Page 19 of Betting on the Bad Boy
The office chair squeaked, light footsteps came toward me, then Lindsey pulled the door open. “Come on in. We were just going over the staff schedule for next week.”
I followed her into the room and took a seat in front of the desk.
Wyatt patted his knee. “Come sit down, babe.”
Lindsey stepped around the desk to cup her husband’s cheek. “I’m going to head home. I’ve got to get that roast in the oven. See you in a bit?”
I looked to my left, intent on studying the beer sign on the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wyatt’s arms encircle his wife. I slid my gaze to the floor and shifted in the wooden chair as the unmistakable sound of lips meeting lips hit my ears.
“You know, I can come back later.” I grabbed the sides of the chair and began to stand.
“No, I’m leaving.” Lindsey gave me a teasing grin. “Sorry, I know how uncomfortable you get around the touchy feely stuff.”
Wyatt planted one more kiss on Lindsey’s lips and gave her a playful swat on the backside as she turned toward the door. “Just give him time. One of these days, even Dante will be a sucker for the mushy stuff.”
Lindsey wiggled her eyebrows. “We’ll see.” She grabbed her coat from the hook behind the door and blew a kiss to Wyatt, then disappeared down the hall.
“Damn, she’s got me wrapped around her pinky finger.” Wyatt shrugged his shoulders while a dopey grin played across his face.
“Yeah, what the hell happened?” Back in high school, Wyatt had been voted the least likely to settle down.
“I got tagged, bro. That fat little cherub with the bow and arrow got a clean shot straight through my heart. Wouldn’t have it any other way though.”
I shook my head. “Not me, dude. That chubby little bastard gets anywhere near me, and I’ll clip his fuckin’ wings.”
“Sometimes it’s not up to us. You think I ever envisioned myself settling down?” Wyatt spread his arms wide. “I’ve got obligations now—a wife, a business— hell, I’m even entertaining the thought of starting a family one of these days. I’m tellin’ you, you won’t see it coming.”
“Whatever. Listen, can we talk about schedules? This mentorship thing is kicking my ass, and I need to put in some extra time with my group.”
“Sure thing.” Wyatt shuffled the papers on his desk and pulled out a calendar. “Just mark down the nights you need off, and I’ll work around it.”
“Thanks.” As I copied the dates I’d be working the late shift into my phone, I thought about what Wyatt said. Maybe someday I’d allow myself to think about opening my heart up to a woman again. Someday after I left Newbridge and started rolling in the dough. Someday, a long damn time from now.
CHAPTER 11
Faith
I satin my favorite study spot on the fourteenth floor of the library in the business reference section. I liked to hide out on this floor for two reasons. First, it was never crowded, so I could always count on securing one of the private study carrels with a door. Second, there was no thirteenth floor, so technically, the fourteenth floor was really the thirteenth.
It gave me some perverse pleasure to know I was sitting on the superstitious thirteenth floor. My lucky number had always been thirteen, and I liked to work on both my novels and my prep work here.
I wasn’t leery of the number, but I was superstitious enough that once I found a system that worked for me, I stuck with it. So far, this corner study carrel had been the location where I’d done the majority of the writing on my most recent book.
Chewing on the tip of my pen, I pondered the current assignment for the intro to poetry class I was teaching. The students were supposed to write a love poem. I appreciated the greats: Elizabeth Barrett Browning, John Keats, Emily Dickinson, and even Edgar Allan Poe. But somehow the leagues of contemporary poetry I was supposed to teach were gettinglost in my class. I’d much rather spend months dissecting Tolstoy or even my nemesis, Nietzsche, than try to help them pull apart a few lines of verse.
While I contemplated where to begin, my cell phone rang. Happy to have a distraction, I pulled it out of my bag and smiled as my agent’s name and number lit up the screen.
“Hey Steph, what’s up?”
“Great news, Faith. I know I should probably wait to call you, but I had to share as soon as I heard.”
“What’s going on?” I hadn’t heard from Steph at all, except for a quick email saying she’d received my last manuscript and was looking forward to reading it.
“Your manuscript sold.”
“Sold? What do you mean? You just got it a few weeks ago. Don’t you want to see some edits or anything?”
“I’m sure it will need a little work, but I sent it out to a few editors last week and one of them made an offer. If you can commit to three more books in the next year, she’ll make it worth your while with a nice advance.”
