Cross The Line

CHAPTER THREE

"Who?"

He stares at me. "Who, what?"

"Who is this mysterious friend of yours, that thinks Brett is such bad news?"

I watch the muscle tick in his cheek — one, two, three times — before he grunts out a name.

"Chase Croft."

"Brett's cousin?" I ask, incredulous.

Nate nods tightly.

"Oh." I can't help but be crestfallen.

Both Croft boys went to the same prep school as Parker and Nate, a few grades ahead of them. Though Parker has never been close to them, I know Nate sometimes handles Chase's private security, especially now that he's taken over Croft Industries as CEO. In addition to being wealthier than Taylor Swift, Chase seems like a genuinely a good person, is charming as hell, and has an ass like a hot-cross bun — a trifecta which makes him unquestionably the most sought-after bachelor in all of New England's high-society.

Though, after tonight... his bachelor status seems like it might have an expiration date.

At the gala earlier, he had a really freaking awesome girl named Gemma on his arm, who he stared at with a reverence I usually reserve for filet mignon at Davio's. She was gorgeous, sure, but it was more than that — her quirky, offbeat personality and tendency to spout verbal diarrhea at a moment's notice made me like her instantly. And seeing Chase with a girl like Gemma made me like him even more.

...But the two of them definitely hadn't liked his cousin Brett.

The air was so frosty at our table during dinner, I was afraid the water was going to freeze over in my glass. Gemma even went so far as to warn me away from him, when we made a trip to the ladies room together.

Which means, as much as I hate to admit it, Nate is probably right about my date tonight.

It's not exactly a loss — I had no intention of ever seeing Brett again — but it does piss me off that, if I wanted to, Nate thinks he could tell me differently.

Ugh! That bossy, arrogant, son of a...

My eyes lift back to Nate's, and I see him watching me carefully. Whatever he reads on my face seems to satisfy him — a tiny bit of tension slips from his shoulders and his jaw stops ticking like a bomb set to explode. Still, he's glaring at me like I peed in his Cheerios, so I do the only thing I can: glare right back at him.

"You didn't have to come here, you know," I snip, crossing my arms over my chest.

He doesn't respond. Rude.

"You could've called."

Again, no response.

"You can't just go around breaking into people's houses."

"I didn't break in," he corrects lowly. "I have a key."

"What?" I screech. "How?"

I never gave him a key to my brownstone. The only other person on the planet with a key is Parker and he's in Europe. So if Nate has a key...

Ugh, I'm going to kill my big brother for assigning Nate to check on me like I'm still nine and need supervision.

"Give it back!" I take a step toward him, hand outstretched. "Parker never should've given it to you."

"No."

"Nate!"

"I didn't come here to argue with you about a goddamned key," he mutters, frustration bleeding into his tone.