Page 134 of This Could Be Us

“When’s he getting out?” I ask, glancing at the calendar on the edge of my desk.

“Next month. I figured you would want to know, considering… well, considering.”

“Considering what?” I ask cautiously, frowning at her across my desk.

“That you like his wife.”

“They aren’t married anymore,” I grit out.

“See?” Delores grins and crosses her ankles, leaning back and getting comfortable. “Like I said. You like her.”

My ringtone cuts in, and Tremaine’s contact photo pops up on-screen.

“I need to take this,” I tell her, giving a pointed look toward my office door. “If you could close that behind you?”

She rolls her eyes but stands to leave.

“And Delores,” I call, waiting for her to turn. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

She smiles and waggles newly waxed brows on her way out.

“Tremaine,” I answer the phone. “What’s up?”

“Judah, he’s… they’ve… He’s at the hospital. Oh, God, if he—”

“Hey, slow down,” I urge, even as I grab my jacket and walk out of the office as swiftly as I can. “Tell me what’s going on. What’s happened?”

“It’s Adam,” she chokes out. “He had a seizure, a bad one, and he hit his head. Just… Judah, just come.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

SOLEDAD

Now, before I tell you what I’ve been working on,” Hendrix says, leaning her elbows on my kitchen counter, “remind me who’s the best manager in the whole wide world?”

“You are.” I glance at my phone, noting a missed call from Brunson. I haven’t heard much from the lawyer since Edward went in. I’ll call him back later. I plate a slice of iced cinnamon loaf and slide it across the counter to Hendrix. “Now, what have you been working on?”

She takes a bite of the loaf and groans, dragging the whole pan to her. “This is all mine.”

I drag it back, laughing. “No, it’s not. I promised Yasmen I’d save her some. She’s doing me a huge favor picking up Lottie and Inez. I had the live broadcast with that reality-chef person today.”

“Ahh. Well, Yasmen’s lucky she’s doing us a favor, or no cinnamon loaf for her.” Hendrix takes another bite, aiming her fork at me. “Have you heard of Haven?”

“Of course. The lifestyle brand by Sofie Baston Bishop. Really high end, right? Fashion, home, wellness.” I serve up a small slice of cinnamon loaf for myself. “I used to love her stuff when I could afford it.”

“What if her stuff”—Hendrix pauses to give me a huge smile—“becomes your stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s looking for a partner for the budget-friendly tier of her brand, and she’s seen you online. Been tracking you and is very impressed.”

“What?” I’m left speechless for a few seconds, processing that someone as powerful and influential as Sofie Baston Bishop, a former top model known as the Goddess, wants to partner with me.

“She knows all the shit that went down with Edward,” Hendrix continues. “Because of course she’d thoroughly vet anyone she’s considering working with.”

“And?” I ask, crumbling a corner of cinnamon loaf between my fingers. “Is she hesitant about working with a felon’s ex-wife?”

“No hesitation at all. In fact, the way you’ve pulled yourself up and rallied to support your family makes the prospect of working with you even more appealing. Plus she really wants her brand to be inclusive.”

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