Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
That goes double for the note, I guess.
When I went into her office for our weekly meeting, I saw it crumpled up at the top of her trash can.
What the hell ever.
I don’t need her to like me.
Especially when I’m not particularly fond of her.
I just wish our relationship wasn’t so goddamned frayed.
How hard is it to just shut our mouths and be civil?
It’s our pre-work history, obviously. It’s the only explanation.
I’m mulling it over with a scowl that’s starting to hurt my face, staring at the massive floor-to-ceiling aquarium built into my home office.
Usually, it’s my inner sanctum, the place where I can find a little peace from a world that never stops biting my ankles.
The colorful fish and rippling green plants never fail to take me a million miles away from my woes. When the octopus comes out, I imagine what it sees on the other side of the glass.
Is it a man living an easier life without tentacles, free to do whatever his heart desires? Or are we both just as trapped by circumstances beyond our control?
The octopus, countless miles from the sea.
Me, marooned in my world of work and bare-bones social existence, where the only woman I care to obsess over hates my damn guts.
Dark thoughts today.
It’s not just the fact that I slept with her, but the undeniable truth that she represents a different time in my life. Another era when things were simpler, and I really felt free.
When I still had time to chase skirt without worrying about it backfiring on my business or the family name.
Shit, when did it all get so complicated?
When did I start to wonder if the fortune our effort brings in is even worth it?
Knock it off, fool. Before you start thinking like Dex.
Now there’s a terrifying thought.
Snarling, I raid my bar and throw together an Old Fashioned—heavy on the bourbon—one of the drinks I know how to make reasonably well.
I try to relax as the tropical fish dart around. A couple seahorses blow by, fluttering like underwater hummingbirds.
The few times Dex brought Juniper over, she wanted to name them. Even the small cuttlefish that dart around the rocks, changing colors and signaling in their own secret, incomprehensible language.
Yes, my little saltwater menagerie is as mesmerizing as ever.
It’s just not working today.
No matter how exotic, it can’t pull me away from girl trouble with a woman I only fucked once years ago.
Can I get more pathetic?
I know why I’ve never named any of the creatures in my tank, though. I prefer the anonymity.
They have their lives, I have mine.
Sometimes they intersect, like God looking down on his free-will ant farm here. I can watch them from afar without intruding on their fate.
Naming them would change that, making it too personal.
You’d better believe I hate that shit.
Thinking of Junie reminds me of the family, too. Mom and Evelyn Hibbing. Her friend’s been staying a while, trying to ride out the worst of her winter back home.
Damn, I promised her that talk about real estate, didn’t I? Knowing it won’t go anywhere.
Aside from having no interest in expanding that far north, we’re not about to make the mistake of partnering with outsiders again so soon.
Not after Haute. Not even for a family friend.
But I should hear her out as a courtesy. I can at least point her in the right direction, possibly help her find a better partner than Higher Ends if she’s looking to sell.
I finish the last of my drink and push the glass across my desk.
Tomorrow. I’ll talk to Evelyn and let her down easy to keep Mom pleased. Then I’ll be back to brooding in front of my fish, wondering how grey this evil ladybug will make me with her soul-sucking hot and cold shit.
Salem.
My mind pings on something.
The meeting with Evelyn could be a good chance to demonstrate the art of negotiations—if we can stand inhabiting the same room and breathing the same air for that long.
Isn’t that my job as a mentor? To man up and mentor her?
If I’m not careful, Dexter or Archer will get to her first.
Then I’ll never hear the end of it. Her, talking about how wonderfully generous my jackass brothers are, and them ribbing me until the heat death of the universe about why I couldn’t handle a young, energetic woman.
Fuck that entirely.
I pick up my phone and dial her contact.
It’s late, and I idly wonder if she’s out, taking advantage of the babysitter to have a night off. Does she ever get out for a date?
Or maybe she’s passed out in bed because she doesn’t have a workaholic problem that follows her home like yours truly.
“Hello?” Her voice is slightly breathy. “Can you just hang on one second?”
Oh, hell.
My blood heats.
What if I’ve interrupted her in the middle of something scandalous after all?