Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 131345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“I’ll try to be less secretive,” Tina promised, and Libby hugged her again.
“Good. I have to get back to the kitchen. Will you be okay?”
Tina took in another deep breath and gave her a quick thumbs-up and a wide smile. She looked happy and relieved.
Libby returned her smile before leaving the office.
Greyson had fully intended to head straight home, but Harris had convinced him to stay and eat. A decision that had been made easier once Martine had stormed off to talk to Olivia about her decision to allow Greyson to look after Clara.
Greyson was terrified that she would manage to change Olivia’s mind, and so he stayed, nervously waiting to hear what the outcome of that chat would be. In the meantime, he was preparing to break bread with his brother for the first time in longer than he cared to recollect.
Harris had once again started in on him about Olivia, but this time—heartily fed up with his brother digging around in his business—Greyson had asked him what the hell was going on with Harris and Martine. Of course, Harris hadn’t been pleased to have the tables turned on him, and he had liked it even less when Greyson had revealed exactly how much he knew about what had gone down between the couple ten years ago.
“Why the hell did you make that bet?” Greyson asked his brother, referring to the time when Harris, everybody’s favorite good guy, hadn’t been so damned good. When he had done something stupid and despicable and downright unforgivable.
It was a question he should have asked years ago. But Greyson had convinced himself it was none of his business, even while he watched Martine disappear from their lives and Harris retreat into himself for a long time after that incident.
A stupid fucking bet, designed to humiliate a vulnerable young woman who had never done anybody any harm. It had been reprehensible, and Greyson had been disappointed and disgusted after learning about it.
And yet . . . it had been so uncharacteristic of his brother, whom Greyson had sometimes caught staring at Martine like he thought the sun rose and set in her eyes.
“That’s just it . . . I didn’t,” Harris said, his voice filled with frustration. “I don’t recall making the bet. I remember dancing with her and kissing her . . . after that everything’s hazy. I know Jonah and his buddies said some fucked-up shit that I later discovered Tina had overheard. I think Jonah handed me a spiked drink just before my dance with Tina. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Greyson thought about Tina overhearing the details of the bet from a bunch of drunken assholes who wouldn’t have been very kind in their comments. It was much worse than he had ever imagined, and he winced at the thought of how much that must have hurt her. He and Harris discussed Jonah Spade, the main culprit behind the awful incident all those years ago. The guy had actually had the absolute gall to try and gloat about the bet to Greyson afterward. Which was how Greyson had learned about it. A few choice threats had seen to it that Jonah Spade never discussed the matter with anybody ever again. And Greyson had frozen him out of their circle of friends shortly after that.
He had never discussed the matter with Harris, but he should have, because when he listened to Harris, it became apparent that Jonah Spade and his cohorts had drugged his brother that night. Greyson should have done more than threaten that bastard. He had needed his ass kicked, and while Greyson didn’t believe in violence merely for the sake of it, he had been well into his Krav Maga training by that time and could have done some well-deserved damage to that bastard’s smug face.
Harris was telling him about the fact that Jonah Spade now had a comb-over. Which was hilarious because the guy had loved his hair.
“No shit?” Greyson said, smiling. “Remember he always carried that comb around with him?”
“The gold-plated thing? Yeah. He was so proud of that retro pompadour. Kept running that tacky comb through it.”
“Wonder if he still has it,” Greyson speculated.
“He would be getting some real use out of it now.” Harris’s voice wobbled. He made eye contact with Greyson, and they both started laughing. The moment of shared humor was so welcome and refreshing that Greyson felt a surge of hope that maybe he and Harris could repair their relationship. But he knew they could not do so without Greyson doing something that was long overdue.
His brother needed an apology. A proper apology.
Chapter Eleven
Libby’s morning had been both physically and emotionally draining, and she just wanted to put all of that out of her mind for a while. After picking Clara up from day care and doing some shopping, she went home for a change of clothes before heading to the community center. The kindergarten had been handing out pamphlets introducing a new mummy-and-baby-yoga afternoon class, and Libby was keen to check it out.