Page 17 of Save Me
“Perfect. Thanks for being on top of this.” I drop a pat on his shoulder. “If there are any delays at all, let me know immediately.” With that, I move to close the distance to Abbi, embracing her in a hug. “I was hoping I’d run into you.” I inhale deeply. She smells like her strawberry body cream but also, fuck, like Henry’s cologne. I know that scent. He must have rubbed himself all over her before they parted ways, like an animal marking their territory.
“Same.” She pulls away, regarding the dress shirt I swapped this morning’s golf shirt for, the top buttons undone. “I heard you’re still resisting the tie.”
“You mean the noose?”
“Is that what you wore to my wedding? A noose?”
“That was an exception.” And it sure fucking felt like I was dying that day. “Seems I don’t have a lot of say in what I wear, but I draw the line at ties.” They remind me of church picnics and Sunday dinners at my great-aunt Edna’s, who smelled of mothballs and baby powder and forced me to eat liver.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t show up to important meetings in rock band T-shirts and jeans,” she teases, reaching up to adjust my collar.
“Who’s been tattling on me?” Belinda, obviously.
“More like looking out for you.” Abbi’s hand drifts, patting my chest on its way back down to her side. “So? How are things? Really?”
“Is this for an official report to His Highness?”
“No, it’s between you and me. I promise.” Her expression is earnest.
God, it’s been years since Abbi and I traded secrets. She was always so easy to talk to. The overwhelming urge to dump everything out into the open hits me. But where do I even begin? Definitely not standing here, in Opal Reef, with people lingering nearby. I check my watch. It’s 10:00 a.m. “You’ve probably had breakfast.”
“My first, yes.” She rubs her belly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I heard the pastry chef is doing a trial run and needs volunteer samplers.”
I chuckle at her appetite and holler over my shoulder, “Archie, reschedule my next hour for me, ’kay?”
“But you have?—”
“I don’t care. Tell them Mrs. Wolf is hungry.” I drapean arm around her shoulder, a friendly gesture that would piss off Henry to no end. “Lead the way, Red.”
She moansthrough a bite as I watch her devour a freshly bakedpain au chocolat. Fiona Crumb, pastry chef extraordinaire according to the hotel’s website and aptly named, was only too happy to send a platter of various treats to Seraphina’s for Henry Wolf’s wife.
We’ve since abandoned our table and found a cabana to stretch out in—aka hide—while admiring the expanse of gulf water and white sand. It truly is an idyllic spot, despite the oppressive heat that the ceiling fan does little to combat.
Everything will change tomorrow, when the wave of media open attendees rolls in and the hotel is buzzing with activity, but for today, it’s just Abbi and me and a few staff prepping for the onslaught of activity.
I ordered them to leave us alone.
“You have a little bit of …” I gesture at the corner of my bottom lip to mimic where a glob of chocolate smears hers.
She attempts to lick it off before reaching for a napkin. “These things are always so messy. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I don’t mind watching you lick chocolate sauce off yourself, Red.”
“Ronan!” Her cheeks pink.
This has always been our usual MO when we meet up: I drop flirtatious innuendo that makes Abbi blush furiously while dirty memories cycle through my mind. Iend up leaving with a raging hard-on and overwhelming jealousy aimed at Henry.
This time, however, I’m not overwhelmed by lust—even though we’re lying next to each other and a sheen of sweat coats her skin—because I’m too focused on all I need to get off my chest.
“So? Tell me, what’s going on?” she prods, rolling onto her side to face me.
“I need your help.”
A frown of consternation furrows her pretty face. “With?”
Fuck it. I may as well lay it all out on the … well, cabana bed. “With stopping your husband from blowing up someone’s life.”
“When didhe tell you all this?”
