Research.”
She wrinkled her nose, obviously not liking the idea of someone prying into her life as she’d pried into his. “So yeah, I need to go. Like right now.”
She got out of bed, taking the covers with her, but stopped short when she saw the showgirl outfit on the ground. “You left vintage clothing lying around on the floor?” she nearly shrieked, as if this, and not waking up in his bed, was the most horrific thing she’d experienced that morning.
Supposing he should be grateful to have waking up in his bed pushed into second place, he watched her perform the rather impressive task of keeping the heavy duvet in place as she picked up the old costume. She draped it across her two arms and carried it like a wounded animal over to the suite’s large walk-in closet.
“You should ask whoever pulled this for you to come up and get it,” she said as she disappeared into the closet. “Make sure it gets properly cleaned and put back wherever you found it...”
She suddenly popped her head out of the closet and asked, “Where exactly did you find it?”
Max didn’t reply, knowing she probably wouldn’t like the answer.
But his refusal must have been clue enough, because she groaned. “Tell me—please tell me—you did not pull a costume from Nora Benton’s special collection.”
“My grandmother loves weddings, and if she’d been here to ask, she would have been happy to loan it to you.”
That was true. His Irish grandmother had been a Benton Revue girl herself. She would have been thrilled to see one of her costumes make an appearance at her grandson’s wedding—crazy but true, she was that kind of grandmother.
However, it was also true that he’d have hell to pay from his redheaded grandmother when she got back from her European vacation at the end of the summer. It was one thing to get married without inviting her or Cole. It was another to do so with this particular bride. A girl she liked so much, that she’d actually cheered when Pru turned him down at his brother’s wedding, with a “Thatta girl, Pru” before telling her own grandson, “She’s too good for the likes of you.”
“So you have a thing for vintage,” he said before Pru could argue with him any further about the costume. “Is that because your mom did costume work for the line?”
“Yes, that’s exactly why,” Pru answered. She emerged from the closet, now dressed in one of the suite’s complimentary white robes. “And she’d be rolling over in her grave if she knew you’d thrown an original Benton Revue costume on the floor.”
She cinched the robe’s belt tighter around her waist and asked, “Can you call Tomas? Tell him to meet me in the garage? Sunny gave me the code to Cole’s private elevator, so I can take it and meet him down there.”
He answered her furtive request with a cool look. “Depends.”
“Depends on what?” she asked, annoyance etched across her face.
“On where you put the girl I met last night,” he answered. “You’re holding her hostage, and I’m not letting you leave here until you tell me how to get her back.”
* * *
“G-get her back?” Pru blinked at Max, everything inside her cringing up.
This is why she worked so hard to keep the girl she used to be completely suppressed. The old Pru had never been anything but trouble—a walking invitation for regrets.
Pru cursed herself. Yeah, she’d been understandably nervous about getting married in front of a nightclub packed with Max’s friends, but she never should have drank so much. Never should have risked letting her out.
Pru took a breath and answered as calmly as she could, “Max, I drank a lot last night. I probably said some things I shouldn’t have.” Her cheeks heated. “Probably did some things I shouldn’t have, too. But it was because I was drunk. That girl last night wasn’t me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Four words. Said quietly, but with more conviction than she would have guessed Max
She wrinkled her nose, obviously not liking the idea of someone prying into her life as she’d pried into his. “So yeah, I need to go. Like right now.”
She got out of bed, taking the covers with her, but stopped short when she saw the showgirl outfit on the ground. “You left vintage clothing lying around on the floor?” she nearly shrieked, as if this, and not waking up in his bed, was the most horrific thing she’d experienced that morning.
Supposing he should be grateful to have waking up in his bed pushed into second place, he watched her perform the rather impressive task of keeping the heavy duvet in place as she picked up the old costume. She draped it across her two arms and carried it like a wounded animal over to the suite’s large walk-in closet.
“You should ask whoever pulled this for you to come up and get it,” she said as she disappeared into the closet. “Make sure it gets properly cleaned and put back wherever you found it...”
She suddenly popped her head out of the closet and asked, “Where exactly did you find it?”
Max didn’t reply, knowing she probably wouldn’t like the answer.
But his refusal must have been clue enough, because she groaned. “Tell me—please tell me—you did not pull a costume from Nora Benton’s special collection.”
“My grandmother loves weddings, and if she’d been here to ask, she would have been happy to loan it to you.”
That was true. His Irish grandmother had been a Benton Revue girl herself. She would have been thrilled to see one of her costumes make an appearance at her grandson’s wedding—crazy but true, she was that kind of grandmother.
However, it was also true that he’d have hell to pay from his redheaded grandmother when she got back from her European vacation at the end of the summer. It was one thing to get married without inviting her or Cole. It was another to do so with this particular bride. A girl she liked so much, that she’d actually cheered when Pru turned him down at his brother’s wedding, with a “Thatta girl, Pru” before telling her own grandson, “She’s too good for the likes of you.”
“So you have a thing for vintage,” he said before Pru could argue with him any further about the costume. “Is that because your mom did costume work for the line?”
“Yes, that’s exactly why,” Pru answered. She emerged from the closet, now dressed in one of the suite’s complimentary white robes. “And she’d be rolling over in her grave if she knew you’d thrown an original Benton Revue costume on the floor.”
She cinched the robe’s belt tighter around her waist and asked, “Can you call Tomas? Tell him to meet me in the garage? Sunny gave me the code to Cole’s private elevator, so I can take it and meet him down there.”
He answered her furtive request with a cool look. “Depends.”
“Depends on what?” she asked, annoyance etched across her face.
“On where you put the girl I met last night,” he answered. “You’re holding her hostage, and I’m not letting you leave here until you tell me how to get her back.”
* * *
“G-get her back?” Pru blinked at Max, everything inside her cringing up.
This is why she worked so hard to keep the girl she used to be completely suppressed. The old Pru had never been anything but trouble—a walking invitation for regrets.
Pru cursed herself. Yeah, she’d been understandably nervous about getting married in front of a nightclub packed with Max’s friends, but she never should have drank so much. Never should have risked letting her out.
Pru took a breath and answered as calmly as she could, “Max, I drank a lot last night. I probably said some things I shouldn’t have.” Her cheeks heated. “Probably did some things I shouldn’t have, too. But it was because I was drunk. That girl last night wasn’t me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Four words. Said quietly, but with more conviction than she would have guessed Max
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