“Right.”
“I’m glad you brought her up.” His hand drops off my doorframe, and he takes several long, unwelcome steps into the room. “Do you sense something is off about her?”
“Like what?” My T is extra sharp to send the strong hint that I really don’t care to discuss this with him.
“I don’t know.” He lifts his hand and scratches the middle of the bald spot on his head with his pointer finger. “I can’t place it, but something is strange about the way she’s always lurking around, taking photos—”
“Because that’s her job.” What is he even getting at? I grab another sweatshirt from my closet and some snow pants and stuff them into my bag.
Bill hums for a beat before adding, “Anyway, about Kaylee Bradworth.”
Disbelief floods my whole body, and I spin on my heel and face Bill. “What about her?”
“I invited her to the charity banquet to sit by us.”
I struggle not to scream at the top of my lungs, and somehow, miraculously I speak with an even tone. “Why would you do that?”
“You said you weren’t going to bring a date, and we had the seating. I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to get to know someone.”
“You are—”
“An excellent matchmaker.” His smug smile fills in.
“That’s not at all what I was about to say.” I lower my gaze to the floor and focus on deep steady breaths. I’m going to have to increase my anxiety medication dosage if I continue to live with Bill much longer.
“It’s true. Just ask Sophie and Axl.” Pride shines through his expression. “They seem to be exceptionally happy.”
I can’t listen to this anymore.
I certainly can’t go on setups with Kaylee Bradbury or Bradworth or whatever her name is.
Not when I have my own . . .
My . . .
Paisley isn’t anything but a friend, but it matters because it’s my life. I make the decisions about my life. Not Bill Baker. I seriously need to look for an apartment as soon as I get back from this trip. Jotting that down in my inner to-do list.
“So, ah, be there by six for social hour, and maybe try some of my Old Spice I have in the bathroom.” His thumb angles behind him toward his bathroom and I cringe.
“I’m not using your cologne,” I grumble.
“The ladies love it.” His gaze slides to my mom. “Right, honey?”
“He’s not lying.” She smiles back, and all I want to do is melt into the floor. Again, I’m happy my mom is finally happy, but I can’t hear this.
“Stop.” I exaggeratedly place my hands over my ears.
“Fine.” Bill wraps an arm around my mom’s waist, both beaming out giant smiles. He holds up a finger with his freehand. “And tell me what this Paisley’s last name is. We need to know more about her.”
“You’re the one who gave her an office,” I grumble. “Maybe you should have asked her?”
“That’s right. I must have written it down somewhere.” His brows furrow together. “I’ll have to do some digging.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “What does it matter to you what her last name is?”
“Noah, we need to figure out who she really is.” Bill aims the most cryptic expression at me. “She might be a Palmer City Voltage fan, and wecan’thave that.”
“I don’t know what you have against them.” I almost stutter at his ridiculousness. “We rarely even play them. They are in a different conference.”
