Page 95 of The Fate Factor

“What? That’s amazing.”

“Right?” Em’s grin goes soft. I admit Em’s a lot harder to read than Cara or Jamie. Comparatively, she’s a brick wall, which I’ve always found intimidating no matter how kind she is to me, but sometimes… Sometimes she’s clear as day.

“Good for her,” I say.

“She said you’ve got the designs nailed down for the mural.”

I nod. “We have to finalize the color choices and then we can scale it. Decide on placement.” Spanning three buildings with one design was a challenge but it’s been an exciting one. I’ve even switched places with Jamie a few nights, working until the morning hours, being cajoled to bed. He’s been my biggest supporter. I want to be that for him too, but what he wants is a vision, and I can’t seem to give him that.

I turn over my shoulder to look at him because I already miss his face, but instead I see Wes, hovering at the end of the bar, hands in the pockets of his dress slacks. He catches me watching and his eyes narrow. My skin prickles. “I don’t think he likes me.”

Em follows my gaze to the table. “Who?”

“Wes. He’s always looking at me like I’m the villain in a mystery and he’s the only one who’s figured me out.”

I’m not his biggest fan either, after our one and only meeting. What he said was cruel. I don’t like how he plucks Jamie’s insecurities in a way that only family can do.

“Don’t tell Jamie that,” Em says. “They don’t need another reason to fight.” She tilts her head. “Or hell, go ahead. Wes has it coming.”

I want to ask her more about this but her eyes flick over my shoulder just before Jamie’s hand snakes around my waist, dipping under my shirt. “What are you doing over here?”

“Talking to Em.” I stretch to kiss the swoony look on his face. For some men, alcohol is like a switch that turns them aggressive and competitive. Others turn philosophical to the point of pompousness. But Jamie is happy, adorable, and affectionate. It’s very clear to me why he got away with his youthful mischief for so long.

“When are you coming back?” he asks.

“After I pee. Save me a seat.”

He pats his thighs, indicating that’s where I’ll be sitting. Then he leans into my ear. “And later it’s right here.” He makes a crude gesture with his tongue.

“Oh my God.” Giggling, I press my palm to his face and push him away. My cheeks are on fire when I slide off of the stool and send him back to his friends.

I turn the corner, fanning my face, and nearly smack into a powder blue dress shirt. My gaze climbs the buttons until I get to a tan neck and black stubble. Wes.

I have to fight the instinct to turn and run in the other direction. Instead, I straighten my shoulders. “Hi, Wes,” I say.

“Noel.” He looks like he’s as confused on how to play this as I am. I’m hoping that means he knows he was a raging jerk the last time I saw him and he’s feeling bad about it.

Glancing over my shoulder, he asks, “How are things with my brother?”

“Your brother is amazing. You must be proud of him for the award he’s getting.”

“Of course. Jamie is exceptionally good at what he does.”

I set my hands on my hips and tip my chin, pretending to be bold. “Best in the industry, actually.”

“Exactly the kind of thing that makes his brand highly sought after,” he fires back. He watches me for a beat before licking his lips and leaning casually against the wall. “Did you know Jamie and I have a sixty-forty split?”

I did know this but I’m unsure where he’s going with it, so I deflect. “That’s not really my business.”

His grin at that makes my skin pebble. “Except when you’re giving him business advice.”

“I’m not…” I trail off because if Wes knows Jamie is hoping for another vision, then I’ll be caught lying. If he doesn’t, then there’s a reason for it.

“What that split means,” he continues, “is I can spend the last few years getting all his ducks in a row so to speak, and then he can do something foolish, and I’ll be stuck dealing with forty percent of the fallout.”

The nervous feeling of having bit off more than I can chew starts to swirl in my belly but I push it down. I don’t like the implication—that Jamie is someone who needs to be managed. I cross my arms and glance toward the exit. “I’m on his side, Wes.”

He arches a dark brow at me. “You think it’s me against him?”

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