“It wasn’t mansplaining,” I say, defensively, except…shit. I was. I nod, taking that one on the chin. “You’re right. That was patronizing, and I’m sorry. I understand you don’t want a close protection officer, but the film company approved one for Haven, and they want one for you too. I promise I’ll do my best to be unobtrusive and stay out of the way.”
She snorts. “Your best? I mean, it shouldn’t be that hard. You’re pretty good at staying out of the way,Banks.” She spits out my name like it tastes bad, and…hold on.
Her voice. The sass in it. The fire.
Also, the sheer specificity.
My brow pinches.
Like the high-speed rewind when the movie guy realizes he’s been played all along, that night at the hotel flashes before my eyes in sharp, clear detail.
I add in the biggest clue—the one standing in front of me.
It’s not the tattoos covering her right arm, which I expected from the pics of her on the farm.
It’s not the ease with which she sails through town, chatting with shop owners, which I’d expect from a local.
It’s not the nails, unpolished, which I expected too.
It’s theattitudeof Ripley.
Alltake no prisoners.
Like the woman I met that night at the bar.
Like the way she saidgentleman.
The way she said my name.
The way she doesn’t suffer fools.
Shock isn’t useful in my line of work. But my jaw comes unhinged. “You’re…Ripley?” My voice sounds like it’s coming from another man, on another night.
Then Ripley-Ripley, not Haven-posing-as-Ripley—because Haven was never posing as Ripley—flashes me afuck yousmile. “Just like I said.”
10
AISLE TEN
RIPLEY
“I had no idea. But I can totally explain,” he says, sounding desperate to right things.
Spare me. Seriously. Just spare me. I’m not in the mood for his song-and-dance routine. Especially when he acted like it was nothing to see me again.
But then, that fits his MO. Fine. Whatever. I’ve had twenty-six days to get over the embarrassment of asking a hotel clerk to spank me, so yeah, I’m so over Banks, I don’t care what he wants to explain. Even though, fine… I didn’t like the way that photog invaded my space. It made my pulse spike, and not just because I don’t love being photographed.
Still, the encounter was only with one person and nothing bad came of it. I definitely don’t needthis guyshadowing me around my hometown. “Cool. Now I believe we had a deal. Can I pleasehave my bouquets and we can go? Salma’s expecting this. French lavender is her favorite.”
For a second, he feints, like he’s going to hand them to me. But then he hugs them closer. “I’ll carry them.”
This guy.But I try again. “Or, how about I take them, and you can stay, say, fifty feet behind me?”
I can manage that.I think.
Banks smiles and…damn him. The fucker has a dimple. Does the universe hate me? Giving me a bodyguard who rushes out on me before the banging, then giving him a freaking dimple? If that isn’t evidence of the universe’s disdain, I don’t know what is. “I’ll walk with you, Ripley. There’s a lot I need to say.”
“There’s a statute of limitations and it’s passed, so no need.”
