Page 11 of The Summer I First Saw You
Will it be an oceanfront home looking over the Horseshoe? Because I’m kind of liking it right where I am.
Look, I work from home in the evening, and that information is privileged. I can’t make calls if you’re there listening. You need to leave.
I’ll go on the balcony while you make your calls *if* you’re actually making calls, which I doubt.
My calls can take hours. You’re not going to want to sit out there for hours.
Sure I will. Wearing my most revealing clothing. If the neighbors ask why I’m there, I’ll tell them you make me stand outside when I’ve been a bad, bad girl. They’ll understand.
And there it is, once again—my muscles tensing, a thrill up my spine, all the blood in my body flowing south, exactly where I don’t want it, over someone it shouldn’t flowforat all.
I snarl as I shut down my phone and return to working on behalf of the handful of clients I’ve gotten back since I returned to the office. The work is dull, but then again…it was always dull. The most exciting client I’ve got at present is a guy who wants his neighbor’s tree house torn down. And it’s still preferable to dealing with Daisy, but eventually, I’ve got to go home.
She’s curled up on the couch under a blanket, watching TV, but pauses her show when I walk in. “You’re home late,” she says.
I look at my watch. “It’s onlynine.”
“You left at seven-thirty, Harrison. You can’t possibly think that’s a reasonable number of hours to work.”
I throw my keys on the counter. “I can see where that might seem excessive to someone currently workingzerohours.” I grab a glass and uncap the bourbon, which she watches with a brow raised.
I exhale wearily. “Don’t start. You yourself pointed out what a long day I had. I need this to decompress, or I’ll never fall asleep.”
I take a long sip, relishing the heat as it flows through my chest. Already I’m better, more level.
“Some people would argue that if you need to slam bourbon at nine at night to decompress, there are other things about your life that need changing.”
My tongue prods my cheek. “Some people would argue that no twenty-one-year-old should be as uptight and judgmental as you are. How has some lucky guy not locked you down yet?”
She turns away, but not before something flashes across her face. I can’t begin to imagine why that hurt her. She isn’t even old enough to be locked down.
I take another long sip. “It was a joke, Daisy.”
“I know,” she replies, but she’s more subdued than she was before.
Guilt squeezes my chest, and again—this is bullshit. I don’t need to feel excessive guilt about an innocuous statement made to the woman who’sblackmailingme.
“Did you eat?” she asks. “There’s chicken tikka in the fridge. Doesn’t that make you glad I’m staying here?”
I sigh. Jesus Christ…why won’t she let this go? “No. And I need you out of here by tomorrow.”
“I need a million dollars and a breast reduction,” she replies. “And those aren’t likely to happen either.”
I flinch, wishing I’d never even noticed she has breasts, but since I have…why the fuck would she want a reduction? Her breasts are a gift from God, a gift millions of women would pay good money for, and it would be a tragedy to—
Stop, Harrison. Stop thinking about her breasts, in any capacity.
I get the chicken out of the fridge, and a minute later, when I’ve pulled it from the microwave and the whole kitchen is redolent with the smell of tomatoes and garam masala, I’m suddenly famished. I unknot my tie, roll up my shirtsleeves, and groan as I take my first bite.
“Thanks,” I grunt as she walks over to the counter. “But you don’thaveto cook, you know.”
She bites down on a smile. “I thought it would help convince you not to make me sit on the balcony for hours while you take your work calls.”
“You’re fully dressed, for once, so apparently I wasn’t the only one bluffing.”
She rises, pulling her sweatshirt off and standing in front ofme in nothing but leggings and a bra—blue again. “Not bluffing at all.”
She sashays outside, her hips swaying, and leans suggestively over the railing of the deck as she calls to someone out on the street.
