He simply didn’t give a fuck.
Striding in, he found her digging around in her handbag. Her gaze shot up to his.
She’d never looked so disheveled. So lost. Confusion filled her face as she looked around. “Did I come into the men’s bathroom?”
“No, babe.” He moved carefully forward, as though approaching something fragile and yet volatile. “Brown eyes, what’s wrong?”
A bark of humorless laughter escaped her. Then she closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Before she straightened up.
He was seriously worried about her. He thought about snatching her up and carrying her out to his truck, but he was concerned that might upset her further.
He didn’t give a shit about the rest of the people in the restaurant and their reaction.
Betsy was his.
He’d take care of her as he saw fit.
If only he knew what the hell was wrong.
“Brown eyes, what’s going on?”
She slid closer. Wrapped herself around him. “I’m so sorry. Bringing up all that stuff, it was harder than I thought. I have a headache. I think I better just go home.”
“I’ll take you,” he said immediately. A headache? That wasn’t what this was about.
Damn it. He wanted to force her to talk to him.
“I appreciate it. But I have a car coming for me.” She slid her hand into his back pocket, squeezing his ass. Then she leaned up to whisper in his ear.
“I wasn’t lying about it all. I’m so sorry.”
He frowned as she moved away from him. “Betsy!”
Turning, he strode towards the door. Only when he stepped outside, he couldn’t see her anywhere. Where the fuck was she?
How did she leave so quickly?
And what did she mean she wasn’t lying about it all? What had she lied about?
She didn’t know how she managed to hold it together. She kept her face lowered as she slid into the back of the car.
“Dinner ended early.”
Shoot. It wasn’t Ranulf but Kit behind the wheel.
Stupid. Betsy. Stupid.
“I have a headache.”
He snorted. “That’s not gonna cut it with the boss and you know it. Play the game smart, Betsy. You’ve got a lot to lose. Don’t give Forrest an excuse to hurt you.”
The threat was clear. It sat like a lead bullet in her stomach.
Was that what men always did? Hurt you?
Except Ink. Sure, he’d spanked her, disciplined her, he could be strict.
But he’d never hurt her. Never taken advantage of her. He’d taken care of her.