Trey was most of the way through an overpriced coffee when he looked at the time on his phone for the sixth time.
Where was she? She’d said a quick errand, but it had been over half an hour. He’d texted her, but she hadn’t responded.
Damn it.
Draining the rest of his coffee, Trey stood, ignoring the nervous looks that the two old ladies at the table across the way gave him.
He tossed his paper cup in the trash on his way by and stalked through the parking lot toward his pickup. The threatening rain had kept him off his bike today, and now he wished he’d just taken it anyway. His frustrations blew away much faster when he could ride into the wind and forget them all.
Nothing like being stuffed into the cab of the old Ford that Doc kept running for him.
The door creaked as Trey slammed it behind him.
The department store she’d mentioned was just across the street and down a block or two. He’d have walked there, but he didn’t want to take the chance of passing her on the way.
He wanted to get this over with.
Their encounter at Ginger’s wedding had left him feeling shaken—a sensation that he didn’t care for in the slightest.
He hadn’t meant to show his hand that way. Certainly not to Bethany, who hadn’t exactly made a secret of thinking that he was full of it. But God help him, she did things to him that no other woman had. She made him stupid, and stupid men did stupid things. Like basically admit that he was a lying asshole.
By the time he cut the engine in front of Hudson’s, he was good and pissed off at himself.
What was he doing? He should have just texted her a picture of the invitations. But his dumb ass wanted to see her, and so here he was, waltzing through this store like he was looking for a long-lost girlfriend.
Idiot.
The store was quiet, the weekday morning not exactly the height of shopping frenzy. The entrance he’d chosen wound right past the empty customer-service desk, with a door behind it marked “Employees Only.” And from behind there he heard raised voices, one of which was familiar. Bethany’s.
His blood heated instantly, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he stepped closer to the counter, trying to make out what they were saying.
“…just here to get my paycheck. That’s all. I’m not interested in coming back after you fired me for no good reason.”
“There was a good reason! But that doesn’t matter now. Tiffany quit. It’s over, and I can’t find another manager on what we paid yo… I mean, we can’t find another manager that’s as capable as you. You’ve got to come back.”
“I told you, I’m not interested. Now give me my paycheck before I call the cops.”
“We aren’t done here. I’m not giving you anything until you agree to hear me out.”
And then Trey was around the counter. Forget waiting for the cops. This asshole wasn’t going to keep Bethany’s money hostage so he could try to manipulate her into taking back a job that she clearly wasn’t interested in. Screw that.
Trey opened the office door, and two sets of eyes swung in his direction, both of them widening as they took him in.
He drew in a breath to make sure he was as filled out as his six-foot-five frame could be. He knew the sight he presented, and even if he didn’t, the look on the balding manager’s face would have given him a clue. Dude looked ready to wet his pants.
“Is there a problem here?” Trey let a good amount of pissed-off bleed into his tone, glowering down at the man for good effect.
“N-no,” the guy stuttered. “I mean, no, sir, thank you. Just a small employee matter. Did you need help with anything?”
Trey looked at Bethany. The exasperation in her expression was clearly not directed at him, but it was enough to encourage him to get this matter over with as quickly as possible.
“You giving my girl grief?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Trey saw Bethany jerk at his choice of words. He didn’t give a good damn.
“You two are together?” The man looked from Trey to Bethany and back again.
Trey’s fist landed on the desk, causing the objects atop it to shake. “I asked a question. Are you giving my girl a hard time? I’d think real hard about what your answer is, if I were you.”
“Trey…” Bethany shook her head, but she didn’t deny their supposed relationship. Good. She was as smart as she was beautiful.
“Give her what she came for.” Trey leaned closer, watching as beads of sweat popped out along the man’s much-too-high hairline. “Do it now, while I’m still playing nice.”
“My paycheck, Mr. Junes. Now.”
Trey didn’t look back at her, but damn was he proud of the strength in Bethany’s voice. He’d been right when he called her strong girl. That was definitely a key aspect of her personality.
Trey might have sped this process along, but he had no doubt she’d have handled Junes on her own just fine, eventually.
Junes’s hand shook as he reached for the drawer in the center of the desk and withdrew a white envelope. He wet his lips nervously as he looked back and forth between the two of them.
“One more time, Bethany. I’m begging. Come back—”
Trey’s hand shot out to grab Junes by the collar, but slim, pale fingers circled his wrist, stopping him.
He looked at her in stunned surprise. She shook her head slightly.
“No, thank you.” She let go of Trey long enough to take her paycheck and then laced her fingers through his. “We’re done here.”
Trey’s head buzzed as if he’d been struck by lightning as she led him from the office.
Never had anyone stopped him that way. She’d shown no fear, no worry. Just a simple control of the situation that stunned him.
“Thank you,” she said once they’d reached the outside. She looked up at the overcast sky, squinting a little. “He wasn’t giving up. You certainly intimidated him.”
Trey didn’t say anything in response. He was too interested in the delicious feeling of her fingers laced through his. It was a comfortable feeling, a safe one. Her hand was so slight in his; it felt so much smaller. But it was strong.
Eventually she’d realize she was still touching him and pull away. But for now, he just enjoyed it.
Bethany drew in a deep breath, and then his hand was empty.
“You had him,” Trey said, jamming his hand in his pocket as if he could keep that feeling closer to his skin by doing so.
“I’m sorry I grabbed you like that. I just didn’t want you to do anything that might cause him to press charges.”
Trey shook his head. “You were right. As much as I would have enjoyed pounding the smug out of that jackass, he’s not worth a night in lockup.”
Bethany smiled, and there weren’t enough gray skies in the world to cloud his day right then. “Thanks for coming to my rescue. I kind of like having a white knight, even if his horse is a motorcycle.”
Nothing she could have said would make his chest swell further.
* * *
Back at the coffee shop, Trey got another overpriced drink—hard as hell to order a plain, black coffee in that joint, but Bethany insisted she was buying—and sat down with Bethany and her latte in the corner.
“Thanks again,” she said as she stirred another pack of sugar into her drink. “Sorry that whole thing made me late and you had to come looking for me.”
“Not a problem,” Trey said smoothly, leaning back in the seat and keeping his eyes trained on her profile as she looked out on the now-rainy day. Her eyes looked stormy, like the clouds. He liked it. He liked her.
He took a long draw on his coffee, burning his tongue in the process.
“So, I’d love to know your progress.”
He blinked. Oh yeah, the wedding crap.
Fairly pleased with his progress, Trey reached into the black leather saddlebag he’d brought with him. “I got the venue reserved for the ceremony, and they have an indoor space if it rains. The reception will be held in the restaurant on-site, like we discussed. Here’s the confirmation number.”
He passed over a sheet of paper that had Wolf’s messy contractor’s scrawl all over it.
Bethany frowned at the page.
“This says the rental is from 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.”
Trey looked up from the notebook that was precariously balanced on the edge of the bistro table. “Yeah? So?”
“The wedding’s at seven. You think people will be done drinking and dancing and cleaned up and out of there by ten?”
Damn it. She was right.
“I’ll call them and change the times.”
“You’ll have to get the contract updated too before Mama Yelverton can sign it.”
As Bethany schooled him in the many ways he’d screwed up so far, his sense of accomplishment went up in smoke.
He should have known that things were coming together too well. His mood got darker and darker as their conversation wore on. Finally, Bethany tucked her hair behind her ear and looked straight at him.
“So, the invitations. Do you have anything there?”
Oh yeah. Maybe he could rescue this fiasco after all. Reaching into his bag, his fingers closed on the edge of the large manila envelope he’d stuck in there.
“There are twelve to choose from,” he said and handed her the envelope. He was pretty proud of himself there. Holding a contest might have been a junior high concept, but those hairy bastards worked a lot harder for the promise of a five-hundred-dollar bounty than they would have otherwise.
“These…” Bethany’s eyes were wide as saucers. “These are… Wow.”
“Handmade touches on these things make all the difference.” He’d read that on the internet.
“Well, that’s true,” Bethany said, gingerly flipping through the stack, “but that’s not the problem here.”
Trey frowned, his irritation flaring to life again. “What’s the problem now?”
“These look like they were made by an elementary-school art class.” Shaking her head, Bethany tucked the construction-paper invitations back into the envelope. “Trey, listen. I know you’re doing your best here, but maybe it’s time to throw in the towel. You’re just not cut out for this kind of thing.”
His hand curled into a fist in his lap, and he didn’t meet her eyes.
She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. But what choice did he have? It was too late to come up with another lie about his occupation. And telling the Yelvertons—and Bethany—that he headed up a motorcycle gang was out of the question.
Bethany leaned closer to him, her blond hair falling in a curtain over one shoulder.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you, really?”
And just like that, the steel filled his spine again, and ice hid everything behind his eyes. Bethany was just another person. In Trey’s life, there were two kinds of people—the Shadows and everyone else. And Bethany? She wasn’t a Shadow.
“My business is none of your damn business,” he said coldly. “I’m doing a job, and that’s all you have to be concerned about. I’ll fix the problem with the venue and get better invitations. But my personal life and my past are off-limits. We clear?”
Bethany drew back as if he’d slapped her.
“I… Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I—”
“Save it,” he said, shoving the papers back into the bag. “If it’s not about the wedding, there’s nothing for me and you to discuss.”
“Oh. Okay.”
The rest of the conversation was stilted, businesslike, and awkward. Bethany was polite, but much warier than he’d ever seen her. And with each passing minute, he was more and more pissed off with himself.
He’d been the one that started all this. She had more than enough information to expose him to Mrs. Yelverton and Sarah, but she’d chosen not to for whatever reason. So why was he being such a dick? She was helping him cover up his ineptitude, for Christ’s sake. And he rewarded her for that by acting like a raging cock-nugget?
“I guess that’s everything,” Bethany said, capping her pen.
Trey sighed. His rage had cooled enough that he was beginning to see how right she was. Maybe…maybe he could try to climb out of this hole, just a little.
“Do…” He cleared his throat. “Do you have any ideas for making the invitations better?”
She bit her lip, narrowing her brows for a moment. “You sure you want feedback?”
“Yeah. I want them to look good. And it’s clear that we’re not on the right track. So, if you wouldn’t mind…”
Bethany nodded. “Okay. Can I see that envelope again?”
He handed it over, and she reached inside.
“This one is actually not too bad as a concept. But you need much better paper, and there are paper cutters that could do a much more precise job. So, if you go to a craft store—”
“A what now?”
Bethany laughed. “Why don’t we head over to Mitchell’s Crafts? It’s down the road, and I can show you the stuff I mean.”
Trey looked at Beth. Hard.
“You want me”—he drew out the word, gesturing down to his tattoos, leather jacket, and steel-toed boots—“to go to a craft store?”