Maybe he’d said the right thing because he liked the way she set her jaw. “Open that door.”
His suite was identical to hers, and she saw the opened envelope lying on the table. She marched toward it and pulled out the photo. He prepared himself for the worst, but instead of looking stricken, she looked mad as hell.
* * *
Thad hated sitting in the passenger seat with Olivia driving, but she’d insisted, and he’d only look like a sexist troll if he’d pressed her.
“You didn’t have to come with me,” she said, as they sped along I-78 toward Plainfield, New Jersey. “As a matter of fact, the way you keep twitching around and scowling makes me wish you hadn’t.”
“I like to drive, that’s all.”
“So do I. And I’m a better driver than you are.”
“You’re deluded.”
“I haven’t forgotten our Breckenridge trip. You speed.”
“Says the lady going six miles over the limit.”
“Six is reasonable. Twelve isn’t.”
She had a point.
Adam’s hometown of Plainfield, New Jersey, lay about an hour west of the city. It was late afternoon, the day after Thad had shown her the photo. Tomorrow night, they’d be flying to Vegas, and they couldn’t get there fast enough, although it bothered him that she hadn’t once brought up their agreement since they’d made it.
“You could at least have rented a decent car.” He sounded sulky.
“Excuse me, Mr. Big Shot, but I don’t need to rent a Rolls. I’m perfectly fine with a Mazda.”
“Because you’re not six foot three,” he retorted.
“I’m also not a whiny baby.”
If he kept complaining, he’d only prove her point. Until today, he hadn’t thought twice about riding with a woman driving, so sexism wasn’t his problem. What specifically bothered him was being Olivia’s passenger.
He’d never regarded himself as controlling. He respected women. Appreciated them. Hell, he worked for Phoebe Calebow. But when he was with Olivia Shore, all of a sudden, he wanted to call the shots, something she clearly wouldn’t allow to happen.
He tapped his foot against the floor mat. “I don’t know what you hope to accomplish on this trip.”
“I don’t, either. But I’m tired of feeling like a victim, and I need to do something.”
“What exactly?”
“I’m still thinking about it.”
Meaning she ha
d no clue. As she pulled onto the freeway exit ramp, he stretched out his legs as far as the Mazda would allow. “I’ve got a better idea. Let’s find a nice Holiday Inn and do what we’ve been wanting to do ever since we met.”
She stared straight ahead, but he saw her blink. “This isn’t Las Vegas.”
“Almost. We’re leaving tomorrow night, remember? And neither of us signed anything. We can change our minds any time we want.”
The troubled crease that formed between her brows made him regret bringing it up. “As soon as we cross that line,” she said, “everything will change between us.”
“It’ll change anyway,” he pointed out, trying to regain lost ground. “You’re the one who set the ground rules. Once the gala is over, we finish our commitment to Marchand, and we never see each other again, remember?”
She turned onto a four-lane road with modest houses set on large, wooded lots and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “There are so many people we can have sex with, but how many of them can we rely on? Can we trust? How many understand each other the way we do?”