Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 30987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 103(@300wpm)
“Because I’m the only one capable of scoring during league, and sometimes my connections help you get better dates. Basically, I’m your life’s assist.”
“You make me sound like a loser.”
Well…I’m the one who put it like that.
“Fine,” he sighs. “Today is Saturday. For normal people, it’s the weekend. You clean your house, water your plants, run errands, plan your night out.”
Morgan tattoos for a living, so she’s a creative. I don’t see her cleaning her house, watering her plants, or running errands.
I swipe another brush stroke on the canvas, but the pink hue is eluding me. I remember why I called Matty in the first place. “Do you have Morgan’s number?”
“Didn’t you get it last night or was it a bust? Talk too much about paint?”
“We watched a mockumentary.”
“A what?”
“A—you know what, never mind. What’s her number?”
“I’d be worried for you if I didn’t know that you have some ungodly pull with the women. It’s why we have such a good league team. Everyone wants your leftovers.”
“What leftovers?” I hold the brush against the canvas waiting for him to spit out the fucking numbers.
“Right. You don’t even notice there are women at the court. You’re weirdly blind to all the women that stuff their numbers into your gym bag. You probably treated Morgan like a buddy, and she went home thinking you friend-zoned her. She went to your place to get laid, Flynn. Not to watch TV. That’s for losers.”
Huh. Had I missed some signals? “I’ll ask her when I call her.”
“I don’t have her number.”
“Then why are you talking at all?” I scowl at the phone and hang up. That was a useless call. I guess I’ll drive over to her house. It’s not as if I can paint. I don’t have the right color. I wipe my brushes, make sure Gremlin has fresh water, and then get into my Audi R8 and speed over to Morgan’s home. There are big black gates blocking my way. On the left side, there appears to be a talk box. I pull close and roll down my window.
“Yes?” comes an unfriendly voice.
“I’m here to see Morgan.”
“Whom shall I say is speaking?”
“Flynn.”
“Hmmm” is all he responds. I wonder if this is the butler Morgan and Blake joked about when she’d taken the picture of the charcuterie board last night.
“I don’t mean to be a stick in your ass, but I’m not leaving until I see Morgan. You’re going to get real tired of me. Best decision you can make is to let me in now. If I don’t get in, I’ll have to bring out the big guns.” Not sure what I’ll do to carry out the threat, but the gates start to creak open, so I don’t have to. “Thanks, man.”
At the top of the stone steps, the grim-faced butler holds the door open. “Lady Morgan isn’t here at the moment, but Lady Violette is. She would like to see you in the drawing room.”
“This feels like the inquisition where heads are chopped off if I don’t answer the questions right.”
I swear the butler mutters I wish under his breath. The drawing room is a fancy room with colorful furniture that looks like it was bought at Louis XIV’s estate sale. Lady Violette is seated in a high-backed chair behind a large mahogany desk. Small spectacles are perched at the end of her nose. Even though she’s seated, she manages to look as if she’s peering down at me.
“I’d sit down, but I think I’d get paint on your expensive chairs. Morgan okay?”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“Yeah, why else would I be here?”
“To return the painting you stole? Louis Bodycomb tried to call the police.”
“Louis’ last name is Bodycomb? Is his first name even Louis?”
A corner of Lady Violette’s mouth twitches up. “Morgan saved you.”
“I should thank her, but I don’t have her number, which is why I’m here.”
“Is her number all you want?”
I look up to see if the guillotine blade is above my head. This feels like a loaded question. “No. I want a lot more, but I’ll start with her number.”
CHAPTER 12
MORGAN
Ramona and I stare at each other across the table. “You always here this early?” I ask, trying to make small talk.
The police left, taking a very pissed-off Louis with them. He was shouting about some contract which would have to be paid out or I guess I can cut him from the non-compete clause. I don’t know. That’s a George thing.
“Louis wanted me here as a witness and to pull the tapes.” Ramona's tone is flat. I cannot get a read on her to save my life.
“You and him have a thing?”
“God no!” she rushes to say. “He’s a pig.”
“Then you’re cool with the whole firing him thing?” She lets out a long sigh.
“Layla the sous chef is great, but I don’t know.” Her brows furrow together. I can tell she is freaking out but trying to hide it.