Page 43 of Forever Wild
“Brian is the best, right?”
“Not happening.”
“What if I don’t come over when he’s here? He can’t hit on anyone if you’re alone.”
“No way. I’m not shoving you out the door for him.”
“It wouldn’t be like that.”
“Uh-uh.” He digs in hard with his conviction.
“You want to be back stronger than ever and he’s the best. It seems like a no-brainer to me.” I stand to leave.
“Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Are you going to call Brian?”
His jaw flexes. “I’ll see if he can come in the mornings.”
“Perfect. It’s usually lunchtime before I make it over anyway.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that just over a week ago he was yelling at me for trespassing on his property and acting like he didn’t want me around. Now, he’s moving his schedule around for me. I don’t know what to make of it. But I think I like it.
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” I point to his laptop. “Don’t touch your inbox. I will deal with the rest of the emails tomorrow.”
13
DARK AND MOODY
JACK
“How many businesses do you own?” Everly asks.
She’s sitting on the workout mat next to me with the laptop open while I stretch.
“I don’t know. A few.”
“I can’t believe you own Midnight.” She narrows her gaze on me. “Though it does have a veryyouvibe.”
“What does that mean?” I ask. I can’t tell if she’s giving me a compliment or an insult.
Midnight is a night club I bought a couple of years ago. I’m a silent partner with James’ husband. He looks after the day to day, but I helped with the vision and getting it all up and running.
“It’s all dark and moody.” Her lips curve up into a smug smile as she basically tells meI’mdark and moody.
Lately, she wouldn’t be wrong.
“It’s the best club in the area. Everything is alwaysclean and nice. Most places you don’t want to sit on the furniture for fear of catching something, but Midnight doesn’t feel that way.”
“If you knew the number of people that security has thrown out for nudity or groping, you might feel differently.”
She scrunches up her nose adorably. “Okay, I think we’re caught up on all the important emails. There are a few more personal ones I left for you.”
One brow inches higher. “Personal?”
Her face takes on a slight blush that doesn’t register until I take the laptop from her. It only takes a couple of seconds to find the ones she means. Meredith, an ex I dated a couple of years ago, has sent two. One right after the accident and another last week.
I click on the first one.
