Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Great.
I work my jaw so I’m not scowling. You knew he’d be at the club today. Keeping each other in the loop is generally how we all operate so that no one trips up. But I don’t like that he’s positioning himself in a role that requires more lies. And why is he sitting with a beautiful girl? Sure, I haven’t seen her face yet, but from the back, she’s already a twelve out of ten.
I capsule my feelings as I approach the table.
The pretty girl is reading over a menu, her back facing me, and Rocky easily shifts his gray eyes to mine.
“Phoebe,” he greets. “How’s your first day going?”
Before the girl can peer over her shoulder, I come directly to their table like the amazing, dutiful server I am.
She lowers the menu to study me. “Wait, you know her?”
He didn’t even mention me to this girl? It would’ve been so easy for him to just say: oh hey, so I have this ex-wife that’s working at the country club.
Nothing, though. I didn’t even get a freaking honorable mention. It shouldn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t.
Is it because I’m the pleb here? The service.
My stomach twists, and I answer her first. “I’ve never seen his ugly face before.”
Rocky’s eyes darken and nearly roll, but he hasn’t shifted off my gaze. Not once. “She’s my ex-wife.”
The girl tries to be polite and stifle a cringe, but I can read the muscles in her face. “Was it recent?” she asks him and me.
Rocky is quick to answer, like maybe he’s worried I’ll dig us further into a hole. “Not really,” he says. “But we’ve remained friendly since she’s my little sister’s best friend.”
I’m not sure why that unnerves me. That that’s all I am to him. Hailey’s best friend.
He’s not on a job, so there’s nothing to ruin here.
Rocky sits straighter from his relaxed position. “Val, this is Phoebe,” he introduces us more formally.
Val extends her hand to me. “Valentina de la Vega.”
I shake and balance the tray with one hand. “Nice to meet you, Valentina.” And when I drop her hand, I blurt out, “He’s a jerk—just FYI in case this is a date situation.”
Valentina is caught off guard. “It’s . . . it’s not.” She lifts the menu to hide a flash of discomfort or awkwardness. I’ve made this awkward, if that wasn’t clear.
The heat of Rocky’s glare intensifies on me. I genuinely just pissed him off. Maybe I should add a third D to Drama and Danger.
Destruction.
“Water?” I ask them.
“Can you excuse me, Val?” Rocky asks her. He’s already pushing out of his chair, the iron scraping against marble.
“Yeah, no problem.”
She seems nice.
Sweet, even.
She’s the kind of girl I’d never pull a con on. Or I’d try not to. It’s not always up to me who the mark is.
Rocky stands up and hisses in my ear. “Follow me.”
I do as I’m told, hating that I’ll take orders from him. But there’s something exhilarating about the fact that I’m drawing his attention away from Valentina.
Rocky leads me through the French doors. Back in the main dining room, we’re abruptly stopped by Mr. Burke.
“Phoebe.” He grins. “I’ve been looking forward to that Cognac.” His desire drips down me with zero subtlety.
Rocky has gone rigid. While he’s assessing my situation, I do what any good server would do and smile brightly. “I have it right here, Mr. Burke.”
I’m about to pick up the Cognac.
“Come back over, will you? I want you to have a taste, too.” He turns to lead me.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“The club won’t mind. Trust me.” He’s about to catch my hand, but Rocky steps into my situation like a territorial grizzly.
“She’s actually preoccupied at the moment.” The dangerous look crossing his face is enough to cause Mr. Burke to tilt his head and become flustered.
“And you are?” he questions.
“Grey Thornhall.” His gaze only darkens. “Her husband.”
“Ex-husband,” I cut in. And make no mistake, Rocky purposefully made me clarify this, so the widower knows where my ex stands.
Rocky keeps staring Mr. Burke down. “And you are?”
“Weston Burke.” They don’t shake. Instead, Mr. Burke takes the Cognac off the tray I’m holding. “Your ex-wife was telling me about the best Cognacs. She loves a smooth one.” His attention flits to me. “Nutty, didn’t you say this was, Phoebe?” The corner of his lip rises as if we share a dirty secret.
He’s trying to embarrass Rocky.
“Notes of almonds,” I lie. I have no clue what nut it tastes like.
Rocky could unspool the lie I’ve woven. He knows my disgust toward Cognacs, but he doesn’t insult me or criticize me. It’d open a door for Mr. Burke to think less of me and possibly do the same.
Instead, he rests a protective hand on the small of my back.
Mr. Burke notices, then eyes Rocky more keenly while sipping the Cognac. “You’re new here, Grey?”