Page 97 of Lucky Shot

“I’m the one who needs something.”

“Oh. Sorry.” She grimaces but doesn’t stop or look my way. “I only had time for the kids. It’s a busy day.”

“A busy day that’s virtually over so that means you can talk.” The darkening sky says as much, but she keeps walking toward her office.

“The day never seems to be over,” she says.

“Especially when you’re determined to blow me off every chance you get.” I step in front of her and welcome the irritated expression on her face when she all but collides with me. “Why?”

She shrugs and takes a step back. I struggle with the knowledge that there are still a few kids straggling about. No doubt Martin’s still here too. None of them want to see me haul Whitney against me and kiss her until neither of us can breathe. “I’m not blowing you off. Just not feeling the greatest and busy with all of the attention angled this way with you here. Super busy.”

“So you’ve said. Three times.” She steps to go around me, and I grab her shoulders holding her in place. “Look at me.”

Eyes on me.

The way her lashes fluttered up and how her eyelids were heavy with lust. The honesty in her eyes that I know for a fucking fact I didn’t conjure up.

Well, at least I thought I didn’t until now.

“Fine. Sure. I’m looking at you.” She raises her eyebrows. Definitely pissed at me. “What?”

“You want to tell me what in the hell is going on here? Why you’re so angry? This whole ignoring talking to me or walking away when I’m here for you—”

“When you’re here for me?” she screeches. “Because last I checked, we were here for you. To clean up your image. To make your club owner happy. To have some wholesome PR. To use me to cement that image.”

“Use you?”

“Yes. So let’s not pretend you’re here for fucking me.”

Whoa. “Whit? Communicate.”

“I am communicating,” she snaps.

“How about you talk to me instead of stomping around and acting like a child?”

By the expression storming across her face, I’m guessing that might have been the wrong thing to say. “A child? And here I was thinking I was the only mature one here.”

“Are you going to fill me in why you’re so angry? Last I checked, you left the car park and everything was more than fine, babe.”

“Don’t, babe, me.”

“Okay.” I nod. “So no explanation. Perfect.”

“Go away, Hardy.”

“That’s your go-to line when you want to avoid me. So no, I won’t go away. Not until you tell me why you’re ignoring me.”

“The other night was a mistake.” She shrugs. “There. I said it.”

“Wow. Okay.” I’ve been thinking about it fucking nonstop, and she drops that bomb. Then again, should I have expected that this was coming given the things she’s said to me in the past? Probably. Time to talk her off the ledge. “Why?”

“You’re not my type.”

She was too quick with that response. Planned and practiced. She’s lying. “I’m everybody’s type.”

“Like I said, it was a mistake.”

She repeats things when she’s lying. She just repeated that.