Page 73 of Just for the Cameras
Oh boy. How far can I push him? And when I say, “push him,” I mean get my way, because it’s looking like he’s about to take control.
“I can just call an Uber from here and—”
“You’re not calling a goddamn Uber.” Gently, he takes my unharmed wrist and tugs me toward a large black truck with a double cab and shortened bed. The windows are tinted, and when he pulls the passenger-side door open, I take in the crisp, clean black interior, despite the truck clearly being an older model. “Get in,” he says.
“You don’t have to—”
“Get. In.”
Not wanting him to actually pop a vein, I step up on the footer of the truck and then hoist myself in. He sets my bag next to me, and to my surprise, he takes the seat belt and leans over me, buckling me in before shutting the door.
Okay, well, looks like he’s driving me home.
He moves stiffly around the truck and then effortlessly climbs in. For how old his truck is—I know this is not the latest model—I’m really shocked by how clean the interior is and how well it is taken care of.
The truck roars to life, and he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Where do you live?”
“Um, is your phone hooked up for GPS?”
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me. I quickly type in my address and hand it back to him. The GPS directs him where to go as silence falls between us.
I don’t know what to say, and I don’t know how to calm the raging inferno of a man next to me. Although, I can’t say I’m surprised byGraydon’s reaction. His dad…he seemed like pure evil. Like his duty in life is to find ways to piss his son off. Well, mission accomplished today.
Graydon’s grip on the steering wheel is so tense, it almost seems like he’s about to bend the circle in half. The tightness in his pecs is making it seem like the fabric of his shirt is about to bust open. And the sturdy set in his jaw is giving his facial features a dangerous, menacing expression that I don’t want to mess with.
So I don’t.
I keep my mouth shut.
I’m sure he’s dealing with a myriad of thoughts right now. One being why I signed up for this PR stunt in the first place. Another probably involving regret over announcing that I was his girlfriend. And then there’s his father.
There’s something seriously complicated going on between them, and I dare not even whisper a thought about it because I know he’ll put me right in my place and tell me it’s none of my business.
It makes me wonder if that is the reason he slammed my phone down that one night when we were attempting to share a meal together. Is there something about his relationship with his father that he doesn’t want me to know…or the public, for that matter?
From the anger steaming off him and the way he spoke to his father, I’m going to guess yes.
We pull onto my road, and just to be helpful, I say, “It’s the white building on the left, with the damaged car out front.”
His eyes narrow, his forehead so creased with irritation that I think I could stick a quarter in his brow and it wouldn’t budge.
He finds a parking spot and puts the truck in park. I’m about to tell him I can hop out from here, but he snags my bag and gets out of the truck.
Looks like he’ll be helping me.
I turn to the side, using my other hand to unbuckle, and it takes mea second, so when I go to open the truck door, Graydon’s already there, holding it wide for me. He holds his hand out to me, and for a second, I stare down at it, wondering why he’s being so kind. It’s not like I hurt myself at his facility, or during something that we were doing, but ever since he saw me, saw the pain I was in, his attitude has changed from irritated manbeast to irritated yet protective.
And don’t get me started on the pink wrap. I didn’t have to ask to know why he demanded it.
He did it because of my love of flamingos, and I’ve spent the entiretime since he put in the request not thinking about how specialthat request was to me. How much such a simple gesture meant to me.
Because it’s stupid and nonsensical…and yeah, it makes my heart pound just a little faster.
I take his hand, and he helps me out of his truck before quickly letting go of my hand. I turn to him to take my bag, but he doesn’t budge.
“What apartment?” he asks.
