Page 23 of Love In Hiding

Her mother laughed like she always did and hung up.

“Are you really that out of sorts over this trip?” Paris asked.

“It’s nerves more than anything. I don’t want to mess this up and I’m positive Spencer will report everything back to West.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Paris said. “That’s you being paranoid. He’s new too. Why can’t you both just be navigating it together? He’s going to be working with us for a long time, so you better find a way to relax and get along.”

She blew a breath out. “You’re right. It will be fine.”

With enough wine and chocolate. If she could even find that in the damn town they were going to.

7

WILL COME OUT

“That flight was better than I thought it’d be,” Spencer said on Monday when they departed the airplane. They moved to the rental in Bangor and he stood in line.

“I guess. I’ve had much worse. Much better too.”

He’d been trying to make conversation with London since they met up in the airport at seven this morning. Nothing he said was getting her to talk.

If she wanted to be that way, it was fine with him.

Silence never bothered him.

When he got to the window, he gave his name, pulled out his corporate card with his driver’s license and handed it over.

“I want to be on it too,” she said, pushing her driver’s license across the counter. “If I need to drive for some reason.”

Once the keys were handed over, he turned and said, “Do you want to drive to the plant?”

They’d get there before lunch, get a start on things this afternoon and then go check into their hotel later.

She pulled the fob out of his hand. “Don’t mind if I do.”

He shrugged and pulled his suitcase behind him. If she thought she’d get a rise out of him over that, she had another thing coming. He didn’t drive much now and didn’t care if he did here or not.

She probably drove more than him, living in Florida.

They got to the SUV, she hit the fob and the back released, lifting, and they put their carry-ons in there. He’d pull out his laptop when they arrived, and he was sure she’d do the same.

Once she was in the driver’s seat, she plugged in the address to the plant and they were on their way.

Ten minutes went by with nothing more than the robotic voice of Google Maps telling them when to turn before she was reaching for the radio and trying to find a station.

“Good luck,” he said.

“Are you fussy with music?”

“No.”

“Are you fussy with anything?”

It was the dry, sarcastic tone he was coming to expect from her. He just didn’t know what he did to be the bug that seemed to crawl up her ass all the time.

“Do you want me to be?”

“There you go, throwing your lawyer games at me.”