“Shouldn’t you be working?” he asks, nodding at the box in my hands.
His animosity gets my hackles up. “Shouldn’t you be mingling with the guests?”
He grins. Taking a Zippo lighter from his pocket, he taps the joint against the metal. “Parties are boring, but birthday parties are the worst.” He casts another glance at my unsuitable attire. “You obviously agree.”
Although I do share his sentiment, I can’t help but turn defensive. “Then why did you come?”
Bringing the joint to his mouth, he watches me from the slits of his eyes as he lights it. He inhales and blows out a thin line of smoke. “Business.”
The smoke twists into a ribbon before dispersing in the air, leaving the pungent odor of weed behind.
“Business?” Was I wrong about him being a guest? “Are you with the caterers?”
He laughs. “My father and Mr. Edwards are business associates.” Studying me through the thick lashes of his hooded eyes as he takes another drag of the joint, he adds after blowing out the smoke, “Of sorts.”
“So you’re only here for business reasons,” I say, my ego unjustifiably bruised.
“That’s how it would seem.”
I fail to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “I can see how that must suck for you.”
He shrugs. “It comes with the territory.”
When I don’t reply, he holds the joint out to me.
I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”
“Do you drink?”
My parents let me have a little wine or champagne on important occasions. “Not often.”
His voice drops an octave. “Good.”
He carries on smoking while I just stand there, racking my brain for something to say.
Turning his face, he looks at me as if to ask why I’m still there. “You better run inside and get to work.”
I don’t like the way he speaks to me. I resent how he thinks he can order me around. Most of all, I hate how easily he dismisses me.
When he stubs the joint out on the wall and flicks the butt in the party trash that’s piling up next to the door, I know he’s going to walk away. And I don’t want him to. I stall by using what my feminine intuition tells me will get his attention. Defiance.
“No,” I say, lifting my chin.
His eyes flare as if he doesn’t hear that word often.
“I won’t jump because you told me to,” I continue.
He pushes off the wall. “What did you say to me?”
Standing taller, I tap into my confidence that usually comes naturally but for some reason now has failed me. “Why must I go? You leave if you don’t want me here. You shouldn’t have picked this spot if you were hoping to smoke your drugs without being caught. Which is completely not cool. Not smoking in secret but smoking at all. Especially drugs. It makes you totally uncool.”
Shit. Can I just shut up now?
His dark eyes widen with humor rather than anger. A smile flirts with his lips.
He’s laughing at me. How embarrassing.
I don’t wait for his reply. My intention is making a grand exit while I still have some dregs of dignity left to cling to, but just as I turn toward the kitchen, my mom walks through the door.
Double shit.
“Sabella Daphne Edwards.” She grabs my arm, her nails cutting into my skin. “Where have you been?” Her face pales as she takes me in. “My goodness. Look at you. This is too much.” She gives me a not-too-gentle shake. “I’ve had it with you.”
The stranger slides his gaze toward the lawn where white and pink balloons arch around silver blown-up numbers writing sixteen in the center. His lips curve into a full smile as he no doubt puts two and two together.
I nearly die of humiliation. My mom is really upset with me this time, so much so she doesn’t notice the young man standing to the side while catering staff enter and exit the house like a steady file of ants.
“Get inside.” She lets go of my arm and grabs the box from my hands. “Now.”
“Wait,” I cry out, trying to take back the box. “You’ll drop it.”
My mom holds the box out of reach. “What have you done now?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
Pursing her lips, she opens the flap.
“His name is Pirate,” I say, talking so fast my tongue trips over the words. “Please, you have to let me keep him.”
My mom holds the box at arm’s length. “You know I’m allergic to cats.”
“Please.” I press my palms together in a begging gesture. “It’s the only birthday gift I want. I’ll never ask you for anything else.”
My mom flicks her fingers. Miraculously, a staff member appears at her side.
“Put this in the guest bathroom upstairs.” She thrusts the box at the man, who’s one of our gardeners. “We’ll take it to the SPCA tomorrow.”
“No,” the stranger says, the word loaded with so much authority that both my mom and the gardener freeze.
I don’t know who’s more surprised, my mom or me.
My mom spins around and gives a start when her gaze falls on the guy. She looks between us, suspicion tightening her eyes. “What are you doing here at the back of the house?”
He steps up and takes the box from the gardener. “I was just giving Sabella her birthday present.”
Reeling, my mother says in a high-pitched voice, “Excuse me?”
Carefully, he hands the box back to me. “If I’d known you were allergic, Mrs. Edwards, I would’ve included antihistamines with the gift. It’s an easy enough problem to solve and a small sacrifice to pay for Sabella’s happiness.” He adds with a mocking smile, “I’m sure you’ll forgive me for the oversight.”
My mom’s nostrils flare. Her chest rises as she inhales sharply. Seemingly unable to string together words to make a sentence, she flicks her fingers again at which the gardener slips away as fast as he appeared.
“Well,” my mom says, giving me a narrow-eyed look. “You better go settle your new pet and get ready. You’ve kept everyone waiting long enough. I’ll tell Mattie to help you get dressed so that your guests don’t have to wait another hour.”
Turning up her nose, she leaves as regally as her high heels allow.
I’m shocked to a standstill, unable to believe my luck. Gaping at the handsome stranger, I say with all the sincerity I possess, “Thank you.”
A hint of warmth softens the harsh blackness of his eyes. “You’re welcome, cara.”
My stomach flutters at yet another term of endearment. “Why did you do it?”
His statement is casual, but the words are loaded. “Because you should get what you want for your birthday.”
“Your business must be really important to my dad. My mom never gives in like that.”
He shoves a hand in his pocket and glances at the partygoers. “There are only old people here. Don’t you have friends?”
“I’m not socially awkward and incapable of making friends, if that’s what you’re implying,” I say with a grin.
“I’d never be so crass,” he deadpans. “I’m just wondering why they’re not invited.”