Twisted Palace
Page 72
Wade shrugs. “He’ll be late. Jordan likes to make an entrance.”
31
Reed
“You’re late,” Jordan snaps as she throws open the mansion’s door.
I check my watch. “A whole minute late,” I answer, rolling my eyes. And even though her sharp tone scrapes across my nerves, this devil’s bargain Ella made was so fucking worth it. It’s not going to kill me to be civil. “Are you ready to go?” I ask politely.
Jordan’s gaze rakes over me. “Where’s your gold tie?”
That’s not the question I expected. I peer down at the black one hanging down my front. “I don’t think I own a gold tie.”
Her eyes narrow into thin strips. “Part of the deal is that you wear a gold tie to match my dress.”
I follow her hand as she Vanna Whites it down her body, which is wrapped in what looks like gold tissue. Really thin gold tissue. Holy hell, are her nipples visible? I try not to stare, but it’s not easy.
I catch a glimpse of Jordan’s smug face as I avert my eyes.
“Like what you see?”
“Your tits? Every girl’s got a pair, Jordan.”
Her smirk turns to a sneer. “Tell Ella the deal’s off and she still owes me.”
The door starts to close on my face. I slap my hand on the wood frame and push my way in. Be nice, Reed. It’s not going to kill you to be nice to this chick.
“You look nice,” I manage to grind out.
“Ahh, there you go.” The demon pats my arm, and it takes a lot of effort on my part not to flinch. “Was that so hard?”
Yes. Really hard. And I don’t want to be touched by her or any other girl whose name isn’t Ella Harper. But I don’t say that to Jordan. Instead I repeat my question. “Are you ready?”
Considering she was mad that I was late, I expect her to say yes, but she doesn’t. “We’re not going until you put on a gold tie.”
For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with this girl? “I don’t have one, and even if I did, I’m not driving twenty minutes to get it. Get your purse or whatever else you need and let’s go.”
She lifts her chin. “No, we’re taking pictures first. Mom,” she yells. “Reed Royal is here. We’re ready for pictures.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pray for patience. I’m not standing around like a mannequin so that Jordan can memorialize this farce of a date. “I didn’t sign up for pictures. I’m here to take you to the dance. That’s the deal.”
“The deal is what I say it is,” Jordan hisses.
“We both know Ella’s the only person who would actually honor this deal. The rest of Astor would tell you to go fuck yourself.” Including me, but I’m trying to keep my nose clean, so I try to keep the insults to a minimum. “I’m here. I’m willing to take you to the dance. I’ll sit with you during dinner and give you my bag of chips to buy whatever the hell you want. But that’s it. We can either keep arguing for the next two hours or we can haul ass to the party. We might even make it in time for dinner if we move.”
“I deserve a picture,” she insists.
As if on cue, Mrs. Carrington pops around the corner with Mr. Carrington, who’s carrying a camera.
I sigh. If I don’t give in, my guess is we’re going to be here all night. “Fine. Take your picture and let’s go.”
“Five pictures.”
“One.”
Her mother’s face is a picture of confusion. “Well, perhaps we could take a few by the mantle,” she suggests quietly.
“We’ll start there,” Jordan agrees.
“Just a couple ground rules,” I murmur so I don’t embarrass her in front of her parents. They’re already wondering what in the hell is going on. “We’re not kissing, hugging, or doing couple shit in this photo.”
“You’ll put your arms around me and you’re going to like it,” she snipes and then grabs my sleeve to haul me snug up to her side.
Calmly, I pull the fine wool out of her grasp. “Be careful. Tom Ford isn’t cheap.” The tux is custom fit. Every year, we get a new one. Dad’s a big believer in dressing for the occasion.
“Are you ready?” Mrs. Carrington asks, gesturing for her husband to come forward with the camera.
After a little maneuvering where Jordan tries to grind her ass against my dick and I try to avoid even our clothes coming into contact, the pictures are taken and we’re at the door.
Mark Carrington clears his throat loudly as we’re about to leave. “Mr. Royal, I don’t approve of my daughter’s choice of dates given your current situation, but I also want her to be happy.”
“Dad,” Jordan protests.
Her father ignores her and looks me square in the eye. I respect that.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “She’ll be home by ten.”
I duck out the door and jog down the steps, with Jordan huffing her displeasure behind me.
“The party doesn’t end until midnight, asshole.”
I hold the car door open for her. “Too bad I told your dad you’d be home earlier, then.”
“And then there’s the after party,” she says between clenched teeth.
I wait for her to get her legs inside the truck and stare off into the distance. The skirt on her dress is so short that her panties would show, and it’s not something I care to see.
“I signed up for one Winter Formal,” I retort as I slam the door.
“Are you going to be like this the whole night?” Jordan demands as I settle into the driver’s seat.
“Yup.”
“That’s not within the spirit of the deal.”
“Your deal is with Ella, not me. I’m doing the bare minimum here.”
“You’re the worst. You and that trash deserve each other.”
I slam on the brakes halfway down the driveway. My efforts at being nice have their limit and they stop at any insults toward Ella. “Call her trash and the date is off. I’ll haul you out of the Rover and leave you on the side of the road.”
“You would not,” she says indignantly.
“I so would.” In fact, I’d love to do it.
31
Reed
“You’re late,” Jordan snaps as she throws open the mansion’s door.
I check my watch. “A whole minute late,” I answer, rolling my eyes. And even though her sharp tone scrapes across my nerves, this devil’s bargain Ella made was so fucking worth it. It’s not going to kill me to be civil. “Are you ready to go?” I ask politely.
Jordan’s gaze rakes over me. “Where’s your gold tie?”
That’s not the question I expected. I peer down at the black one hanging down my front. “I don’t think I own a gold tie.”
Her eyes narrow into thin strips. “Part of the deal is that you wear a gold tie to match my dress.”
I follow her hand as she Vanna Whites it down her body, which is wrapped in what looks like gold tissue. Really thin gold tissue. Holy hell, are her nipples visible? I try not to stare, but it’s not easy.
I catch a glimpse of Jordan’s smug face as I avert my eyes.
“Like what you see?”
“Your tits? Every girl’s got a pair, Jordan.”
Her smirk turns to a sneer. “Tell Ella the deal’s off and she still owes me.”
The door starts to close on my face. I slap my hand on the wood frame and push my way in. Be nice, Reed. It’s not going to kill you to be nice to this chick.
“You look nice,” I manage to grind out.
“Ahh, there you go.” The demon pats my arm, and it takes a lot of effort on my part not to flinch. “Was that so hard?”
Yes. Really hard. And I don’t want to be touched by her or any other girl whose name isn’t Ella Harper. But I don’t say that to Jordan. Instead I repeat my question. “Are you ready?”
Considering she was mad that I was late, I expect her to say yes, but she doesn’t. “We’re not going until you put on a gold tie.”
For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with this girl? “I don’t have one, and even if I did, I’m not driving twenty minutes to get it. Get your purse or whatever else you need and let’s go.”
She lifts her chin. “No, we’re taking pictures first. Mom,” she yells. “Reed Royal is here. We’re ready for pictures.”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I pray for patience. I’m not standing around like a mannequin so that Jordan can memorialize this farce of a date. “I didn’t sign up for pictures. I’m here to take you to the dance. That’s the deal.”
“The deal is what I say it is,” Jordan hisses.
“We both know Ella’s the only person who would actually honor this deal. The rest of Astor would tell you to go fuck yourself.” Including me, but I’m trying to keep my nose clean, so I try to keep the insults to a minimum. “I’m here. I’m willing to take you to the dance. I’ll sit with you during dinner and give you my bag of chips to buy whatever the hell you want. But that’s it. We can either keep arguing for the next two hours or we can haul ass to the party. We might even make it in time for dinner if we move.”
“I deserve a picture,” she insists.
As if on cue, Mrs. Carrington pops around the corner with Mr. Carrington, who’s carrying a camera.
I sigh. If I don’t give in, my guess is we’re going to be here all night. “Fine. Take your picture and let’s go.”
“Five pictures.”
“One.”
Her mother’s face is a picture of confusion. “Well, perhaps we could take a few by the mantle,” she suggests quietly.
“We’ll start there,” Jordan agrees.
“Just a couple ground rules,” I murmur so I don’t embarrass her in front of her parents. They’re already wondering what in the hell is going on. “We’re not kissing, hugging, or doing couple shit in this photo.”
“You’ll put your arms around me and you’re going to like it,” she snipes and then grabs my sleeve to haul me snug up to her side.
Calmly, I pull the fine wool out of her grasp. “Be careful. Tom Ford isn’t cheap.” The tux is custom fit. Every year, we get a new one. Dad’s a big believer in dressing for the occasion.
“Are you ready?” Mrs. Carrington asks, gesturing for her husband to come forward with the camera.
After a little maneuvering where Jordan tries to grind her ass against my dick and I try to avoid even our clothes coming into contact, the pictures are taken and we’re at the door.
Mark Carrington clears his throat loudly as we’re about to leave. “Mr. Royal, I don’t approve of my daughter’s choice of dates given your current situation, but I also want her to be happy.”
“Dad,” Jordan protests.
Her father ignores her and looks me square in the eye. I respect that.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “She’ll be home by ten.”
I duck out the door and jog down the steps, with Jordan huffing her displeasure behind me.
“The party doesn’t end until midnight, asshole.”
I hold the car door open for her. “Too bad I told your dad you’d be home earlier, then.”
“And then there’s the after party,” she says between clenched teeth.
I wait for her to get her legs inside the truck and stare off into the distance. The skirt on her dress is so short that her panties would show, and it’s not something I care to see.
“I signed up for one Winter Formal,” I retort as I slam the door.
“Are you going to be like this the whole night?” Jordan demands as I settle into the driver’s seat.
“Yup.”
“That’s not within the spirit of the deal.”
“Your deal is with Ella, not me. I’m doing the bare minimum here.”
“You’re the worst. You and that trash deserve each other.”
I slam on the brakes halfway down the driveway. My efforts at being nice have their limit and they stop at any insults toward Ella. “Call her trash and the date is off. I’ll haul you out of the Rover and leave you on the side of the road.”
“You would not,” she says indignantly.
“I so would.” In fact, I’d love to do it.
