Waxing His Board (Filthy Dirty Summer)

I hurried ahead and grabbed the door to hold it open for her. “If I’m good in the meeting, will you take me out for a Slurpee?” I asked cheekily as she passed by me.

“Keep it up, Wilder,” she smirked, her green eyes—the exact shade of mine—danced with mirth. “I’ve decided that the next time I rewrite our contract, I’m going to increase my commission percentage by a percent for every time you annoy me.”

I snorted and let her take the lead again. “When was the last time you took a commission from me, Gina? I had to buy a fucking car and put it in your name to get you to take a payment last year.”

She snickered as we entered a small reception area. “Oh right, that’s how I know a car like that goes fast.”

“Hello, Mr. Abrams, Ms. Abrams.” A young girl who looked way too young to be working there greeted us. She swept a hand toward a seating area with two comfy-looking couches and continued, “They’re running just a few minutes behind. Please take a seat. Can I get you anything?”

Gina smiled warmly. “We’re good. Thank you, Devny. How are you liking the new job?”

“It’s great! Granny told me that I passed the trial period, so HR gave her permission to hire me part time rather than remaining an intern while I finish high school.”

Ah, that explained it. Spunk Wax was a small, family-owned-and-operated company—named by their eighty-five-year-old patriarch, who was fucking hilarious. Their surfboard wax was a little pricey because they didn't cut corners. It was the best I’d ever used, and I’d jumped at the chance to represent them.

Their sponsorship wasn’t anywhere near the amount I usually garnered in a deal, but I didn’t care. I genuinely liked the owners and their product, so I was more than happy to help. I’d told Gina not to haggle and take whatever they offered.

I wandered to the seating nook and dropped onto a sofa. Stretching my legs out in front of me, I relaxed into the cushions and thought about my encounter with Chloe. I needed a plan because I had no intention of letting her walk away from us. Maybe Gina could help get me in a room with her, just so I could have another shot at convincing her to go out with me.

The door to the conference room opened, drawing me from my contemplation, and I immediately stood. To my astonishment, the first person to exit the room was Chloe.

When she spotted me, her eyes widened a little, and she bit her lip, throwing a furtive glance toward the man who stepped out directly after her.

He put a hand on her shoulder, and jealousy streaked through me, leaving a scalding burn, but I kept my reaction to myself. I didn’t want to scare her with my intensity, and once I was able to wade through the haze, I noticed the features they shared. It was probably her father—which wasn’t surprising since she was only eighteen.

I wanted to approach them and introduce myself, hoping that a good first impression would help smooth the way when I informed him that I would be marrying his daughter. However, the look he sent my way wasn’t inviting. In fact, it warned me away.

My first instinct was to say fuck it and just grab Chloe and run, but I sensed that something was off with this situation and held back—for the moment—to assess things.

Van, the current head of Spunk Wax, walked out with his mother, whom everyone just called “Granny.” Again, I was taken aback by their expressions when they saw me. They weren’t unwelcoming, but rather…wary. What the fuck is going on?

Gina cleared her throat and spoke, breaking the ice. “We’re sorry to be late,” she apologized, sidestepping the cause of the tension in the room.

Granny smiled and waved a dismissive hand. “Five minutes isn’t late, Gina,” she said with a cackle. “It’s not even fashionably late. At least make an entrance.”

My aunt snickered and nodded. “Noted.”

“It was great to meet you, Chloe,” Van said to my girl, racing out to shake her hand. “We’ll be in touch.” Then he shook the hand of the man with Chloe and murmured, “Mr. Bannister,” confirming my assumption about his identity.

Chloe and her dad started for the door, and I was torn between following them and keeping my meeting with Van and Granny. Ultimately, I decided now was not the best time to approach Chloe again, and I valued my sponsors too much to be a jackass.

“Wilder,” Van greeted me with a firm handshake, then pointed toward the room they’d come from. “Let’s have a seat.”

“Where is Pops, Granny?” I asked as I sauntered in and took a seat at the round table in the middle of the conference room.

She rolled her eyes and slid gracefully into one of the chairs across from me. “At home with a sprained ankle because he thought he could do some kind of jumpy thing on Connor’s BMX bike as if he were a teenager and not a dirty-minded old fart.”