Page 142 of Handsome Devil
“Uh-huh. Thanks. You enjoy yours, too,” I said, because I knew he had one tonight.
“Give my love to Mr. Devi!”
I waved half-heartedly over my shoulder and wrestled my luggage into the elevator. When the doors closed, my shoulders actually dropped. Why was it already exhausting faking this relationship for everyone?
It had been mere days.
I couldn’t believe how fast Chaz bought into the charade. He actually believed I’d impetuously married our hot employer in a matter of days because I liked him. And because he was hot. And rich.
I hadn’t actually thought that part through. Like, how much respect I might stand to lose for myself when my friends and family bought into this farce.
And I didn’t even have Katie to lean on.
We’d put her on a plane this morning and she flew off to join up with Jesse and Madsen on the Dirty tour, while we flew home. And I cried. Dirty and their opening band, the Players, were all friends; they had this big, tight-knit family on tour, and Katie was now an integral part of it. I loved that. I was so happy for her. She was so loved.
But I missed her when she was away. I’d probably never even told her how much. This morning was the first time I’d ever full-on cried when Katie left on tour. I hid in the bathroom until the moment she had to go, and then she saw the tears.
“You won’t be alone,” she said when she hugged me. “I promise. I’ll be back.”
I knew that. Katie and Jesse were always back and forth to Vancouver when they were on tour. And they’d be back for a solid break over the holidays, in just two months. But as I held my best friend, I was already feeling strangely lonely.
And since flying back to Vancouver, I’d been feeling more emotional about this whole thing than I expected.
I just had to make sure I pulled myself together by the time I saw Dane again. And, you know, cameras started popping up in my face. So I took a deep breath and strode off the elevator with my head held high, luggage in tow.
One of Dane’s security guys met me at the door to my building and took my luggage from me. Dane was also waiting for me, at the curb—with a new car.
I actually stopped short on the sidewalk.
The car was glossy black and looked like something a futuristic Batman would show up for a date in. I recognized the distinctive horseshoe shape on the grille. It was a freaking Bugatti.
Dane stood next to the open passenger door, waiting for me. Rolf stood nearby in a suit and opaque sunglasses, and there was the silvery Bentley parked in front of the Bugatti. A black Lincoln Navigator was parked behind, and my luggage was being packed into it. Dane’s security team. And they weren’t being subtle about it. People on the street were staring.
And it really hit me. I’d married a semi-famous man. An incredibly wealthy man. And my life was now subject to public attention, and public scrutiny.
Any random person, at any time, could take pictures of me and have them online in seconds.
“I need to change my dress,” I blurted.
My sexy, fuchsia Badgley Mischka dress with the deep-V and all the cleavage, the belted waist and the ruffled, wrap-dress effect that showed leg, which I’d bought for six hundred dollars, on sale, and the Ted Baker black satin blazer, also purchased on sale, suddenly felt like rags. This billionaire/Bugatti situation was a whole other level of living large, and I never would’ve thought I’d feel underdressed for it.
I glanced at Dane as his gaze swept over me. He wore a gorgeous, charcoal-gray bespoke suit that skimmed his muscular physique just so.
At least I’d worn my most expensive shoes. The only pair of Jimmy Choos that I owned. I realized, though, that on a billionaire’s budget, they weren’t expensive.
“You look great,” Dane said simply. “Get in the car.”
I allowed him to usher me into the seat. And I noticed that none of the vehicles in his little procession had rental plates anymore. The plates all now saidBeautiful British Columbia.
I felt strangely like I couldn’t breathe as Dane got into the driver’s seat next to me. Nerves?
The Bugatti rumbled like a slumbering lion as he started it up. Then it roared as we tore away from the curb.Wow.I’d never been this excited sitting in a car. It was a visceral response. An adrenaline high. I didn’t know I wouldeverbe this excited sitting in a car, actually.
“Who’s car is this?” I asked him.
“Mine,” he said. Then he amended, “Ours. It’s a little wedding gift. From me to us.”
“You bought this car? You boughtallthese cars? What was wrong with the rentals? I thought you hated Vancouver, and British Columbia in general.” He’d told me so, very casually, when I asked him on the plane today if he was serious about opening up a west coast office for his company here.
