“Rose! There’s no need for that.” A touch of anger, but a stronger dose of embarrassment marked her mom’s words; neither fit her, because Blythe Foley was one of the most chilled and worldly women Rose had ever known. Nothing fazed her. So what had happened? Who was this Bellamy character? “He’s our guest,” she went on, “not some snark target in one of your articles.” The latter referenced Rose’s primary job, as a freelance columnist for several women’s magazines. “You need to show him some respect, because he’s been good to me, and he is coming with us.”

Rose mentally back-stepped, found she had no handle on this situation whatsoever. Was her mom taking this guy’s side and dissing her? Any other time and she might have stormed out, but time was running out for her to say everything she wanted to say to her mom. From now on, any time they spent together was precious time, and if her mom wanted this jerk to be there with them, then it must be important. He must be important.

She promised herself she’d investigate the hell out of him the first chance she got. But for now… “You’re right, Mom. Sorry about that, Bernard. I guess I misunderstood.”

“It’s Bellamy,” he corrected her.

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Rose fished a fresh orange from the fruit bowl and started to peel it. “So, what’s everyone standing around for? Are we going or what?”

Bellamy stared at her like she’d just beamed down from Planet Inappropriate. Her mother rolled her eyes, probably thinking how true that was. “Yes, of course,” she said, looking at Rose’s jacket draped over the chair. “Is it cool out?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just a glass-is-half-empty kinda gal.” Rose then straightened her black crop top with the Punisher logo in the center. She noticed Bellamy couldn’t take his eyes off her, even when she met his gaze. It made her feel unusually uncomfortable, self-conscious, but she couldn’t explain why. Guys checked her out all the time and made no effort to hide the fact; they were easy enough to brush off or flat-out ignore. But with this guy, there seemed to be no irony. No mental wink, nothing between his gaze and hers. It made her want to cover up, especially her bare midriff.

“Souvenir snapshots are available in the gift shop,” she told him, clicking her fingers to break his gaze. “Hello. Earth to Bentley.”

“Bellamy.”

“Uh-huh. Like to look ’em right in the eye, don’t you? Jeez.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Something tells me you clean up at poker, that’s all.”