Page 113 of Saving Ren
“I’ll be home around one to take you to your meeting. We need to talk, but it’ll have to wait until after you get done with that.”
I nod.
“Sometime this weekend, we need to go car shopping. If you’re going to be working, then you’re gonna need a car. . .”
“Gabe. . .” I start to sit up. After what happened yesterday, I don’t want to start the day with another argument. He moves, allowing me to position my back against the headboard. My headache kicks up a notch and my stomach churns.
“Before you start throwing attitude, our cars and trucks are all loaned and leased through the business. We can claim some of it as a tax write-off. Jess and Sam both have cars purchased this way, and so will you. No arguments.”
I narrow my eyes at him and shake my head. He ignores me.
“How’s your head?” he asks instead.
“Banging,” I admit.
“Not surprised, you smell like a brewery.”
“Shit,” I hiss, my hands instantly flying up to cup my mouth, and I attempt to breathe in my own breath through my nose.
“It’s seeping through your pores, babe,’ he says with a chuckle. “There’s a bottle of water and a couple of pain killers there.” He gestures to the bedside table with a lift of his chin. “Try and sleep it off. I’ll give you a call a bit later whenever I get a chance.”
He stands up, but then leans back in and gives me a quick peck on the lips.
“Drink your water, take your pills, and go back to sleep,” he orders before turning and heading towards the door. He’s wearing light grey suit trousers, which define his fine arse and long legs perfectly, and a pale blue shirt that stretches across his chest, arms, and back.
“You have the best arse,” I call out.
He pauses in the doorway.
“Don’t make me come back there and fuck the hangover out of you.”
“I can think of worse cures.”
“Fuck me, Ren, take your bloody pills, drink your water, and go back to sleep.”
He leaves without looking back.
* * *
After sleepingoff the worst of my hangover, I use Gabe’s computer to create a file for a virtual mood board and email it to myself, making sure that I can open it from my phone. I’ve not had time to order in or go and collect swatches and samples, but I want to have some way of showing Karen what my thoughts are so far.
I’ve only viewed the property online, so until I walk through and get a feel for the place, I don’t want to pull too much together in case I’m way off with my thinking.
Making sure my phone is fully charged and I have my notepad and a couple of pens and pencils with me, I head downstairs and wait at the front door.
Gabe called earlier to say he was stuck in traffic and running late, and although my phone’s telling me the property is only twenty minutes away, it’s now one-thirty, and I’m worried I’m going to be late.
As much as I don’t want to appear desperate—but let’s face it, I’ve probably never been in a more desperate situation in my life—I need this job.
Not just for the money.
I need this job for me.
To get back to being themeI used to be, I need to work.
My nose tingles with the tears that are now close to the surface, and I draw in deep breaths in an attempt at calming myself down.
“You’ve got this,” I say out loud while pacing at Gabe’s front door.
