Chapter 24
SAVANNAH
The sunlight against my closed eyelids is too much. I’d give up my favorite set of knives for a few more minutes of sleep. I know the limo windows are tinted, but still.
“Did you have to wake me at the butt crack of dawn?” I complain to Hunter.
He sits next to me, looking just as pristine as ever in his dress shirt and slacks. He exchanged his usual suit coat for an expensive topcoat. Meanwhile, I’m wearing a pair of black leggings, a simple scoop neck shirt, and my winter coat.
Hunter sips his coffee as he types with one hand on his phone. His eyes don’t stray from the little screen as he responds. “I let you sleep until eleven.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” I grumble and plop my head back on the seat and close my eyes.
“I’m sure, especially when you were up for hours doing—”
Suddenly filled with the energy of a power plant, I jolt upright, reach toward Hunter, and slap my hand over his mouth, cutting him off. “Oh my God! How did you hear that?”
Feeling his lips curve underneath my palm, I narrow my eyes at him.
When I drop my hand, he starts, “Well…”
“What is it?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he sits there with a smile so smug it would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. I roll my eyes. “Just say it.”
“You’re a screamer, Babe.”
I gasp as heat creeps up my neck. “What! I need a sinkhole to open up and swallow me whole right now.” Resting my elbows on my knees, I cover my face with my hands.
“Savannah, it’s a good thing. I promise.” Hunter tugs at my arm, trying to get me to stop hiding.
He successfully gets both of my hands in his, but I turn my face toward the window next to me. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t look directly at me right now. In fact, cover your ears while you’re at it, and scoot over.”
“Not going to happen.”
Annoyed, I give him what he wants and turn to him. My expression conveys my aggravation. “I don’t feel like I’m asking for much here.”
Hunter’s voice is firm. “I’d give you anything, Savannah Foster.
Anything. But this? Never. Don’t ask me to cut myself off from you.
I’d rather die a thousand deaths than never be able to hear you speak again.
Your voice is a balm to the chaos of my life.
So in this, yes. You’re asking too much of me.
Ask for anything else. You want all my money?
Take it. You want me to cut out my own heart and serve it to you on a silver platter?
Done. But tune you out, look away, and give you space? No.”
Something inside my body melts, softening the barriers around my heart.
Why is he so perfect? His passion is breaching obsession, and I’m not scared. Why am I not scared?
“Okay.” I nod my head and swallow. “So, are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“You’ll see.” Hunter shifts, releasing one of my hands while keeping the other hostage and interlocking our fingers.
I try to tug my hand away, but he refuses to let go. This string of sweet gestures and tender words is too much for my brain to handle on so little sleep.
Giving up, I sigh. “What’s with you guys and surprises? I hate surprises.”
Hunter’s focus has gone back to his phone. “You’re going to have to adjust because that side of us isn’t changing anytime soon.”
“You’re going to have to adjust,” I grumble as I lean on the armrest and stare out the window.
“Real mature,” Hunter quips with a touch of humor in his tone.
I don’t have to be mature right now. I can be grumpy if I want to be grumpy. He can deal with it.
“You’re the one who hired an immature woman,” I comment back, shooting him a glare for good measure.
Hunter drops his phone in his lap and gives me his full, undivided attention. “Is that all you think this is? You think we’re just boss and employee?” He couldn’t hide his glee even if he tried.
I let out a sharp breath and give him an unimpressed look. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” His question is innocent, but his expression is the exact opposite.
“Twist my words. Make me DTR,” I explain acidly.
Hunter’s mouth turns downward into a perplexed frown. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“Define the relationship,” I deadpan.
Hunter shifts so he faces me more. “You’re right. That’s exactly what we need to do. We—”
“That’s not what I said,” I interrupt.
“Quitting already?” He teases.
“I didn’t say that either.”
The privacy window rolls down, and Sterling announces, “We’re here.”
“Saved by the bell, Heartbreaker.”
Peering out the window, I realize where we are, and an uncomfortable feeling bubbles in my stomach. “What are we doing here?”
We’re surrounded by high-end stores filled with expensive clothing. The people entering and exiting the shops look like they wipe their butts with Benjamin Franklin’s face. I wouldn’t even be able to afford the complimentary beverages that places like this hand out to shoppers.
Hunter ignores my question and slides out of the limo through his door. He holds his hand out to me, and I reluctantly take it. As we stand on the sidewalk, I gawk at the large sign above the arched entrance.
“Is this another thing with you guys?” I question without looking at him. “Only answering select questions? Do you like leaving people hanging in suspense?” My voice grows thin.
“This is hardly a suspenseful situation,” Hunter counters. He grabs my hand, guiding me to wrap it around his arm, like he’s escorting me down the red carpet or something.
When he steps forward, I pull back. “Wait. I’ve never been in a store like that.”
“So?”
“Do you really not see the issue here?” I gesture from him to myself, then to the store.
Hunter’s tone turns gruff, daring me to say it out loud. “Spell it out for me, Savannah.”
I hesitate as my fingers curl into my palm. “Someone like me doesn’t belong in a place like that.”
“Where you belong is with me.” Hunter uses his other hand to cover my mine that rests on his arm to emphasize his point. “If anyone makes you feel otherwise, they won’t be a problem much longer.”
His promise is dark but legitimate, stirring my insides into a heated frenzy.
“You can’t just go around getting rid of people who make me feel bad.” I mean for my statement to sound stern, but it comes out breathy.
Hunter smirks. “I can, and I will.” He guides me toward the store, and I follow, all feelings of inadequacy gone and replaced with need. “Now keep your head up. Act like you belong and everyone will believe it.”
“Okay,” I accept.
“Good girl.”
Inside, we’re welcomed by a keen woman, who looks not much older than me, but her eyes don’t stray from Hunter’s charming smile.
She hands each of us a flute of bubbly and offers her assistance. “What can I help you with?”
As I take a tentative sip, Hunter answers, “We’re just out shopping for my wife.”
“Aw, what a good husband you are,” she replies.
My eyes pop out of my head, and I choke on the champagne. Coughing for air, tears leak out of the corners of my eyes.
What did he just call me?
Hunter takes the glass from me and hands it back to the employee. “She’s just excited about the new clothes.”
It’s hard to glare while choking, but I think I manage it.
As my fit subsides, the woman leads us to a secluded area toward the back of the store. Hunter settles into the leather wingback chair, situated next to a mirror and an individual dressing room. He tells the woman to “give me the works” and pulls out his phone.
Does he ever stop working?
“My name is Sabrina. Let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.” Her second sentence is directed more toward Hunter rather than me, but he doesn’t indicate he heard her at all.
That was bold of her.
Tapping my foot, I shove my hands onto my hips and shoot daggers at Hunter with my eyes. If only I actually had my knives.
“Would you like to tell me what’s on your mind?” Hunter asks, typing away on his phone.
“I’m not your wife,” I spit out in a low but menacing whisper.
“You’re not just my employee either,” he retorts, still looking at the darn screen.
“Fine. We’re dating. Happy?”
“If you say so,” he returns passively.
“Were you hit in the head in the last few minutes? How did you go from a work relationship to matrimony? We’re not—”
He finally looks up from his phone; his expression is that of someone who is dealing with a petulant child. “You didn’t want to define what we are, so I did it for you.”
He’s lost his mind.
“I must’ve missed the part where I said, ‘I do.’”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get to that,” he says as if he’s already picked out a color scheme for wedding invitations.
I’ll admit, I’m content with Rory, Luke, and yes, even Hunter. I know I’m safe when I’m with them. I’m admired and treated like a person. They make me feel like I can be myself.
Mostly…
Some secrets are best left living in the dark.
But I’ve never been in a relationship that lasted longer than a few weeks. Besides, when John finds out what I’ve done with these three men, he’ll make hellfire and brimstone look like child’s play.
“Here are a few casual outfits, including a selection of shoes,” Sabrina interrupts my deep thoughts as she pushes aside the thick velvet curtain, leading me into the dressing room.
A mischievous devil whispers a petty idea into my ear as I follow Sabrina. Running my hand over a white silk top, I look over the items she’s brought. “I’m going to need jewelry and purses to go with my new outfits as well.”
Hunter wants to play? Fine. Let’s play.
When Sabrina doesn’t respond, I glance in the mirror, finding her reflection behind me. Her eyes run up and down my frame; her distaste is evident.
I’m tired of people looking at me like I’m less than. I’m tired of being judged for who my father is and the choices he made. I’m tired of having to swallow snide comment after snide comment.
Crossing my arms, I spin to face her and lean on one hip. “Is that going to be a problem or do I need to find someone else who will be able to do the job?”
Sabrina blinks rapidly, shaking her head. “No, not at all. I can do it.” She turns on her heel and scurries out, closing the curtain behind her.
What feels like hours later, I think I’ve tried on almost every item in the store—everything from twill pleated pants to an A-line evening gown.
And I didn’t let Hunter see a single thing. Although I’m sure he’s gotten an eyeful of that huge mound that is my new wardrobe—a wardrobe that I’m not sure I’ll ever use.
When am I ever going to need crystal-studded Italian pumps or a silver satin clutch?
As I slip into a spaghetti strap black cocktail dress, Hunter’s voice startles me. “I have to step away to make a quick call. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I acknowledge. When he doesn’t reply, I assume he’s gone, and I turn to examine myself in the mirror.
I’m not sure I like it, but the goal is to rack up as big of a bill as possible so into the yes pile it will go.
“Leave it to Hunter Reed to bring in a gold digger from the gutter.” The voice sounds too quiet to be right outside the room, but nevertheless, the obnoxious comment hits me in the gut.
I tiptoe to the curtain, keeping my feet out of sight, and pull back the material a hair. Just enough to see who is out there.
“Shh. Someone might hear you.”
“No one will hear. He stepped out of the store, engrossed in a conversation on his phone, and his trash is in the dressing room.”
Sabrina and another woman stand a few feet away, looking through a rack of sweaters. The second woman’s eyes dart around like she’s on the lookout for danger or an eavesdropper.
Epic fail.
“You’re going to get a huge commission off this sale. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” the woman warns.
“Hell yeah, I am,” Sabrina smiles to herself.
The woman shakes her head.
Sabrina scoffs. “It’s not like this is the first time a man like Hunter Reed has let some skank take his bank account on a field trip. At least those women have a single-digit pant size.”
They move to another rack further away, making it impossible to hear, but the ringing in my ears would have drowned out the rest of their conversation anyway.
Nausea rolls in my stomach, and my hands shake as I step back. I plop down on the small plush bench as I try to think through what I just heard.
There is a lot I’ve been ashamed of in my life, but my body has never been one of them, and that’s not about to change.
But…
Has Hunter brought other women here before? Is this some sort of routine he goes through with every woman?
Step One: hire a younger woman
Step Two: move her into the penthouse
Step Three: take her shopping and confess my feelings
Then what? Use her and throw her aside?
That’s not going to be me.
Standing abruptly, I tear off the dress over my head and search for my clothes—the ones I bought with my money.
I find my leggings and slide them on, or at least I try to. Leggings may be more comfortable than jeans, but they’re harder to get into. It’s like a whole cardio routine.
The difficult task only serves to increase my ire to a whole new level I’ve never experienced before.
Hunter Reed. Stupid rich man thinks he can use me. He better not show his face anytime soon, or I’ll—
“How’s it going in there, Heartbreaker?”
My jaw clenches.
Heartbreaker? He’s going to regret that.