At that, Corinne lifts her head and gives Trista a delighted smile. "Can I help you flip them?"
Trista makes a scoffing sound. "Well, duh. Of course you're going to flip them, silly."
Corinne giggles, and the lines of worry around Trista's eyes disappear.
"Okay, we're out of here," Trista says as she turns to me with a smile. I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it. Turning to her mom, I say, "It was nice to meet you, Jolene. And you too, Corinne."
Jolene gives me a sweet smile as she puts her arm around Corinne's shoulder. I even get a shy smile from the little girl.
We walk out of Trista's home and when we hit the sidewalk that cuts over to the driveway, I say, "Corinne having a bad day?"
Trista sighs in frustration. "Danielle was supposed to call her today but didn't."
Never met Trista's sister, but I can categorically say I officially can't stand either of her siblings.
When we reach the car, I open the passenger door and help her in. When she settles and starts to grab the seat belt, I ask with a jerk of my head over my shoulder at the realtor sign in the yard. "You're selling your house?"
Trista grimaces. "Trying to. Had a buyer, which would have given me the equity I needed to pay off my... um... loan, but found out there's a termite problem. So that fell through. I'm kind of at a standstill now because I don't have the money to fix the damage."
Oddly, I'm relieved that's the reason she's selling, and not because she may be moving away. I give her a nod and close the door.
When I get in on my side, I turn to her. "Do you need some money to get it fixed?"
Trista's head snaps my way. "What?"
"Money," I repeat. "A loan."
Trista snorts at me. "No thank you. My indentured servitude to you is almost up. I need to get out and find a job with real benefits."
I narrow my eyes at her. "I mean a real loan. With a long-term repayment and low interest. I'd help you out if you needed it."
Her head tilts to the side. "Why? Your favor to Jayce has essentially been repaid."
If I tell her the truth, it would be something along the lines of, "Well, Trista... see, I care for you. I think. I'm not sure. I've got all these crazy feelings that I've never had before. Not with Michelle. Not with anyone."
But of course, I don't tell her that because this thing will be over in ten days and we'll go our separate ways. Whether I use my relationship with Trista to hurt her brother remains to be seen, but I'm not about to give in to admitting any of these feelings that might be nothing more than a passing fancy.
So instead, I just say, "If you need help, call me. If not, that's fine too."
"Okay," she says hesitantly and before it can get anymore awkward, I change directions.
Leaning across her, I open the glove compartment and pull out a black velvet box. I open it and show her the contents.
Trista gasps as she ogles the diamond necklace in horror. "You said this wasn't a date."
I grimace, because I did tell her that in a fit of anxiety after I asked her to go to this, then hid behind my excuse that it was part of her job duties to me. "Relax, Trista. It's on loan from a friend. It turns into a pumpkin at midnight."
Trista's chest decompresses with the amount of air she expels in relief, but then I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a much smaller box. Handing it to her, I say, "But... I did buy these for you to wear with the necklace. They're yours to keep."
I busy myself with taking the necklace out of the box to undo the clasp. It's a beautiful graduated diamond tennis necklace that I think Helena told me was a total of ten carats. The diamond earrings I bought are each a carat, although I could have afforded much more and had contemplated something much bigger. But that spoke too much of things I wasn't ready to talk about, so I went smaller so there was no pressure on either side.
"They're beautiful," Trista murmurs as she looks at the earrings.
"Here," I say gruffly as I hold the necklace up. "Turn around so I can put this on you."
I easily clasp the necklace around her neck, running my fingers over her bare shoulder when I'm done. I get a blast of satisfaction over the way she shivers. She turns back in her seat, taking her gold hoops out of her ears and putting in the diamond solitaires. Pulling the visor mirror down, she looks at herself with a smile.
"Thank you," she says without looking at me. Her voice is so warm with affection, I feel my throat constrict. Almost as if she could sense my unease, she adds, "For a non-date... you know, actually just working tonight, I'm taking home a pretty nice haul."
The tension within me releases, and I laugh at her. "Just the earrings, let me remind you."
Trista grins as she turns in her seat to face me. She puts a palm on my thigh and squeezes. "Seriously... thank you. The earrings are totally unnecessary but totally appreciated."
I smile back at her, feeling like I just won something. A prize. A medal. Something big and shiny that denotes I achieved something monumental here. I'm quite afraid the warm feelings I'm developing for Trista are the achievement, and I don't know if that makes me happy or scared.
CHAPTER 22
Trista
Jerico and I meander along the perimeter of the ballroom, looking at the items available for silent auction bids. The charity dinner is being held at the Bellagio and is set to begin soon. But first, patrons are liquored up and then set loose on the tables, all to raise money for homeless veterans.
"Do you do this often?" I ask Jerico as he strolls along with me. Each of us have a glass of champagne in hand, but that doesn't stop him from putting his other hand on my bare lower back, which is super sensitive to his fingers.
"Charity events?" he asks to clarify and I nod as I look at a set of front-row tickets to Adele along with backstage passes. I don't even bother to look at the bids, because I couldn't even afford to touch it.
I'm surprised Jerico does fancy events like this. Not that he's not suave and sophisticated as well as rich, so he can afford to do these things. But the man I know is completely satisfied to stay tucked in his club, running his business and fucking until his heart is content, so it's just a little odd. Not the charity itself. Given his military connections, I get why this would be important to him.
The next item we come to is a pair of boxing gloves that are old and worn. As I look closer, I note they've been signed by Muhammed Ali. I gasp as I lean forward to look at them, and then my eyes glance down to the paper where people can write their bids. There are several already, but the last one makes me swallow hard.
$9,500.
Holy shit.
"You a fan?" Jerico asks, nodding at the photo of Ali hanging on the wall above the gloves.
"Of boxing," I tell him with a smile. "I love it, and well... Ali was one of the greats."
"I would have never pegged you as a fan of boxing," Jerico muses. "Hockey, maybe. Football, I can see. But not boxing."
"Hello," I reply tartly with a roll of my eyes. "This is Vegas. Boxing is huge here."
"That it is," he murmurs before taking a sip of his champagne.
"Not that I've ever been to a live event, but I'll usually go to a sports bar and watch." I turn to look back at the gloves, knowing they'll fetch a very good price. "I hope more people bid on those gloves. Totally worth more than that."
"I'm with you," Jerico says. "I paid almost twice as much for them at a non-charity auction."
My head snaps around, the champagne sloshing in my glass. "You donated those?"
"Yup," he says with a shrug. "I have all kinds of sports memorabilia, and this was definitely a worthy cause. I'm sure these gloves will go for a lot more. There are some serious spenders here tonight."
He's not kidding. The number of jewels being worn by the women is almost blinding, and some of the bids I've seen have been in the tens of thousands of dollars. It's mind boggling to me.
Jerico and I walk around a bit more, and he bids on a painting by a local artist I didn't particularl
y care for, but that stuff is so subjective anyway. He also steps aside for a moment and talks privately with the man in charge of the auction, but I don't suppose it was a necessary introduction to me. And then someone is at a microphone, asking everyone to take their seats at their assigned tables for the meal to be served.
We're at a table with six other people who Jerico knows. It hits me suddenly that he's not just a hermit who hides in The Wicked Horse, but a real businessman. He owns a prominent security-consulting company and is probably very involved with the community if he's attending functions like this.
I sit quietly, feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Women as the men discuss business and politics and the women talk to each other and ignore me. I only hope to God they don't bring escargot because I definitely cannot eat it, and I don't feel like being embarrassed by flinging a shell across the room.
When the salad is served, however, the chatter across the table dies down and Jerico turns slightly toward me as we eat. Leaning over, he whispers, "I hate all this polite chitchat."
I have to swallow down a giggle before I whisper back to him. "Well, suck it up and eat your salad."
Jerico responds by putting his hand on my leg, giving it a squeeze, and then using his fingers to pull at the silk of my gown. He gets it to rise right to my knees and then his hand is snaking under. I slap a hand on his wrist, look around the table to see everyone engaged in food or personal talk, and then I make a decision.
Not to stop him but to pull his hand up higher. I do this while watching Jerico's nostrils flare and his eyes darken with arousal. But he does nothing more than squeeze the inside of my thigh before taking his hand away. I grin at him in satisfaction when he leans over once more to whisper, "Would you have really let me finger you under the table?"
"Yes," I whisper back to him, my skin tingling with the prospect of what I almost let him do.
"Dirty girl," he says with appreciation in his eyes. "But even I have my limits on what I'll do in public. Besides, you're too much of a screamer. We would have never gotten away with it."
He's so right. It would have been stupid, but I still cherish that feel of his hand on my leg knowing he was thinking of me in that way.
The salads are removed efficiently after we finish. Within moments, the main course is served--Kobe beef tenderloin and lobster tails--and private talk resumes around the table. Not sure this is really the norm, but Jerico is not engaging anyone, content to talk to me as we eat.
"So... tomorrow is pancake day, huh?" he asks as he cuts into his steak.
I nod as I do the same. "I'm trying to establish routines... habits with Corinne. Things she can count on. Sunday is always pancake day."
"You think her mom is going to come back?" Jerico asks, stilling his utensils to look at me.
I stop cutting my steak. "I know this sounds awful, but at this point... I hope not. She's so inconsistent and unpredictable. I don't think Corinne can handle her coming back and going away again. My mom and I are giving her a stable home. With her illness and recovery, that's the most important thing."
"And pancakes," Jerico adds with a smile as he goes back to his meal.
"God, she loves pancakes," I say with a laugh and slice off a small piece of steak. "She'd eat them every meal, every day."
Jerico nods, chewing on a piece of steak. I take the opportunity to do the same and almost moan in pleasure over how tender it is. I can't afford steak at all, much less steak like this.
"What's the one thing you would eat every day for every meal if you could?" Jerico asks, and I'm not at all surprised by what seems like an inane question, but really... we ask each other this kind of stuff all the time.
"This steak," I say as I cut into another piece. That gets me a grin from Jerico. "But seriously... I think gummy bears. I'm addicted to them."
Jerico grimaces, and I may have ruined his delicious dinner. I eat another piece of steak and make a move on my lobster tail as I ask, "What about you? What would be your one thing?"
"Easy question," he says with the same confidence and authority by which he commands me when we're naked. "Red velvet cake.
It's odd we're eating the finest meal I've ever had and yet we're talking about pancakes and red velvet cake, both of which are like little luxuries to me since I try to watch carbs and sweets. It's why I make a stab at some asparagus and ignore the baked potato.
Our conversation continues, light and steady, not too personal but not inconsequential either like talking about the weather. As the meal winds down, an orchestra starts playing music. By the time the desserts are cleared--and okay, I tried some of the chocolate mousse--people were hitting the dance floor or roaming around the auction tables again.
Jerico jumps in on a conversation beside him, but when they start talking about golf, I tune them out. Instead, I turn slightly in my chair and watch the dancers, marveling at the gorgeous designer gowns and jewelry of the other women. No doubt, I'm not wearing as much in jewels or clothing, but as I look around at the men in the room, there's a little bit of pride within me knowing I'm here with the hottest man. I've seen several women appraising him openly, and I wonder if any of them have been with him at the club.
A warm hand squeezes my shoulder, and Jerico leans toward me. "Want to dance?"
"You dance?" I ask with slight disbelief. I mean, this guy rescues kidnap victims and blows up shit. Oh, and he has kinky sex. I didn't peg him as a ballroom dancer.
"I can get by," he says with a smirk as he stands from his chair and holds his hand out to me.
When I take it, he pulls me up and immediately into him so our bodies are touching. "Well, I haven't been to a formal dance since prom in high school, although I'm sure I could probably still pull off the Macarena."
Jerico laughs and leans down for a spontaneous and affectionate kiss that's over before it begins, and then he's tugging me toward the gleaming parquet floor. I hope I can manage to handle it in my high heels.
When he reaches the center, Jerico pulls me into his arms with such smoothness it seems as if no effort was expended on his part. He leads and I follow. It turns out that I can apparently dance, even though I'll give the credit to him.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asks as he looks down at me. It's almost a magical moment as his hand splays across my lower back, his thumb rubbing my skin. His other hand clasps mine and he holds me intimately close. I feel like a princess.
"Very much," I admit to him. "Thank you for bringing me."
"Thank you for coming," he says back politely, but his voice is a low rumble that sounds sexy as hell and makes me want to pull him into the bathroom and take advantage of him.
I try to make sure our relationship stays where he wants it to so I can't get any expectations that would later be dashed, reminding myself I am his employee first and foremost. "It was a pleasurable part of my job to accompany you."
Jerico stares at me a moment, his expression flummoxed. But then he grumbles, "You and I both know damn well it's not part of your job. It's a fucking date."
I'm completely shocked by his renunciation, which is hilarious. I laugh playfully as I look up at him. "Well, try not to sound so put out by it."
He growls what might be a string of curses, but they're cut off as his mouth connects with mine. It's a hot kiss but not erotic. One of those where his open mouth moves slowly over mine, yet only our lips touch. It's sweet and intimate and... caring?
When he pulls back, he looks a little off-kilter as if he can't believe he just did that. I've always known Jerico is the type of man who doesn't commit for the long term, and he looks almost spooked right now.
I immediately start back up conversation. "Okay, don't you think it's about time given all the dirty, filthy things I've let you do to me that you tell me a little something about your background? Like what were you like growing up and did you have a dog? Oh, and how did you come to live in Las Vegas?"
I hold my breath, wondering if Jerico will shut down on me. Instead, he
gives me a smile that's filled with fondness for his past. "You know I'm from New Hampshire already and I don't have a big family, but I was extremely close to my mom and dad. My dad was a carpenter and my mom ran a home business making and selling soaps."
I smile because of the tone of affection in his voice for his parents.
"After I got out of the military and decided to start my own private contracting company, I looked at a lot of places to put down the company's roots. I considered places like D.C. or New York City, but ultimately decided on Vegas because there's a lot of private wealth here and need for security services. And for the government stuff, we don't need to be in Washington to communicate with them. In fact, they come here to us if they have a mission they want us to bid on."
"Do you miss New Hampshire?" I ask him.
"Yeah... I miss the snow and how gorgeous it is in the fall. I go back once in a blue moon on vacation, but it's hard to take time off. And with my parents gone, it's not the same."
"I bet," I say softly as I slide my hand from his shoulder to his neck. I stroke my thumb there in commiseration.
"What about you?" he asks, and this surprises me. While I'm all kinds of nosy because I happen to just like Jerico on a personal basis, I always sort of felt he didn't need to know anything about me. "You've told me about Corinne, and your mom seems nice, but what was it like growing up here?"
"Well, Vegas is my hometown, although the Vegas I live in isn't the glitzy strip. I don't go there very often."
"What about your dad?" Jerico prods.
I give a little shrug as I turn my gaze over Jerico's shoulder. It's a bit of a sore subject. "He took off when I was about two and never came back. Left my mom for another woman."
"Jayce's mom?" Jerico asks so I have to look back to him. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion.
I give a sardonic smile, because it is a bit confusing. "My mom was married first to a man named Eldridge. They had Danielle, but he split before she turned one. Mom then met and married Jayce's dad, Vince, within like six months after her divorce. He had Jayce already. Jayce was about three years old when Vince married my mom. Jayce's mom was apparently on drugs and unstable. They had me three years later."
"So you and Jayce share the same father, but you and Danielle share the same mother?" he states for clarification.
Wicked Favor Page 18
