Page 52 of Crazy In Love
The three little dots disappeared on the screen.
He was done with the conversation.
For all I know, the man hates me again.
fifteen
. . .
Bridger
I’d just arrived backfrom the city after a busy day of meetings. I split my time between my office in San Francisco and my home office, which was where I preferred to work.
Less people.
Less distractions.
I dropped my briefcase on the barstool in the kitchen, then glanced down to see Emilia’s business card sitting there on the counter.
I wondered if she had thick skin, and if she’d be able to push past her mother telling her that this was a terrible idea.
I hadn’t ever experienced that type of negativity from my family. I had parents who supported me every step of the way as I built Chadwick Enterprises into a billion-dollar corporation.
Hell, they’d stood by me through every mistake I’d ever made.
Drunken fights. Even one that led to an arrest in college that almost ended up with me being kicked out of school permanently.
But they always stood right beside me.
I didn’t like the way her mother had spoken to her.
I dropped the card back down on the counter when my phone rang.
“What’s up, Bert?” I asked when his name flashed across the screen.
“Just wanted you to know that Emilia’s car was dropped off about twenty minutes ago at the Vintage Rose. It’s all fixed up, and it has a new set of snow tires. I’ll have your truck ready by tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. Just send over the invoice for everything.”
“You got it,” he said, and we ended the call.
I glanced around at my house, taking in the bare walls. I had a large couch in the center of the great room, with a coffee table in the middle. What more did I need?
Easton and Henley had met with me this past weekend and asked if they could throw their wedding here. They wanted to put up a large tent in the backyard and do a big outdoor ceremony on the river.
They’d mentioned using the interior as a place for the bride and groom to get ready with their wedding party.
I wondered if they were hinting that it needed to look a bit more lived in.
But why the hell would guests care about the interior of my home?
The doorbell rang, and I groaned because I wasn’t expecting company, and I still had more work to do tonight. I tugged the door open, and my shoulders immediately relaxed at the sight of my mother standing there.
It had started snowing again, and she stepped inside. “Hey, I was hoping you were home from work.”
“Yeah, just got back a little while ago,” I said, helping her take her coat off. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I made your favorite chicken marsala for Dad and myself tonight, and I thought I’d drop some off for you. I figured you hadn’t eaten yet.”
