There comes a time when you no longer care what the future has in store for you. You get to a level of anger that shuts down all the cautionary parts of your brain. The part that tells you to not play with fire, to not go down a steep hill full of potholes while on a skateboard, to not set off fireworks inside your house. And sure I may have done all three as a kid, because rage and pain drove those insanely stupid decisions. And I could feel myself on the same path. One with little thought for the consequences. Just images of punching that idiotic smug Laurence Royal right in his idiot smug face over and over.
The car was filled with murderous thoughts as I imagined a game plan that was full of dramatic flair. Kicking down his front office doors before swinging my bat in a clear threatening visual. But the problem with this entire visual was that it was set to the irritating soundtrack of NSYNC's "Bye Bye Bye," blasting in the car.
I know that I can't bake the door,
I ain't no spy!!!
I slumped further down in the front passenger's seat, trying to ignore Tate's singing. But it was like that song Baby Shark, burrowing into my brain at full volume, refusing to give up until I could think of nothing else.
I want to see you spook the poor,
Baby pie pie pie!!!
I tried to keep my mind focused on my mission. Destroy Laurence Royal. But Tate had the ability to make thinking impossible, which was a blessing and a curse all at once. He was utterly hot, but he also never shut up... so it was a toss-up if he made me speechless in a good or bad way, and it changed from minute to minute.
"TATE!" I hissed. "I'm trying to make a murder plan!" I shot him a glare.
He threw a mischievous grin back at me, dimples flashing beneath his sharp green eyes. "The boyband vibe isn't working for your evil scheming?"
I rolled my eyes, running my fingers through my hair and tugging it out my face in frustration. "I would have picked something—" The wind had tangled it into creative knots and it took several angry tugs to get my fingers free. "more screamo or something revenge-driven."
With a quick scan of his playlist, phone connected to the dashboard, Tate waved his fingers with dramatic flair before a new song blared to life in the car. Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" began to play.
I raised a brow in a silent and very judgemental response.
Tate shrugged. "What? You said revenge-driven."
Snatching his phone from the dashboard, I began to scan his music playlist. "Remind me to never let you DJ anyone's wedding," I muttered.
After scrolling for what felt like ages, I realized he had more songs than I had ever seen. "Holy crap! How many songs do you have on here?!?"
"Eighty-four thousand, three hundred and twenty-six," Tate replied without hesitation.
I stared at him wide-eyed. "Did you seriously count them all?!?"
Tate snorted, bursting into laughter, eyes bright with amusement. "Um... it says how many I own at the bottom of the list."
I blinked, staring at the number in bright bold, blushing at my brain fart. Great job Allie. "How many of these do you actually listen to?" I asked, trying to keep some composer.
Tate tilted his head back and forth, trying to decide. "Not that many actually." Before I could respond, curious to understand why he owned so many songs he didn't listen to, Tate changed the subject. "We're here," he said as we approached the Royal Fashion building.
It was a four-story glistening structure that would make me utterly jealous if everything inside wasn't a forgery of someone else's work. I would rather work out of a shack on my own pieces than work in a pretty place on something that wasn't real.
I reached for the door, itching to jump out, bat in hand, and put a dent in that pretty jerk-infested building.
"Wait..." His hands tightened on the wheel, eyes narrowed as he scanned the building. "Something is off."
"Yeah, Laurence is still breathing," I replied pulling on the door handle.
The doors suddenly locked. "Um... what's going on?" I asked turning to stare at Tate.
The car was stalled next to the curb in a dramatic pause. Tate scanned the sidewalk, brow furrowed. "Walk me through what you saw at Susan's house."
"Why?" I asked, confused.
"Because I need to know right now if you have enough proof before I actually let you walk in there."
I crossed my arms, growing suddenly angry. "LET ME?!?"
Tate's eyes turned dark. "Yes."
I yanked on the door handle then turned back to Tate. "OPEN. THE. DOOR."
He shook his head. "Not until you tell me what you saw at Susan's house."
I gritted my teeth. "I saw a business card for Laurence Royal's company on the floor."
"That could have been forged or planted. Anything else? Did she know who was at the door?"
I shook my head. "She said she didn't know."
"Don't you all know each other in this industry?"
Doubt began to creep in. Susan knew everyone. It was one of the things she was best known for. If it wasn't someone from Laurence Royal's company... then who was it? My voice rose. "Let me out, Tate."
"You can't go in there and pound him like a battering ram! You need a plan. A foolproof plan to catch him or whoever else is doing this." Tate leaned closer to me, his arm brushing my shoulder as he pointed through the window to a stalky man reading a newspaper— no pretending to read a newspaper.
The man looked up every few seconds, scanning the area. Tate's finger moved to point at a woman leaning against the building, phone in hand, but staring at everything but the screen. "See those? They are paparazzi." Tate leaned back and the car bolted away from the curb, fingers clutching the wheel tightly, his other hand shifting gears and speeding faster.
Tate spoke quickly, piecing things together. "He knew you'd be coming, so clearly he is involved. So instead of letting him bait you into looking like a lunatic after how hard you've worked to build up your company, let's win this game he is trying to rope you into." I was struck by how passionate Tate was. How determined he was to keep me from falling into a trap even after I yelled. How even when he was trying to put together a plan, he threw in a compliment that made me feel seen.
I swallowed, and looked away, afraid he would see how utterly touched I was. "So," Tate continued. "Let's grab some food, because my guess is you haven't eaten anything today, and we can go from there. Sound good?"
"I'm fine," I muttered. But my stomach seemed to have transferred to Team Tate, and utterly betrayed me in a loud, protesting growl. Stupid observant Tate. Stupid traitor stomach! Keep it together!
"I'm only listening to your stomach from now on. She is the truth-teller," Tate said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "We are getting food."
"Fine. But on the way there I'm going to call in a favor." I hit my speed dial and heard Delle's voice a beat later as I accidentally hit speakerphone. "Allie? It's daylight. What did you do?" There was loud classical music being played on the other end of the phone.
I gritted my teeth, irritated that Tate was hearing my conversation. "I didn't do anything I—"
"So you are going to do something and you are calling me while I am undercover to have me talk you out of doing said thing?"
Tate snorted. "I like her."
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone before the classical music was cut off with the sound of a door closing. "Am I on speakerphone? You are supposed to tell me that when I answer!"
I threw my hands up in the air. "It was an accident! Besides, you've barely given me a chance to talk! Tate, this is Delle. Delle, this is Tate."
Tate leaned closer to the phone, speaking loudly with a proud grin. "I'm the one that stopped her from beating a guy half dead when she didn't have enough proof that he done anything wrong."
Delle groaned. "Allie! There are rules. Either pin the guy with the evidence so you can go in guns blazing or find out who is actually behind whatever pissed you off! Don't fall for a potential trap!"
Tate covered his mouth with his fist, trying to hide his smile. I rubbed my temples, irritated that Delle had basically agreed with Tate without realizing it. "I know that Delle. That's why I am calling. I need a background check on Laurence Royal."
I heard Delle snort on the other end of the phone. "I don't need to do a background check on him if he's related to Carter Royal. The guy is bad news. Takes compromising pictures of women, and posting it as art."
I swore. Okay, he's being added to my hit list. "Are they related?"
"I'll check. Tate, can you keep my sister from killing this Laurence guy before I find out?"
I sat up straight, glaring at the phone. "I don't need anyone to keep me from—"
"On it!" Tate replied, pulling up to a pub and parking the car.
"YOU BOTH SUCK!" I growled and ended the call, shoving my phone into my pocket.
"Your sister is pretty cool," Tate said climbing out of the car.
I bolted after him, and was instantly met with the smell of fish and chips. I forgot I was angry for a moment, imagining eating an entire bucket full if it came in that size. I was hungry. But a beat later I remembered I was angry that Tate and Delle had gotten along so well. Delle hated everyone. What the hell is happening?!?
"Oh I know that look," Tate said pulling the door to the Pub called Malarky's Bar, open. "And yes, their fish and chips come in very generous helpings."
"Since I am your hostage," I said walking past him. "You're buying."
We moved into a colorful Irish pub with oak tables and colorful bottles which lined the back of the bar that made up most of the place. The song "An Irish Pub Song" by The Rumjacks played in the background. Tate leaned down and spoke into my ear to be heard above the music. "If I am buying, I'm calling this a date."
My heart fluttered before faceplanting to a stop like a gymnast that missed a step in her routine. I cleared my throat and crossed my arms, staring him up and down. "Then I'll buy my own food, thanks."
Tate smirked. "Still don't like me yet Allie Winters? Shame."
We were seated at one of the only high-top tables in the place. A pool table, jukebox and the bar stools that lined the bar made up the rest of the cozy place. I leaned my elbows on the table, fingers weaving together as I leaned my head on my hands. "I am very hard to win over Tate Dalton," I replied, trying to decide if I was flirting or giving him fair warning.
Tate's eyes flashed, sparking in the dim lighting with specs of gold. His fingers rested below his chin as he took me in with a playful smile. "Most of the things in life that are worth having require hard work."
I laughed, trying to push away the butterflies that tried to invade my stomach. "Did you get that from a pick-up line book or something?"
Tate leaned back, placing his hands behind his head. "Nope. All me."
"Smooth," I replied dryly.
He shot me a wink. "Very much so."
There was a beat of silence that was filled with the noise of the pub as people played pool to our left and the jukebox began to play the same song again to our right. "Okay. I need answers." I stared down at my hands, suddenly self-conscious, but no longer able to keep the question from blurting out of my mouth. "Did Susan ask you out?"
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Thank you for reading chapter twelve! I hope you are enjoying the story! Or are at least curious to see where it goes!
UPDATE DAYS - A NEW CHAPTER EVERY FRIDAY!
Do you agree with Tate that Laurence Royal may be setting Allie up to embarrass herself by making a scene at his office?
Why is Allie so freaked out that Delle instantly clicked with Tate?
AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, What will Tate's answer be to Allie's question?!?
CHAPTER QUESTION - Where is your favorite place to eat?