"No. He thinks what I tell him to think."

My head snapped up. "What did you do? Brain wash him?"

"Baby," Jace whispered in my ear, "sometimes being a politician has its uses. Brett's a weak man. My ploy had nothing to do with punching him in the face or lying to him. But everything to do with what I could get him. He thinks we're dating, and the story is a cover-up because of another scandal in my past."

"What did you have to do? To convince him."

"I paid him fifty grand."

My mouth dropped open.

"Geez, I'm kidding..." Jace chuckled, warm against my ear. "I told him I loved you."

My world plummeted. Had he no idea? That those three words had just shattered my entire existence? Because I wanted it to be real. And he just reminded me yet again that it wasn't.

"Hungry?" Grandma flipped a few pieces of clean shrimp onto our plates. "Eat up!"

"Are you really a chef and licensed therapist?" The agent asked.

"Yes." Grandma nodded enthusiastically. "I'm also a pilot."

"Licensed pilot?"

"Why do you keep saying license? Do I not look intelligent enough to have several talents and hobbies?"

"Why did you feel the need to get all of these… .certifications?"

"Because I know my grandsons. At one point, I figured I'd have to learn how to fight in the MMA arena, but thank heavens that didn't happen." Grandma shifted in her seat. "Besides, a good leader always knows one thing."

"What's that?"

"If you want something done, you sure as hell better do it yourself."

Jace

"If you as much as sneeze in her direction, I will stop at nothing to destroy your pitiful existence from the ground up."

The thing I should have said instead of…

"I love her."

Brett laughed. "Right. You do realize that half the world thinks you're on vacation with a new girlfriend, and the other half's convinced you're with a prostitute."

"Well, clearly, since I love her. She isn't a prostitute. Money doesn't need to exchange hands when you're in a relationship. Not that you would know that." I sneered.

"I'll expose you," Brett threatened. "After all, what type of concerned citizen would I be if I let a state senator get away with illegal prostitution?"

"Expose away. I have no secrets." I seethed feeling my control snapping, "But leave her out of this. Don't you think you've hurt her enough in the past?"

Brett's face pinched. "She told you about high school? That's kind of pathetic if you ask me. I mean, she's what, thirty? And she's upset about something that happened twelve years ago?"

"You're a bastard." I snapped "And by the way, It was me."

"You?"

"At the dance." I puffed out my chest. "Kissing her. It was me, so take your damn accusations and stuff them up your ass before I do it for you. We've been friends for an eternity, and I. love. Her. I. Choose. Her. Mind your own business before I pay a friend of a friend to cut the brakes to your car."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Of course not. We're just joking around. You, of course, are a little drunk after all those shots…" I reached for the drink on the bar and threw it in his face. "…and a little unsteady on your feet after getting in a crazy bar fight." I punched him across the jaw and then grabbed at his shirt again, steadying his body so I could punch him again. "Am I right?"

His face turned a hundred different shades of red before he pushed against my chest.

I took a step back and smirked. "Now, you're going to either apologize or wish you had."

"I'll go ahead and take my chances." Brett cracked his knuckles and took a huge swing in my direction.

I ducked and then punched him in the face.

Hard.

"Bastard!" Brett almost fell over. "You don't even love her! You're just dating. Something doesn't add up here."

"It's serious, and I do..." my voice cracked on the lie, "I do love her."

The minute the words left my lips I felt like I'd betrayed something special between us. As if I'd somehow cheated her out of having that experience because I'd said too soon. But it wasn't as if I would ever say it to her anyway, right?

I took another sip of whiskey and grimaced as the dry liquid burned down my throat. I shouldn't have told Beth that part. I should have kept it locked up inside.

Instead, she looked like I'd just told her I wanted to set fire to Donkey and eat a puppy for dinner.

"Eat, eat!" Grandma instructed loud enough to wake up the dead.

I was surprised I hadn't broken my hand — I'd never hit a guy so hard in my entire life.

"Shrimp?" Grandma asked as Brett took a seat on the opposite side of the table a good few feet away from me.

"Sure." His eyes darted from the plate to the empty seat next to him, "Where's Paris?"

"Bathroom," I said.

While Beth said, "Puking," under her breath.

"Great."

Grandma threw a knife into the air and then chopped some mushrooms in front of us and spread them out like a fan. For being eighty-six, she had quick hands.

I hadn't asked why she was our chef for the same reason I hadn't asked why she was our therapist. She was insane. Therefore, her cooking us dinner? Yeah, it made total sense.

I half-expected her to be our guide today for the excursion and wouldn't have even blinked if she walked into our room and claimed to be the maid. Hell, if she claimed to be president of her own country, I'd just pour myself a glass of scotch and ask which one.

Brett ate a few pieces of shrimp, alternating between licking his fingers and using his tongue to mate with them.

"Is he eating it or seducing it?" Beth whispered next to me.

Ten minutes later, Brett closed his eyes and moaned as he then gripped the table with his hand.

"Orgasm via shrimp?" I concluded. "I may never eat again."

What I thought was Brett becoming aroused by shellfish was actually Brett moaning in pain. He teetered off his chair and with a thump fell to the floor.

"Holy shit, Grandma killed him." I mumbled under my breath, pushing my chair away from the table so I could go help him, or maybe just kick him while he was down. Jury was still out.

"I, uh…" Brett burped and reached for his water, "I don't feel so well."

"Are you allergic to shellfish?" Grandma asked, concern lacing her every word.

"No." he pounded his chest and burped again.

"Oh, heavens!" Grandma dropped the knife onto the table and rushed to his side. "I think you are! I think you're going into shock! Hurry! We need to get you to the hospital."

"Seriously?" He gripped the table again. "I do feel kind of hoarse."

Grandma nodded emphatically. "I'll get the manager. We'll have you in the hospital in no time!"

Amused, I watched Grandma lie her ass off as she escorted Brett to the waiting taxi. Paris came out of the bathroom in time to see the fiasco. She'd also failed to look in the mirror. White powder glowed next to her upper lip.