Page 140 of Altius
Precisely enough time for my alarm to go off. A piercing reminder that I had real work to do. In a minute.
“Two can play the ignore game,” I muttered as I typed out a devious text message to Joaquin. “Let’s see how you like it.”
His response made me cackle.
Fuck, doc. I can only get so hard.
Thirty-Four
Joaquin
Morgan’s early morning text was exactly my type of petty. Ignore the icicle until he cracks. Simple yet brilliant. But I needed backup to make it work.
I pulled on a shirt and set off in search of our wandering meathead.
He was usually working out with Morgan around this time in her private gym. Rather than waiting for him to come home and risk being overheard by Owen, I went downstairs, parading past the prickly one in the dining room, taking uniform bites of his sad, unbuttered wheat toast.
“You’re up early,” he said.
I didn’t respond. Didn’t look at him. Kept walking, like he didn’t exist. Loving every second of his incredulity—brows arched, nose pinched, mouth downturned. He gave the crust of his toast a warning tap.
So, so good.
Boots on, I headed across the hall, hoping I could remember the door code we used during Morgan’s heat. Three failed attempts all resulted in sharp beeps of admonishment.
The door opened before I could try for a fourth time, revealing a pallid zombie wearing Kelsey’s face.
“She’s in San Diego.” Her voice was strained from lack of sleep, dark circles weighing down her eyes, draining them of their usual competent spark.
“I know. Looking for my favorite stack of sentient muscle. Is he in the gym?”
She nodded, stepping away from the door, keeping it barely ajar. Cat escape prevention, not dismissal.
Slipping inside, I followed her through the dining room. The table was covered with open shipping boxes. A bin of packing peanuts sat on a dining chair. She must have pulled an all-nighter fulfilling orders.
Kelsey headed for her fancy coffee gear in the kitchen.
“Want some?” she asked, pouring herself a fresh cup.
“Sure.” I stopped to admire the organically shaped pottery and brightly colored candles waiting to be bubble-wrapped. “When are you finally getting a real store?”
She paused a few feet away, her demeanor cagey, withholding the mug as she scrutinized me. “Did Jacobi put you up to this?”
“No,” I said, unable to decipher her reaction. “Just being honest. Why?”
“He and Morgan want to buy me a building.” Kelsey extended her hand, not so much offering me the coffee as surrendering it. “Well, more like buy a building where I’d have a store.”
“Makes sense to me. You know your design and decorating shit. Beaufeather’s does good business. The brand’s solid, and it’s got room to grow.” Cocking my head to one side, I took in her bedraggled appearance, so at odds with her usual retro polish. “At least hire some help.”
“It’s too expensive. And no one ever does things to my standards.”
“You Van Daals sure do aim for perfection, don’t you?”
Ignoring her very Morgan-like glare, I took a long sip of coffee. After a brief internal debate, I decided to tell her exactly what I’d say to my own sisters if they happened to be in a similar situation.
“You can be demanding, but don’t be a martyr. I know you like taking care of Morgan—but you’ve basically given her a blank check’s worth of your time, and she wants to return the favor.” I nodded toward the piano. “She wasn’t sure you’d even accept that from her.”
Resting an elbow on the island, I looked Kelsey in the eye. “Do whatyouwant. Ask for whatyouwant. Shewillmake it happen. Because she wants to—and not just because she feels like she owes you. Your business is worth it.”
