Behind Your Back (15 page)

Fourteen

I
decide on the Brioni again because Saige never saw it the first time. Track is driving me and everyone else is working surveillance. Cash will actually be going with me so in case anything goes down, there will be two of us. He’s donned a black tux with a black shirt and black tie. It makes him look both intense and intimidating. He’s put away his smile for the evening.

“How’s my serious face?” he asks as we get in our separate cars. I’ve got the Ferrari and he’s taking one of the extra BMWs.

“Believable. Can you wear it all night?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” he says with a grin before getting into the driver’s side. He gives me a thumbs up and I head out first, with him follow close, but not too close.

Something almost… flutters in my stomach and I realize I’m nervous. What the fuck? I haven’t been nervous to pick up Saige before. Why is tonight different?

I shake my head at myself and wish I had a little nip of something to take the edge off.

I pull up to her place and send her a text. She sweeps down the front steps and I hurry out of the car to get the door for her.

This time her dress is gold and slinky, clinging to her in all the right places. Her hair loops in big curls down her back. Her eyes are smoky as usual, and her lips are red. She’s stunningly perfect.

“Look at you. I would have invited you to one of these things sooner if I knew you looked this good in a tux.” She walks around me, as if she’s admiring the merchandise. And then she reaches out and squeezes my ass.

“Mmmm. Yes. I like this very much. Men don’t seem to understand the power a well-cut suit can have.” She gets me again and my dick goes hard instantly.

“If you keep doing that we’re never going to make it to the damn event.”

She laughs softly and steps back around to face me. God she’s beautiful.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she says, her tone flirtatious. “But I think my father wouldn’t be very happy.” I already know Mr. Beaumont will be there because Cash hacked the country club database and got the guest list. At least I’m not wholly unprepared. Still, I would have liked to wait a while before meeting him, but it would have happened sooner or later.

I help her in the car and go to get in the driver’s side.

“Are you nervous about meeting my father?” she asks as I pull away from the curb.

“Are you kidding? Of course.” I’d decided it would be best not to reveal that I already know him. Not until I see if he wants Saige to know that we’ve already met. This whole situation is delicate and I have to be careful. One rip and everything is destroyed.

“You look stunning, Saige,” I say to shift her attention.

“Thank you. You look very nice yourself, as I said before.”

“I just have one question.”

She turns in her seat to face me, a little bit of a smile on her face.

“And that is?”

“Where’s the zipper? It would be a shame to destroy such a pretty dress when I take it off you later.”

She laughs and then lifts one of her arms.

“The zipper is right here,” she says, dragging her finger down her side.

“Good to know.”

She leans back in her seat.

“Radio?” I ask. It’s a twenty-minute drive to the country club.

“Sure. But no country.” She shudders.

“Agreed.” I put on the classic rock station and wait for her reaction.

“Nice,” she says, bobbing her head along with the music.

This girl is amazing.

I really can’t think thoughts like that. I focus my attention back on the road, looking back in the rearview. There are tons of cars behind me and I know one is Cash.

“I thought of you the other day,” she says over the music. I turn it down a little so I can hear her better.

“Why?”

“I’m taking a history of photography class and we just did a unit on nature photography and of course Ansel Adams came up. Made me think of the picture in your office.” I hate how much I like that she thinks of me when she’s in class. If I’m honest, I like it way too much. Much more than is healthy.

She’s a mark. Nothing more. Just a means to an end.

I wish she wasn’t so fucking lovely. Things would be so much easier. And it’s not just the way she looks, although that certainly helps. It’s her voice and the way she laughs and her passion about art. She’s interesting.

I need to shut this train of thought the fuck down right now.

I grit my teeth and focus on the damn road.

A
nother night, another valet parking my car. But this time, I get to hold the door open and give a beautiful woman my arm.

“Thank you, kind sir,” she says, shaking her hair so it falls over her shoulder again.

“You’re very welcome, lovely lady.” She takes the compliment in stride as we walk toward the front of the building. It reminds me of an old plantation house. As if any moment Scarlett O’Hara is going to come dashing out the front in an enormous skirt.

More excess, more opulence. But I don’t find it as offensive as I usually do. Might have to do with the woman on my arm.

“Ready?” I say.

“Absolutely,” she says and we walk up the wide sweeping steps to the entrance. The doors are open and the strains of a string quartet greet us. Along with a server holding a tray of fragile champagne flutes. You’d think they would change it up every now and then. Maybe do shots or something, but no. It’s always the same.

I reach for two and hand one to Saige. She thanks me and we make our way into the room.

“See that guy over there?” she says, leaning up to speak softly in my ear, her breath warm against my skin.

“Yes,” I say back.

“He has a foot fetish and hires women to let him worship and lick their feet.” I turn and stare at her and she gives me a little smile.

“How do you know that?”

“These events are like small towns. Everyone knows everything about everyone else.” She does have a point. I know a lot of things about some of the people in this room. Especially her.

“Oh, there’s my dad. We should go say hello.” This time she leads the way, towing me along with her. I steel myself and then see Cash across the room at the bar. He’s getting a drink. Probably something with whiskey. Cash only drinks hard liquor when he’s out at something like this.

I snap my attention back to Mr. Beaumont and notice he has his wife on his arm. Bridgette Beaumont. She shares Saige’s red hair and not much else. She’s… fragile. Like a glass vase holding a bouquet of beautiful flowers that would shatter if you bump it too hard.

Her smile is dazzling under the lights. And fake. So fake.

We reach Saige’s parents and I focus first on Bridgette.

“Saige, dear, who is your friend?” Of course her mother misses nothing. Her tone is pleasant, but her eyes take in everything. From the cut of my suit to my hair to my shoes and my cufflinks. Making sure I’m up to her standards. I hope there isn’t a thread out of place, because this woman will notice it.

“Mother, this is Quinn Brand. Quinn, this is my mother, Bridgette Beaumont,” Saige says, her voice changing and sounding eerily like her mother’s. I wonder if they practiced when she was younger, or if it was just natural to imitate her mother.

“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Beaumont,” I say, and she gives me a limp-ish handshake.

“Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Brand. I can’t say Saige has told me much about you,” Bridgette says with a quick-as-a-blink glare at her daughter. Saige just smiles sweetly.

“That’s my fault, I apologize. But Quinn and I have just recently become acquainted.” Smooth. Very smooth, Saige.

“Well, I hope I’ll get a chance to hear more about you,” Bridgette says and then it’s time to face Mr. Beaumont.

As I predicted, he betrays nothing as he turns to face me.

“Quinn Brand, it’s nice to meet you,” he says, holding out his hand. His shake is just a little bit harder than it was when we first met. He’s telling me to tread carefully. Don’t worry. I will.

“Very nice to meet you, sir,” I say, laying it on a little thick.

“Well, now that is out of the way, we’re going to go dance. Bye,” Saige says, grabbing my hand and yanking me away before I can say another word. I let her drag me toward the temporary dance floor that’s been set up. A string quartet plays standard waltzes and suddenly I’m back in my kitchen where classical music flows through a scratchy radio speaker and I’m standing on my mother’s feet and she’s counting out the beats of the music as we step and turn around the small space.

I take a breath as Saige puts her hand on my shoulder, squeezing my other hand in hers as she takes position.

“You bragged about your waltzing skills, Quinn Brand. It’s time to show me what you’ve got,” she says with a smile on her face. I slide my hand around her waist and wait for a break in the music so I can start.

There it is.

I take a step and she follows. Then another, and another. Saige moves with me seamlessly, as if we’ve been practicing. Her moves are graceful and smooth. I raise our linked arms and she spins under, a brilliant smile on her face.

She comes back to hold position and we resume the waltz again.

“Okay, I believe you. You’re either a natural, or you’ve had a lot of practice,” she says as we move across the floor and then back. I know there are other couples around us, but all I see is her.

“I’ve had practice,” I say, and fight the tide that wants to drag me into the past. For some reason when I’m with Saige, it’s nearly impossible not to get pulled back there. I don’t know what it is about her, but she brings those memories to the surface. I don’t like it.

“Well, whoever taught you did a good job,” she says, as if she senses I don’t want to talk about it. I decide to turn the conversation back to her.

“And who taught you?”

“My dad,” she says with another smile. “On his feet in the kitchen when I was little.” I nearly stumble, but catch myself at the last moment.

“Something wrong?” she asks. There is no way she didn’t pick up on my stumble.

“Nothing. Just lost track of my feet for a second,” I say, smoothing my face into an embarrassed smile.

“Well, I’ll help you find them,” she says, pulling me closer.

W
e dance for a long time. Saige never misses a beat and we chat about this and that as we dance. I keep careful watch on her parents, but they seem to be too busy talking to notice us. I’m not fooled. I know they’re watching me closely. I know you’re there, Mr. Beaumont. I see you.

Cash passes by me on another trip to the bar, but he doesn’t make eye contact. He’s got a woman on his arm in a bright red dress and seems completely captivated by her. At least, to the outward observer. But he’s reserved with her. Not his jolly self. He’s put on his own persona for tonight so as to escape notice. He knows how to play his part.

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, which is his way of asking me if everything is going well. I wait a few seconds before I raise my arm as if I’m adjusting my watch. That’s the “all clear” signal.