Jane looked up to see Sebastian step cautiously onto the escalator, wobbling under the poorly distributed weight of several bags. Two leather bags on one shoulder that appeared to be slipping down his arm, plus another bag on the other shoulder, and two shopping bags in each hand.
“Poor Sebastian!”
“He charges a lot more than I do, honey. He can help with the ever-lovin’ bags.”
Ray looked over at Sara with a sour expression on his pursed, shiny lips. Jane’s glance followed only to find Lars laughing at something Sara was saying. He was eating out of her hand and Jane’s heart twisted.
“Look away, sugar,” advised Ray. “We’ll see what we can do about that.”
Jane turned her back to them, looking back at Ray glumly, but was soon accosted by Sebastian, who practically fell on top of her with a desperate whisper.
“She. Is. A. Monster.”
Jane shook her head at Sebastian, warning him to button it up. They were all in unspoken agreement in their disdain toward Sara, but both men knew better than to be overt in their dislike. Sara was their bread and butter; they’d do well to keep their true feelings carefully concealed.
“Let me help you,” said Jane, taking two of the shopping bags from Sebastian and hefting one of the three leather bags onto her own shoulder so that he could mop his forehead with the sleeve of his silk shirt. “Goddamn it, Jane. She just left everything on the plane. Just got up and walked off like the Queen of Sheba. And you…” He pointed one stubby, neatly manicured finger at Ray, scowling.
Ray put his sunglasses on languorously, smirking at Sebastian. “Girlfriend know better than to ask Ray-Ray to carry her stuff. Boundaries, Bassy. Build some ASAP.”
Then he turned and sauntered over to introduce himself to Lars.
Jane smiled at Sebastian sympathetically. Six hours next to Samara was more than anyone should have to endure. Carrying her mountain of baggage through several terminals must have been the breaking point. She smiled at him gently.
“Sorry it was a bad trip.”
“Well, at least you’re here now, Jane. No more leaving us three days early. We need you back at home, especially with Laney down.” He readjusted the luggage, beads of sweat sliding from his temples down his cheeks.
“Any intel on that? On when Laney might be back in action? And—hey!—how was the weekend? You never sent me a run-down.”
“I visited Laney on Saturday afternoon, Jane. Brought her some chicken matzoh soup. She looked awful. Could barely speak.” Sebastian combed his fingers through his thinning hair, trying to compose himself. “The MoMA was tame enough.”
“What about the vodka launch on Sunday night? She sent me boob shots.” Jane raised an eyebrow at Sebastian.
“Wild after-party at the Mondrian.”
“Anything I need to know?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “Press wasn’t there.”
“Did she meet anyone?”
“Some kid from one of the newer boy bands.”
“Please tell me he was over eighteen?”
“Barely, but yes.” He looked sheepish. “Laney’s better at screening these guys than I am.”
Jane nodded. “No harm done, I guess. I would’ve seen something on Twitter by now if she’d gotten herself in trouble. Any checked bags?”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Whaddayou think?”
I think Lars is going to need a bigger van.
She turned to see if the baggage claim belt had started spinning yet and had a quick flashback to her own arrival three days ago:
Miss Mays?
Mr. Lindstrom.
Lars. Yeah.
She looked at Lars, who was chuckling at something Ray was saying. Ray gesticulated madly, and then put his manicured hands on the hips of his sea-green, slim-fit jeans, pretending to pout. Sara chuckled prettily whenever Lars glanced her way, but otherwise shot Ray daggers, clearly wishing to have Lars all to herself. Jane watched as her cousin gestured to a coffee kiosk, then looped her arm in Lars’s. As they sauntered away, Ray looked back at Jane and shrugged.
Thanks for trying, Ray.
Jane was already a speck in Lars’s rearview mirror.
Just as she had predicted.
***
Lars had to admit two things:
One, despite Jane’s warnings, Samara was incredibly warm and charming which,
Two, wasn’t what he had been led to expect.
Jane had painted her cousin as a real dragon-lady, but he was finding Samara to be sweet, funny, disarming, and—yes, as expected—the most beautiful woman he had ever seen up-close in his entire life. It wasn’t a matter of opinion. That Samara Amaya was undeniably gorgeous was an empirical fact.
Tall, with a tiny waist, voluptuous breasts, and a pert, rounded ass, she was eye-catching. But add to her figure, her face: rosy red lips, pillowed and feminine, and lavender eyes fringed with thick black lashes. She was utterly stunning in every way, and like any other red-blooded man, it was impossible not to notice.
Being attracted to her wasn’t optional; as Jane had—more or less—predicted, it was inevitable.
That said, he didn’t want to be the sort of fickle guy who made decisions by his attraction to a beautiful woman. He was better than that. As he’d repeatedly promised Jane, he wasn’t that guy. A terrible person could come in pretty packaging. It’s just that Samara didn’t seem so terrible. Not yet, at least.
Besides, Samara’s attention was a balm to Jane’s rejection.
Jane didn’t want him. She’d barely said a word to him since they left the parking lot after her “ice” speech. Aside from politely asking for his help recovering the bags from baggage claim, and giving him the claim tickets, Jane had kept her distance after introducing him to Samara. She didn’t touch his hand as she handed him the tickets, or wink or smile or call him “Just-Lars” or anything. It was almost like last night, like the last three days, never even happened. It was like he was just “the help” now, and it hurt like hell.
He grumbled as he sat down in his seat, fumbling with his keys, feeling distracted, confused, because last night, holding Jane in his arms? He could have sworn that—
“Is this…okay?”
He jerked his head up, surprised to find Samara sitting next to him in the passenger seat of the van.
“I thought we could get to know each other better.”
Used to having Jane sitting beside him and perhaps even hoping for a few minutes of conversation with her while they drove back to Gardiner, his heart sank a little, though he worked hard to conceal it by offering Samara a bright smile.
“Sure. Of course. You can sit wherever you want to.”
“Great,” she purred.
As he started the engine, however, he glanced in the rearview mirror and caught Jane’s eyes for a second. She turned away quickly, her face cool and unreadable. He breathed through the sharp wave of pain he felt from her rejection, then turned to Samara, giving her a flirty smile.
If I’m going to be hurting, then she can hurt a little too.
“What kind of music do you like, Samara? Radio’s all yours.”
“Funsies!” She leaned forward and turned it on, only to wrinkle up her nose when the Beach Boys started singing. She turned to him with a pretty cringe. “Ugh. Oldies? No, thank you. Mind if I change it?”