Page 111 of The Right Garza
He fingers the necklace around my neck. “Love that you never take this off.”
I reach up and wrap my fingers around his on the locket. “And now that I so vividly remember the most important part of the night you gave it to me, I never will.”
“You will.”
“Never.”
Something glints in his eyes, as if he knows something I don’t. “Soon.”
Scowling, I knock his hand off and fist the locket protectively.
He laughs at me. Then asks, “How much longer do you need to be here?”
I shake my head. “I’ll go back with you.”
“I’m leaving at dawn.”
“Then so will I.” Doesn’t he understand thatheis my home now?
“Pasadena or Santa Monica?” he asks.
I hike up a brow. “You bought a new home in Pasadena?”
He chuckles. “Point taken.”
“But, I need to find a job,” I say. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing. I’ll go mad.”
I’d damn near crawled out of my skin for the first couple of days I was here with nothing to do. So I started helping out at Mama’s restaurant. Kept me occupied, but it didn’t light a fire under me like working on the guesthouse had. That project was exhausting as hell, but thrilling and oh so fulfilling. It’s the withdrawal from that project, a pronounced listlessness, which sparked the idea to get some construction done on Mama’s house.
Now I knowfor surethat working as a receptionist in Washington wouldn’t have worked out for me. I get bored too easily. I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past couple of months, and one of those things is that I thrive under pressure.
“You already have a job,” Trent says matter-of-factly.
“I do?”
“Gimme a sec.” He taps my shoulder for me to ease up from where I’m glued to his side like a leech so he can move.
When I reluctantly peel myself away from him, he leans off the side of the bed, rustles around on the floor for something, then returns with a manila envelope.
“You asked me why I didn’t ask you to stay,” he says, handing me the envelope. “The answer is because I was never gonna let you leave in the first place.”
Shrouded in bewilderment, I slide the papers from the envelope and scan them. “What is this?”
It’s a dumb question; I can clearly see what it is.
A transference of shares.
“My share in the Pasadena property,” Trent replies easily. “Now yours.”
“Wha—” I throw another cursory glance at the property value. 4.6 million dollars. Half of which is now…mine? He hasgotto be joking.
I hold the contract out to him, shaking it for him to take it back. “This is madness.”
He laughs but doesn’t take the contract back. “Love is madness.”
Does that mean you love me?
Of course he does.
