Chapter 60
Ethan
Worry claws at my throat as we pull onto the parking ramp beside our destination.
Tilda didn’t say anything during the landing.
Hardly said anything as we made another bathroom stop, then transferred to the car.
She’s been silent the whole ride.
And now, as I park and turn off the engine, I worry that she’s shutting down.
I know she doesn’t like her family, that she doesn’t want to be here. But this reaction is stressing me out.
As I push open the car door, I wonder if I should just turn the engine back on and drive us right back to the airport.
Tilda doesn’t need to be here for this.
She already has Jack’s house and land. Sitting in a room with her relatives as they find out is unnecessary. And, if I’m reading the family history correctly, more than a bit cruel.
Why would Jack put her through this?
With one leg out of the vehicle, I turn my head toward Tilda. “You don’t have to do this. We can go.”
Still wearing my extra pair of aviators, Tilda gives me a tight smile. “I’m okay.” She unbuckles her seat belt. “But as soon as this is done, we go straight back to the plane.”
I want to argue. But I dip my chin instead, leaving my sunglasses on the dashboard.
We slam our doors shut at the same time and meet at the back of the car.
Tilda pauses beside me.
The black glasses, with the black boots and leather backpack, mixed with her fluffy yellow dress, make her look even more badass than she did before.
I want to tell her that.
Want to tell her that I haven’t stopped thinking about the other night.
How good it felt having her beneath me.
How I need to have her there again.
I want to tell her that I’m becoming enamored.
Obsessed.
That I’ll help her through anything. That I’ll happily punch Ralph in the fucking face if it will just make her smile.
But I don’t want to derail her.
Don’t want to make this about me.
So I keep my mouth shut.
And I hold my hand out.
She tips her head up, and I watch myself in the reflection of her lenses as she makes her decision.
Tilda blows out a breath. Nods. Then puts her hand in mine.
Satisfaction blooms inside my rib cage as I close my fingers around hers.
Tilda falls into step beside me as we walk together down the ramp to street level.
I keep my grip firm and use my hold on her to turn Tilda to the left.
Before she got to the hangar this morning, I studied the map of this location so I’d know where to go. I didn’t tell her that. And she doesn’t question me. Just follows. Giving my confidence another boost.
I know I fucked up with how I said things on the plane, but I can still show her that today isn’t just about a hired job.
Heat radiates up from the concrete as we make our way down the wide sidewalk.
Summer in Las Vegas is not for the faint of heart.
And not for people dressed like lumberjacks.
I reach up with my free hand and undo the top couple buttons of my flannel.
I’m probably showing more bare chest than is respectable. But, fuck, it’s like being in hell out here.
Tilda’s fingers flex against mine. “You okay, Ranger?”
“Hot.”
She huffs and reaches across with her free hand to the front of my shirt.
My steps falter as she undoes the next button.
A fingertip taps against my chest, and I look down at the tattooed skin she’s revealed.
“I’m suddenly better.” I try to say it dryly. But it comes out as a rumble.
Tilda hums and drops her hand.
I focus on slowing my heart rate as we cross an intersection.
Then, we’re here.
I squeeze Tilda’s fingers. “This is it.”
We slow and turn to face a three-story building.
It looks like an old courthouse, complete with a wide stone staircase leading up to the front door, and is the current home to two dozen businesses. One of which belongs to Jack’s lawyer.
I wait for Tilda to take the first step, then I walk beside her up the stairs.
“It’s on the first level. Turn right when we get inside, then it’s on the left.”
Tilda nods, and I let go of her hand so I can open the door.
She takes the aviators off and puts them on top of her head, the earpieces disappearing into her hair. Then she walks in ahead of me.
We turn down the hall, the directory on the wall confirming this is the way to Richard and Son. Spaced out between the doors on either side of the hall are plain wooden benches. And our footsteps echo between the high ceilings and the marble floors.
Ahead of us, a door opens, and a woman steps out into the hall.
Tilda tenses, and her hesitation has me lifting my hand on instinct and placing it against the center of her back.
She straightens her shoulders and whispers under her breath, “Here we go.”
“There you are.” The woman snaps it like an accusation.
“Hello, Mother.” Tilda’s tone is formal and cold.
And her mother… is average.
Average appearance. Size.
Short brown hair dyed a shade too dark to look natural.
Clothing that is conventionally nice but not memorable.
She’s unremarkable.
Nothing like Tilda.
And I’ve never instantly hated a person more in my life.
“We’ve been waiting.” There isn’t a single shred of affection in her tone.
As our steps slow, I lift my hand and make a show of looking at my watch, letting the awful woman see me do it.
We’re ten minutes early.
She glances at the movement but just as quickly dismisses me.
Before something else can come out of her mouth, another woman steps out of the office.
Followed by a man. An older woman. And then a paired couple.
I must make a noise because Tilda hums an agreement. “There’s a lot of them.”
Together, we come to a stop before the crowd.
The woman standing next to Tilda’s mom makes a clicking sound as she looks Tilda over. “Yellow… With your complexion?”
“Watch your mouth,” I growl.
The old bitch gasps as she looks at me. “Excuse me?”
I hold her gaze, letting her see how serious I am.
And I keep my expression flat when she finally notices my eyes and flinches.
Tilda’s mom huffs. “Tilly—”
“Don’t call me that.” Tilda cuts her off, and I almost smile.
“Ma-tilda.” The older woman rolls her eyes as she emphasizes the name obnoxiously. “Can we please get started?”
A male voice calls something from inside the law office, and the shitty not-mother woman shouts back, “We’re coming.”
Tilda gestures toward the office. “After you.”
Her family files back through the door, and I dip my head, speaking quietly against her ear. “Do you want me to come in with you?”
She keeps her attention forward, on the enemy, but shakes her head. “Thank you, but no.”
“You’re sure?”
She nods, then tips her head up to look at me. “I’m sure, Ranger.”
Accepting her answer, I straighten and let my hand slide down her spine as she steps away.
When the door closes behind her, I sit on the bench beside the door. And wait.