Page 98 of Salvaged Hearts

“How are those troublemakers?”

“Cap is done with Chip’s shit, and Chip worships the ground he walks on.”

“That’s about right,” she laughed. “Gosh, I’m glad all that media drama has blown over.”

“I have a feeling it’ll be a while yet before Grey lets Jax go.”

“Oh, I just meant those bullshit allegations. You know how it is. With all those rumors flying, were you ever freaked out? I feel like I would’ve been so anxious.”

Wouldn’t you like to know? Shrugging, I said, “Not really. Bottom feeders doing what they do.”

“They really are the worst.”

“Parasites,” I lamented.

“Agreed. Gosh, when they’ve gone after Royce, I’ve been in knots. All it takes is one nasty rumor, and people lose their shit, you know? I’m always worried some crazy person is going to believe those rags and hurt him or me and the kids. I hate it here.”

“Awe, well, I get that. But don’t let it all get too far in your head.” I gave her a sympathetic smile before adding, “If there’d been any validity, that would’ve been different, but I know my husband.”

She smiled, wiggling in her seat and sending her sunny chiffon dress swaying around her legs. “You’re still so cute when you say that. That beautiful newlywed bliss.”

“It really is,” I agreed.

“Alright,” Nikki interrupted. “We’re doing something fun this week, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m feeling lavender. It’ll complement my dress tonight.”

“Wanna try something new?”

“What kind of new?” Miranda pressed, leaning over our way nosily.

“We have a glow-in-the-dark base that can go under about any color. Sounds crazy, but I’m obsessed, and guys love it.”

Grinning over at the pretty little blonde across the table, I thought that one over. “The guys like it?” I questioned. That could be just secretly rebellious enough without pissing off my stylists.

“Don’t think too hard, it’s pretty obvious,” Miranda teased with a flirtatious wink. Shrugging, I rationalized that the press couldn’t tell if my nails glowed in the dark. But the idea of Greyson watching my fingers wrapped around his shaft after our evening out had my toes curling in my shoes. “Why the hell not?”

The auction was asto be expected. A spectacularly wealthy family opened their palatial, historical estate for us to ogle while enjoying a gallery-style display through gothic stone arches and looming hallways. The rich and famous did rich and famous things, most notably, mingling in dresses they’d been sewn into and eating tiny portions of pretentious food, more dog treat than substance. The women passive-aggressively fought to keep their name at the top of the hypothetical totem pole, while men flirted with women who certainly weren’t their glittering, waifish wives.

Only this time, I spent most of the hours laughing. I just needed a fellow fish out of water to fit right in.

“Why yes, good sir, I would very much enjoy throwing away all my years of education to be at thy beck and call,” Miranda intoned in her best English accent—which came out more cockney than The Queen’s English, sending me snickering into my martini glass. “Do remind me what a colossal waste of time my degree was.”

“Of course, you can build in stipulations around my required weight in our prenup.”

She splayed her hand across her chest dramatically. “So long as I may counter with required erection size.”

“Jesus,” I barked, nearly spewing my drink out of my nose as I bent over laughing, shielding my face behind our table centerpiece.

“Would likely not approve of this conversation,” Greyson’s wry voice wrapped around me like a hug after a week apart. He’d been at the office from sunup to sundown, our meetings rarely overlapping. Sneaking downstairs to sit at the kitchen island to hear him talk about his day had become the highlight of my week. He’d pull out the prepared meals the chef stored in the fridge and eat them cold right out of the container, and I’d sit and commiserate the endless expectations of his role. But I’d missed being out with him.

Perhaps pigs had actually learned to fly.

Still in stitches, I turned to find him and Royce with mirroring cat-like smirks as they both held up our respective drinks. A fresh martini for me and a strawberry lemonade for my human-incubating companion.

“I mean, consummation is a biblical event,” Miranda countered with a sly smile.

“She would know,” I pointed out, staring at her belly. Royce burst out laughing as Grey shook his head, a satisfied humor slanting his lips as he leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek.

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