth, for a time. Hell, she'd contributed to it with the trust fund that came to her after her father's death. She wondered how many of these couches had been paid for with the ten grand she'd given Bronson during her time with the Bitterroots.
A wolf-whistle brought her attention to the side of the room where a large table rested. Colby, who had whistled, and several Bitterroots stood around it, hunched over some papers. Kayla hurried over, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever held their attention. She was too aware of the short dress and how it didn't cover as much of her as she would have liked.
"Stop whistling at my girl," Sloan growled.
Kayla stopped short at the possessive note in his voice, and the way he'd called her his girl. Should she correct him? She belonged to Parker, now. Nobody else.
No, she wouldn't say anything. Let him think whatever he wanted. She had a job to do, and his fantasies would hopefully make it easier.
"I'll get you a drink, babe," he said, kissing the side of her neck.
Kayla had to work hard not to visibly shudder. Instead, she slowly approached everyone. If she was careful, she could get a glimpse of whatever they were working on, then make her excuses and hurry back to Parker and the RCC.
The red dress didn't work in her favor, though, because she caught the attention of several of the men at the table—including Bronson.
"What the fuck is she doing here?" Bronson demanded.
"Good to see you too, B," Kayla said.
"Maybe she could help us call the libraries," Colby suggested.
"Shut up," Bronson snarled. "She's with the Rock Creek Clan."
Kayla drew herself up to her full height, which, she knew, wasn't all that impressive. She stalked toward the table. She was nearly able to see the papers. Were they lists of libraries? Why? "I'll have you know—again—that they don't think I should be here. Pretty much every person in the RCC, including Jameson, has tried to talk me out of this."
Bronson looked up again and saw how close she'd gotten to the table. He switched his glare to Sloan. "Get her out of here."
Sloan's too-hot palm came down on her shoulder and he steered her toward the kitchen. "Here's your drink. Come with me and I'll show you what's new upstairs."
Kayla went along with him, taking a sip from the glass he handed her. She winced at the sharp taste and the burn as it went down her throat. Somehow, she had to get back into that room and see what this whole library thing was about.