“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.
Chapter7
“So,just who the hell are you, Jane Winters?” Stick asked me while he held me in his arms and moved to the music.
Thankfully the band was playing a slow song as we made our way back onto the dance floor, and we were swallowed up by the very large crowd.
I’m a tall girl, but Stick was just the perfect height to dance with—I only had to raise my arm up a tiny bit to rest on his shoulder. His hand that held mine was cool and very rough. But strong. And it felt extremely good after having held that old buzzard’s hand.
Maybe too good.
Because Stick was a car thief. And what’s more, I was pretty sure he was kind of a head honcho. Lily’s guy Lucas had been arrested while stealing a car for Stick.
Granted, Stick had offered to turn himself in to free Lucas, but thankfully it hadn’t come to that and the charges against Lucas were dropped. Because of Grayson Spaulding’s power and my acquiescence to be a bridesmaid at this wedding.
A pawn in my father’s reintroduction to political life.
“Nobody,” I said, answering Stick’s question. “I’m nobody.”
“Not likely,” he said as he pulled me closer. It was to avoid a rather drunk couple that was veering toward us, but I noticed he didn’t loosen his hold on me once the couple had danced—stumbled—past us.
And God, I would never admit it to him (and barely to myself), but it felt very nice to be held so closely by Stick.
I’d never seen him with less clothes than he was wearing now, but he had what seemed like a very hot bod. Or at least the kind that appealed to me. It wasn’t as broad and muscular as Lucas, but tall and lean, almost rangy. And I could feel the strength of him in his grip on my hand, and throughout his back when I’d had my palm on it. And now, his shoulder under my hand…I could feel the muscles bunching as we would turn.
I could also feel the eyes upon us.
“Bullshit. Nobody.” He gave a soft snort. His eyes darted around the dance floor and beyond. We’d moved through the throng a bit and were now more centrally located, where the press could see us.
And they did. Flashbulbs—which had been perpetually flashing—were now concentrated solely on Stick and me. It was like a lightning storm directed right at me.
“Shhh. Easy,” Stick said, low and soft in my ear. He’d felt my body tense at the flashes.
His arm snaked around my waist, pulling me even closer. And damn, but my hand slid up and around his neck.
He typically wore his longish hair loose. About chin length, it was wavy and a light brown, but with some natural highlights that women would pay top dollar for in a salon. Tonight he had it slicked back and in a small club of a ponytail, which just brushed the collar of his tux. And now just brushed the back of my hand as I laid it at the back of his neck.
“Wanna give ’em a show?” he whispered in my ear, then placed a soft, chaste kiss on my forehead.
I looked up at him, and his eyes dropped to my lips, relaying his idea to me. I weighed the options in my head—would it be prudent to have the press see me kiss a boy on the dance floor? A boy that wasn’t crusty Edgar Prescott?
No. It would be just jumping from the frying pan to the fire. If I was going to be thrown into this world—and it looked like I hadn’t really been given a choice—I was going to do it on my terms. Dictate as much as possible in a world where I had no power.
