Page 22 of The Sculptor

I have no intention of attending dinner, but I won’t break Halle’s heart just yet. Maybe I’ll call her from the car and say I have a patient emergency at the hospital. Vance will know I’m lying, but he’ll keep my secret for his girlfriend’s sake.

“Sure,” I tell her, flashing Vance a grin and mouthingpussy.

He rolls his eyes—indicating that he agrees with my assessment.

“Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.” With that, Halle tugs my brother from my office, finally giving me some fucking space.

Or, at least, I thought.

“Why does Vance-hole hate your girl so much? She spit in his bourbon or something?”

I groan and drop my chin to my chest. “Don’t you have delinquent friends to meet or something?”

Seriously? What is up with this office being in my damn business?

Remington stalks forward, his brow cocked in amusement. “Sounds like my delinquent friends should talk to your friends. Rehab, huh? What happened? You have some little side hustle going on with Daddy’s narcotic cabinet? No wonder you were more popular than Vance in high school.”

He pulls out a cigarette and lights it up in my office with a chuckle. I don’t even have the energy to stop him. Instead, when he gets it lit, I pluck it from his fingers and inhale deeply, allowing the smoke to fill my lungs and settle the stress.

“Well, well. Baby Potter isn’t as squeaky clean as his big brothers.” He snatches the cigarette back and takes a long drag, blowing the smoke in my face. “I’m impressed, Dr. Duke. Who knew you were more than just a fraternizing playboy?”

Dusting the ashes off my desk, I level an annoyed glare at my unwanted company. “Not that I don’t appreciate being accepted in your demented circle of sin, but is there something you need? I’m on my way out.”

“To meet Ray?”

I blow out a frustrated sigh. “No, to give your mom a little backdoor attention.” I grin. “I hear you have to be home for dinner at seven.”

Remington laughs around the cigarette between his lips. “You know, fuck it. I’ll play.”

He taps my desk with his knuckles. “Enjoy your scandal, Dr. Douche. I’m rooting for you.”

I can feel it the second she walks in. Her anger shot straight to my cock as she approaches me with intention.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

Strands of red hair fall onto my shoulder.

“Excuse me? Do I know you?”

Nothing brings me such pleasure as sparking her fury.

“Duke!”

I grin, feeling her breath against my neck. “Wait a minute.” Reaching up, I grab the lock of hair and wrap it around my fist, holding my furious ex captive. “Ah, yes. Now this, I recognize.” I rub the silky strands against my cheek. “It’s been too long, old friend.”

“Stop talking to my hair and answer me!” I can appreciate her trying to keep her voice down, but again, I’m not the man she used to know.

“Persuade me, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

I give her hair a gentle tug, and she whimpers. “Duke, please. You can’t be here.”

“Sure I can, darling.” Unwinding her hair, I let it drop and stand, turning to face her full wrath. “This is an art class, is it not?”

I lean my back against the table, aware of the curious looks we’re now attracting, which only notches up my grin. “Be careful, Ray. You’re drawing a crowd.”

Wearing nothing but a tank top and overalls, the woman who haunts my dreams narrows her eyes. “Leave. Now. I won’t ask you again.”

Glancing around the room, I note several people are quickly turning away as I offer Ramsey a threatening smile. “Sit down, Ms. Ford, before I show these people how I deal with your demands. You must have forgotten that I’m not Langston. I find your fight”—I step closer, my hips pressing against her softness—“alluring.”

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