Page 17 of Whiskey & Wreckage

He raises both eyebrows. “So naturally, you took it upon yourself to make sure she didn’t get abducted by aliens.”

“She’d probably give the aliens a run for their money.”

Nash whistles. “You’re gone, man.”

I glare. “Get out of my office.”

“You want me to be best man or just sign the guestbook?”

I flip him off. He laughs on his way out.

Once the door shuts behind him, I lean back in my chair and scrub a hand down my face.

This isn’t normal. Not for me.

I don’tdofeelings. I don’tdoconcern. And I definitely don’t do sweet, sassy tornadoes of a woman who somehow turned my carefully compartmentalized life into scrambled eggs in less than 48 hours.

But here I am. Texting her like an idiot.

Waiting for the next time she’ll make me laugh or throw peanuts or remind me that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to this life than keeping your distance.

I’m halfway through my morning coffee when my phone rings, caller ID flashing the name of the hotel I put Poppy in.

Not exactly how I planned to start the day.

“Ashcroft,” I answer, setting my mug down.

“Good morning, Mr. Ashcroft,” the concierge says smoothly. “Just calling to inform you that Miss Whitaker checked out early this morning.”

I straighten. “She what?”

“Yes, sir. Around eight a.m. She declined assistance and said she’d be on her way.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw. “Did she say why?”

“Only that she had things to take care of. She seemed… determined.”

Of course she did. That woman could build an empire with nothing but attitude and iced coffee.

“Thanks,” I say, already pulling up her contact.

I hit call. One ring. Two.

She answers, a little breathless. “Hello?”

“Why’d you leave?” I ask. No greeting. No preamble.

She doesn’t answer right away. “Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

“Poppy.”

“I had to get back to the real world,” she says, her tone light but thin around the edges. “You know, responsibilities, adulting, the crushing weight of capitalism.”

“You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“You’re not a bother,” I say, voice low.

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