Page 64 of Casita Casanova
But I don’t plan on that being the case for long.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ridge
After my phone call with Amex, I’m in a shit mood. It was like pulling teeth with those fuckers to get a card sent out to California, but I made it happen. I also took Beth off the account. I’ll deal with the other accounts she froze when I get back to the city, but that was an important first step. My Black Card is my baby and she shouldn’t have fucked with it. I’m like Mama Bear now.
I spent the first two hours of my morning putting out what fires I could from across the fucking country, and now it’s time to send Beth an email. I can’t stay out here for more than a few more days. Maybe another week, tops.
The emails I awoke to are proof of that. This has been a fun little experiment, but I’m done fucking around. Time to run my empire like the king that I am.
The king that I was born to be.
Two days away and half the board are losing their shit because I’m missing in action. I snort. What the fuck would six months away do to my father’s company?
Beth’s going to make this happen, or she’s going to lose her job.
Well, she’s going to lose her job anyway, but helping me get my ass back home might delay the inevitable outcome.
I send the email and close out of the account, then search for the closest brewing supply store.
Apparently, this whole keg fridge thing isn’t just a keg and a fridge. I’ll need parts. Luckily for me, even though my Black Card won’t arrive for another few days, I have a pocket full of cash from work last night.
Take that, Bethany.
There will be some changes when I return to the city, and Beth will be the first to go.
Then I’ll dissolve the board because those old fucks have always had it out for me.
Stepping outside, the sky is overcast and thick with moisture. I breathe in that citrusy plant smell and cross the yard to Maryn’s back door.
Just the idea that I’ll see her in a moment loosens the tension in my neck and back, relieving some of the stresses of the morning.
Her ex was a lucky fucker to get to feel that all the time.
I knock on Maryn’s kitchen door, but I don’t go inside yet. It’s bright and early and I know she’s awake—I can smell the coffee all the way out in the yard—but I don’t want to cross any lines until she gives me the okay. She wants to be friends? Fine. We’ll be friends.
The mini fridge was in my shed when I got home from work last night, already plugged in and cooling a few bottled waters and a six-pack of the Honey Blonde from the brewery. She already knows what I like, and the realization that she brought my favorite Fast Lane beer home from work yesterday just to fill my mini fridge drives me forward in my plan.
She was making amends, and now I want to make some too.
It’s a funny fucking feeling, but I’m going to go with it.
She opens the door and I give her the panty-dropper because she didn’t get her fix at all yesterday, and I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a monster.
“Good morning to you, too.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I thought I told you to turn that off.”
“What can I say? I suck at following rules.” I hold her gaze for a moment, fighting through the desire to kiss her in thanks for the beer in my fridge. It was a thoughtful gesture and even I, with my cold, black soul, can appreciate that. “Do you have a car?”
Her brows furrow. “Yes…?”
I cock an eyebrow. “Can I borrow it?”
Maryn’s lips twitch. “Sure.”
What’s so funny?“Thanks.” I open my hand and push it toward her for the keys.
She looks at my open palm, then back up at me, that smile still dancing at the edges of her lips. Her eyes flick to a wooden cutout of a key mounted to the wall beside the door with a set of keys dangling from a tiny hook, then back at me. “Do you want coffee first?”
