I hate this, the way I look, the way they’re all seeing it.
Carrson doesn’t break stride.
He keeps moving, dragging me straight through the center of them like they’re not even there.
By the time we reach the front door, I’m breathless, half from the pace, half from the anger building hot in my chest. He shoves the door open and drags me out, the humid air hitting my skin like a slap.
“Are you serious right now?” I jerk against him, hard, trying to pull free. “You don’t get to—”
“Quiet.”
It’s not loud, but it’s heavy enough that I stumble.
His grip slides from my arm to my wrist. He pulls me closer.
We cross the distance to Rosewood Hall fast, blades of grass cutting into my bare feet.
The lights are on inside, even though it’s noon, and before I can process where we are, he pushes the door open and drags me in after him.
Women are everywhere. Coming down the twin staircases, sitting on couches, walking through doorways in pairs.
Conversation dies. Every eye is on us.
“Hey,” calls out one of the women, “you can’t—”
Carrson turns his head toward her, and that’s all it takes. The words die in her throat.
“Get Lou,” he tells her.
“I’m here,” a voice sounds behind us.
Carrson faces her without releasing me.
A pretty brunette stands there, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.
“What’s this about?” she demands.
She talks to Carrson like she knows him and she’s not intimidated.
Which means he lets her.
Is this his girlfriend? His ex?
Why does that bother me?
Carrson releases my wrist and shoves me in the woman’s direction. “Take her,” he says. “She’s yours.”
My heart sinks at those words.
The woman, Lou I guess, catches me. She steadies me, her hand firm on my arm.
“We talked about this,” she tells Carrson. “I said no.”
I frown.
They talked about me?
“Plans changed,” Carrson cuts in. Still ignoring me. “Jackson’s marked her.”
