He nods from his seat and I don’t have to force a smile because the news is thrilling enough. It would have been the first time we went out somewhere and I’m not in the mood to call on all my finishing school skills right now.

“So where to?”

His critical eyes scan over me, and slowly the corner of his mouth lifts. “I want to show you something.”

I twist my body slightly. “I’m intrigued.”

He nods and looks away.

If I didn’t sense the obvious weight in the air the moment we climbed into his town car, it’s undeniable now, but it’s not my job to worry about his problems quite yet.

His ego, absolutely.

His issues? I have several solid months before those roll over as mine.

He was no sort of gentleman following the yacht fiasco, but in his defense, he’s never truly had to be, so I don’t know if I can fault him for it. The guy is gorgeous, up and coming in his career at his young age and could easily win a bachelor of the year contest.

He’s never been tied to or even photographed with a woman outside of his own staff—sure, he probably screws them behind the scenes, as my mother pointed out, but a girlfriend? Not once. I can be pissed off over his lack of concern, sure, but it makes more sense to respect him for focusing on what his desires are rather than faking emotion—he desires an attractive wife, not a needy one.

The driver turns down an unfamiliar cul-de-sac, nothing around but homes similar in size to mine, and as Anthony leans forward, preparing to exit the vehicle, I realize where he’s taking me.

Unease wraps around my ribs, but I don’t show it, smiling politely when he steps out, reaching in for my hand.

I could almost laugh at the stone walkway, my legs suddenly seeming to weigh the same. If he wasn’t holding on to me, reminding me to put one foot in front of the other, I would likely be frozen in place, staring up at the mini mansion.

The home is as wide as it is tall, a deep gray in color. Large bay windows make up the center of the second story, a black iron patio railing overlooking the court behind me. The trim is black, the giant, triple garage doors a smoky glass, though you can’t see through it.

We continue past the driveway, up the giant, square steps framed by large pots, white gardenias perfectly rounded inside them.

I hate gardenias and the white does nothing for the house.

I pause when the front door is opened and Elena stands inside, a binder in her hand and a kind curl to her lips.

“Hello, Jameson.”

“Elena.” I offer a smile. “Nice to see you.”

She nods, stepping back as Anthony leads us inside.