Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Hey, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot back there,” Jason says, stopping next to his truck.
I set my bag in the back of my SUV. “It’s fine. But you can do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I got the email from Landry Security about our security assignments for the next month.” I lift a brow. “Get Callum off my detail.”
He tries so hard not to laugh.
“Fine. Leave him.” I shrug. “You can take it up with Landry when I kill the motherfucker.”
“You don’t even have to interact with him.” Jason laughs. “He just sits at the gate outside your house or patrols the grounds. What does it matter?”
“It matters when I look at his face, see that cocky little grin, and want to put my fist through his skull.”
Jason drops his bag into the bed of his truck. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.” I open my door and get inside my vehicle. “See ya later.”
“Later, Gan.”
I close the door, start my engine, and sit until Jason pulls out.
I give myself a moment to let the events of the past hour settle in my mind. Bianca’s baby. Jason’s comments. My agreeing to give the speech at Waltham … and seeing Tatum.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself think about her. She’s apparently married and has kids that go to our alma mater. It seems like she’s on the alumni committee or PTA or something. And she still has my name in her mouth.
The idea of seeing her doesn’t bother me. But the thought of seeing her with all the things she said I would never—could never—have despite knowing they’re all I wanted pisses me the fuck off.
I check behind me and then throw the SUV in reverse.
There’s nothing I can do about it now. What is it with my fucking impulsive decisions lately?
Miss Matcha being the first.
As soon as Carys pops in my mind, I smile. Thank God Jason has already gone and won’t see this shit. He’d call me out on a smile for sure, and there would be no easy explanation on my end. There’s no way in hell I’d tell him I’m smiling over a woman.
My brothers would never let me live that down.
But why does the thought of her elicit this reaction? Why does her giggle echo through my head—and I like it? Why does her grin relieve some of the tension in my shoulders, and the memory of her perfume settle a wild part of my soul?
The answers are on the tip of my tongue, but I avoid them. I leave the questions open-ended because it’s safer that way. Thinking about that shit too often will ruin a man.
“It’s too bad I can’t take Carys with me to the Waltham event,” I say as I shift into drive.
The idea makes my body ache because let’s be honest here—there’s no fucking way I could take her to something like that and not want to end the night with her in my bed.
And that’s why I won’t further entertain that thought either.
“What about you, old man? Are you ever going to settle down and start a family?”
I hit the road with the radio blaring nineties rock, hoping it will drown out my thoughts. Because there will never be a future when I settle down and have the life I once dreamed would become my reality.
Because sometimes dreams become nightmares that you can’t escape. Those are the ones you never recover from.
Chapter Eleven
Carys
“That’s much better,” I say, taking a step back. “You’ll be much happier in here.”
The bird of paradise stands tall in its brand-new pot, enjoying the late afternoon sun. The leaves are still curled, but there’s nothing I can do to fix that. Hopefully, the brighter lunchroom will be better for it than the dark conference room.
I gather my plant dolly and the strap I found in the maintenance closet that I used to secure the pot on the journey to the other side of the building. The maintenance manager and I met on the elevator this morning. He was kind enough to show me where they keep their equipment in case I needed to borrow anything. He also said I could have a shelf to store things to make it easier on me. It’s already been helpful.
Before stepping into the hallway, I look both directions for Gannon.
As has been the case all day, he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Are you avoiding me, Mr. Brewer?” I whisper. “Because I’m supposed to be the one avoiding you.”
The office is quiet as I trudge down the hallway. The building started to empty just after lunch. The maintenance guy told me that’s typical for a Friday and that by the end of the day, no one would still be around.
It’s given me a lot of time to think—much more than necessary since I spent all of Wednesday night thinking about Gannon and most of yesterday, too. I’ve considered things from every angle. Am I imagining that there’s a connection between us? Do I just want him to be attracted to me so I see what I want to see?