Page 63 of The Widower
“I need your help.”
COLIN ADAMS
That woman is going to be the death of me! The only reason I haven’t fired her is because of Hanna!
Or is it?
How long am I going to keep using that excuse? The truth is, I actually like Isabelle—and the way she gets under my skin.
“Damn the moment I kissed her for the first time,” I muttered, my voice low and full of irritation.
It was a mistake—because now I want more. I need more. And she knows it. The plan was for her to be in my hands, but somehow, it’s the other way around.
I was about to try and get some work done when I noticed Helen walking toward me.
“Colin, you have a visitor,” she said. I searched my memory, but nothing came to mind. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Could it be…?
“Is it who I think it is?” I asked, a flicker of hope—or maybe dread—crossing my mind.
“Yes,” she said softly, a small knowing smile curving her lips.
“Big Colin! How’s life treating you?”
“The same as always.”
Yep, him again—Henry Grant. My dear friend, at least that’s what he liked to call himself. I hadn’t been expecting him, but one look from Helen and I already knew what the “mystery” was.
“So… you mean stressed out as usual?”
“Whatever,” I muttered.“What do you want?”
“Nothing.” He dropped into a chair, stretching like he owned the place.
“And what’s your deal with showing up here just to annoy me?”
“Boredom.”
“Fantastic…”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Isabelle walking from the kitchen toward the garden, and the moment our eyes met, a rush of heat went through me.I could swear she gave me a small smile—and I might’ve done the same.
What the hell am I doing…
“The hell was that, Colin Adams?”
“Why are you calling me that?” I snapped, startled.
“Don’t change the subject,” he said with that smug little smirk, and I already knew where this was going.
“I’m not a mind reader,” I deflected, though I knew damn well Henry wasn’t about to let it go.
“Not five minutes ago, Isabelle looked like she’d gladly kill you if she could—and now she’s smiling at you like that.Oh, you slept with her.”
“Shut up!” I hissed, pointing a finger at him. “Keep your damn voice down!”
“Make up your mind—do you want me to shut up or be subtle?”
