Page 88 of Good as Gold
Any time at all, I’d like to answer. “Six?” I say instead.
“Six it is,” he says with a sheepish smile. “Those samples for Alec are probably in the walk-in, yeah? I can find them.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I lean forward and give him a very quick kiss, and he smiles.
Every day I fall a little further for this man. Sometimes I roll over at night and watch him sleep, despairing over what will happen to us when he goes back to Colorado.
He said I could visit on smiley-face days. It wouldn’t be easy for me to get away from work, but maybe I’ll be lucky and hit a three-day weekend.
I’ll still miss him all the time, though.
“Later, hot stuff,” he whispers. Then he squeezes my shoulder, like he knows he has to leave but doesn’t really want to.
“Later,” I whisper back.
Then, after one more lingering glance, he goes.
I meander back to my father’s desk and stare down at my pile of receipts like I’ve never seen them before. Matteo often has this effect on me. I can’t remember what I was thinking about before he blew back into my life.
All I think about now is—what will happen when he goes?
I knew we wouldn’t last. Our summer fling is like a hothouse flower—blooming faster and brighter than it would under normal circumstances.
Matteo likes me, sure.
He might even love me in his own way.
He doesn’tneedme, though. I can tell. It’s just different with him. He’s all about the fun and the sex. But he doesn’t turn to me for comfort—even when he’s thrashing in the night from another bad dream.
Instead, he wakes up and shakes it off. Gets a glass of water. Tells me to go back to sleep.
So I do. I’m used to having him in my bed now.
Too used to it.
“Leila?” I look up as Livia enters the office again and perches on the side of the desk. She’s pretty in a fierce sort of way—with raven-black hair that tumbles in a riot of curls down her back. “Hey, I’m sorry about before. I had no idea about you and Hot Jesus.”
I snort, wondering what Matteo would think of that nickname. “Not your fault. Although it would be helpful if you didn’t, uh, mention this to my father.”
Her hands fly up in protest. “I wouldnever. Everyone is entitled to a secret or two. And I get it. I used to have a thing for bad boys, too.”
Interesting. “Well, don’t hold out on me. How did you cure it?”
Her smile is wry. “Oh, I didn’t have to. Mine cured it for me—with their abusive bullshit. This is a gift from one of them.” She shows me her forearm, which has a smattering of scars all over it. “He dragged me across the wood floor, through broken glass.”
“Oh!” It’s a struggle not to recoil. “I’m sorry.”
“Long time ago,” she says with a minor shrug, as if it doesn’t matter. But something tells me the fear is still there. “Anyway—don’t worry about me. I won’t snitch. That would be a violation of the sisterhood code.”
“What code?” someone bellows from the doorway.
My father has entered the chat.
“Nothing, Dad,” I say. “Just getting to know Livia.”
“Get to know her on your own time,” he says. “Livia, shouldn’t you be working on my report…”
“Here.” She grabs the folder off the desk and sort of thwacks it against his chest. “Itoldyou it would be done this afternoon, didn’t I?”
