Page 45 of Conflict
I RESTmy hands against my knees and have to catch my breath. You’d think I wasn’t a long-distance runner with the way I’m panting, but the truth is I dashed faster, hurdled higher, and did what I could to chase after Alyssa as she ran away.
Why the fuck was she running away?
God dammit. I know why she’s running away. Because Iscaredher away. I was hoping six months of separation had done what that stupid saying promised. What was it?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Apparently in Alyssa’s case, that didn’t appear to hold true. At least, not when it came to me.
“Jesus Christ, someone should put a warning label on wine. Do not run on a wine-filled stomach,” Branson says, coming up beside me. “And definitely don’t fucking try any acrobatic moves over kitchen furniture.”
I lift up, still trying to catch my breath.
“Where are they?” he asks. Then he gives me a pointed look. “Whoare they?”
I meet Branson’s gaze, wondering if he’d gotten a look at her. “Did you see them?”
He shrugs as a slow grin spreads across his face. “Only their backsides. And what backsides they were.”
His answering grunt is satisfying when I elbow him.
“That washer,” I tell him, watching as his eyes widen.
“Fuck. And she slipped right through your fingers. What fucking luck we have,” he mutters.
“Branson, the girl with her—that was her sister.”
He perks up. “Well, if one sister doesn’t care about a man being a Wellington, what are the odds her sister feels the same?”
I roll my eyes. “The sister’s off-limits.”
He frowns.
“Engaged. Though, for her benefit, I hope she calls the damned thing off well before it happens. The fiancé is a tool.”
Branson’s gaze narrows. “If you know who the sister’s fiancé is, then…”
The smile that stretches my face couldn’t be more full if I tried. I hadn’t known her last name until now. “Then I knowexactlyhow to find my mystery woman.”
Alyssa Covington.
Sure, I knew where she worked. Could’ve found out her last name from Sawyer, but that felt like cheating. Now, however? All bets are off.
When a girl runs out of the back of a wine bar to get away from you, a guy should probably take a hint, right?
Maybe. But I love a good chase, and knowing what’s at the end of this race, has me all the more willing to go the distance.
“I’ve never seen you chase a girl before,” Branson remarks. “What makes this one so different?”
I glance back in the direction the truck took off in then back to my cousin. “Not a fucking clue, man. I just know she is.
In the age of the internet, it’s not all that hard to track someone down. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve stalked Alyssa’s Facebook page and followed her on TwitterandInstagram, and I may have liked a few bikini photos posted from earlier this summer.
Yes, I’d respected her wishes thus far, but since I was able to put two and two together due to her sister, I decided it was fair game to check her out online.
It’s been a week since that night at the wine bar, six days since I started stalking her online, and she still has yet to follow back. I’m a complete tool for obsessively checking every day—or hour—but damn. The girl’s starting to give me a complex.
It wasn’t until I found her LinkedIn that I remembered joking with her that I’d never be with a Wellsley girl. It was a joke—mostly. Pops never got along with Wellsley, but he had no beef with Thomas Callahan. And since Sawyer Callahan took over for his father, the competition between our two companies has cooled. It’s the fact that Alyssa works in accounting and I’m the CFO of their rival company that had given her pause.
