Chapter 6
“Do you have any idea who I am?” Edgar Prescott said.
“I couldn’t give a flying fuck. But if I had to guess, I’d say you were some old goat who had too much power for too many years and thought he could get away with just about anything,” Stick said.
Stick. Unbelievable that this was the guy who was helping me out. He hated me. And he—
“What are you even doing here?” I asked him. But skeevy old Edgar took that the wrong way.
“You see? The young lady wishes you to leave us alone,” he said, and took a step back toward me.
Stick swiftly moved in front of me, facing Edgar. “I think you’ve got it wrong, Gramps. Tell him, Jane.”
I was about to give Edgar Prescott a scorching—blistering!—set down when something inside me twitched.
“Mr. Prescott, Edgar. I really think it’s best if you return to the reception. Someone of your stature can’t be absent for long without people beginning to wonder why. And the last person you were dancing with was me. People will talk.”
He waved this away, the movement making Stick’s back stiffen, as if readying for an attack. I put my hand out, resting it on the small of Stick’s back, silently telling him that I had this.
“I’ve been dealing with these people my whole career—they will talk or not talk when I say so,” Edgar said. The arrogance of this guy.
“Yes, of course,” I said, placating the old fart. “But there were also several members of the press here tonight, and photographers.”
That did it. I didn’t know Edgar from Adam before tonight, but it was obvious by the look on his face that maybe the press did not ask “how high” when this guy said “jump.”
I saw it the second that good sense—or maybe political self-preservation—prevailed and Edgar gave up on the idea of having Sweet Baby Jane up against the corridor wall.
He straightened himself up, adjusting his bow tie and running his hands through his thinning combed-over hair.
Just as he was taking a step back—again making Stick tense—Grayson Spaulding came through the same door that Edgar had propelled me through.
Sharp man—he took the scene in, and in seconds had come to the rightful conclusion.
He gave me a questioning look—if I was all right.
I nodded. He took in Stick standing in front of me.
Then he placed a hand on Edgar’s shoulder and said, “Edgar, the press would like to get a sound bite from you. Why don’t you honor them with one of your trademark bon mots? ”
Edgar was nodding as Grayson spoke, like he was coming up with the idea on his own. “If you’ll all excuse me,” he said with, like, this gentlemanly half-bow toward Stick and me. Like he hadn’t just been pawing me and trying to squeeze my boob.
“Why you old—”
I pulled on Stick’s tux jacket, cutting him off (and why was Stick in a tux?), then smoothed my hand on his back, making him stop before he pissed Edgar off and undid my and Grayson’s smoothing of the situation.
He stopped what he was about to say, and even leaned back a little, into my hand. I kept it there. The heat of him radiated through his shirt and the heavy tux jacket. He felt solid and safe beneath my hand. But I knew that Stick was anything but safe.
Edgar exited the corridor through a different door, which Grayson pointed him to, so that he’d reappear at the reception from a different direction than I would.
I didn’t doubt for a moment that Grayson had this place totally wired for every side door entrance and exit. And honestly, I wasn’t surprised that he’d come to find Edgar and me.
But Stick had gotten to me first.
“What are you doing here?” I said softly to his back, my hand still on him.
He started to turn to face me, but Grayson stepped toward us, causing Stick to stand at attention in front of me again.
Stick didn’t know Grayson Spaulding. To him, Grayson could just be another political horndog come to take his turn with me.
It was kind of sweet, really. In a most fucked-up way.
“Stick. Grayson Spaulding,” he said, holding his hand out for Stick to shake, which he did.
Stick didn’t step away from me, though, and I found I liked that.
My hand, like it had a mind of its own, absently smoothed up and down his long back.
I watched, almost hypnotized, as my pale hand brushed along the black tux.
“It’s good to finally meet you in person,” Grayson was saying to Stick after they shook hands. Stick only nodded in return.
And that broke the spell that had been woven over me. My hand dropped from Stick’s back, and the loss of contact had him turning to me, but also facing Grayson, forming an odd little triangle.
“Jane, you’re okay?” Grayson asked. Well, not exactly asked. There was a question mark at the end of it, but his tone was one of…confirmation. Like he was congratulating himself for being right about me. That I could handle myself. As if letting me dance with that old letch had been okay.
Although it had been my father that had gleefully handed me over to Edgar Prescott. Grayson had taken a step toward us…to stop it?
“You knew he’d try something, didn’t you?” There was some accusation in my voice, but like him, it was mostly about confirmation.
“Edgar has been known to…”
“Prey on the weak?”
Stick snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re hardly what I’d call weak.”
“To you. To Edgar I’m the daughter of a whore whose father would gladly pimp her out for the backing of a dirty old man.”
“Now, Jane—” Grayson started, but I cut him off.
“You know that’s true. Or mostly true. He handed me over to him without a moment’s thought, and I’m willing to bet that good old Edgar’s reputation for accosting girls is well-known in your circles.”
Grayson didn’t say anything. Stick was studying me, his brow furrowed.
“Anything could have happened to me if he hadn’t shown up,” I said, jabbing a thumb at Stick.
“Hardly,” Stick said, obviously not liking the label of hero I was kind of throwing at him. Yeah, it didn’t sit too well with me, either. “Another second and you would’ve had that perv on his knees, grabbing his gonads.”
That was probably true. But then—
“But then Edgar would have had it out for Jane. This way, you’re the one who interfered, Stick. And in Edgar’s eyes, Jane was interrupted from something she wanted.”
A chill went through me, an actual, physical chill.
“Christ, that’s fucked up,” Stick said, and Grayson nodded his agreement.
“Wait,” I said. “You said ‘meet in person,’ like you’d already met in some other way?”
“Yes. Stick and I have been…conversing on the phone for a few weeks now. He’s here tonight at my invitation.”
The way Stick raised a brow at Grayson’s explanation made me realize there was way more going on here than new phone buddies extending a wedding invite. Not that that, in and of itself, wouldn’t be the most bizarre thing imaginable.
Then it hit me. “He’s spying on Lily and Lucas for you.” A weird look passed between them. “That’s it, isn’t it?” Again with the looks, and I knew I’d nailed it. “Dude, that’s messed up,” I said to Stick. “He’s your best friend. He went to jail for you.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Stick said, taking a step closer to me. He was now closer to me, more on top of me than Edgar had been, but I felt none of the same feelings of fear and dread that I’d had then.
“Listen, here’s what’s going to happen,” Grayson said with the authority that came from years of telling political powerhouses exactly what to do.
“You two are going to go back out the door you danced through, Jane. You’re going to dance your way out onto the floor.
Like you’ve been dancing together this whole time.
Closely. Like you want to be…dancing together.
I want people wondering who Stick is to you, not where you were with Edgar for so long. ”
“Jesus,” I whispered. Shit just got real.
“I know this has been a lot for you to deal with—this whole weekend. And especially finding out that your father is getting back into politics.” He placed a hand on my shoulder.
Stick tensed, and I had this weird moment where I wanted to reach out and hold Stick’s hand. But of course I didn’t, and the moment passed, thank God.
“And I know you don’t want any of this, Jane. That you abhor this kind of life, the spotlight. You’ve worked very hard to distance yourself from it. But we don’t always get to choose our destiny. Sometimes it chooses us.”
“What a load of shit,” Stick said. But Grayson was right in a way. Oh, all that lofty crap about destiny was just to stroke my ego, like he’d done to Edgar. But he was right about not having any choice.
I had deluded myself into thinking I could be someone else, somebody other than Jaybird.
But it looked like Jaybird was coming home to roost.