I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up 3)

I’d been on the way out of the office, mentally composing a text to Rian, certain I could convince her to get together tonight if I could figure out the right way to entice her.

I’d been about to step into the elevator when I came face-to-face with my ex-fiancée. And she’d been with her new fiancé—who happens to be a partner at the firm. Not a surprise, really.

The longer I’m out of the office, the more I want to find a way to keep it that way. I was pleased that seeing Stacey didn’t particularly hurt in the sense that I missed her or wanted her back. She and I weren’t right for each other.

I wasn’t upset that she was engaged again; it had been years. It was the entire situation—the meeting with my dad, my mom having taken off somewhere, likely as a result of me, and this current clusterfuck where I felt trapped in a job I didn’t want anymore—and there was my ex, all happy and glowing with her stupid-ass balding fiancé.

I suppose the one positive conclusion I came to is that Rian seems to be the exact opposite of Stacey. She’s aware I have money and doesn’t seem to give two shits either way. Regardless, I don’t want to get screwed over again, so I figure it’s probably in my best interest not to offer too much information on my family’s financial status for the time being. I like how things are with Rian, and I want to keep them that way. It works for the both of us.

So when I returned to the Hamptons last night, Lawson and I got into the booze. Except he had two drinks and I finished the bottle. I’d texted Rian. Not a shining moment.

And then this morning I saw what looked like her car pass by while I was self-flagellating with the lawn mower. The Acura, not the Buick.

When I’d pulled up her contact, I’d noticed the messages from last night. All unanswered. As I read them over, I wanted to punch myself in the face. There was no way to delete them, so I called and left a voicemail. Not the best voicemail, but then again, I was nursing a hangover and half my brain cells were still on vacation.

Once I finished punishing myself with lawn mowing, I decided to shower and take a walk down the street. Mostly because I wanted to check and see if I was right about the Acura.

And I was.

Two hours later, she still hasn’t responded. I tried working on the reno, but using a hammer makes it feel like my head is going to explode, and I almost smashed my thumb twice in a ten-minute span, so instead I’m trying—and failing—to review legal documents for my father.

“What the fuck?” Lawson slams the sliding door open, making the ache in my head flare. “You need to come outside and see this.”

“Can you not yell, please?” I rub my temple and down the warm orange juice. So far it’s not doing much to help cure this stupid hangover.

“This is bullshit,” Lawson yells.

Trip makes his dying Ewok sound and runs upstairs into my bedroom to hide.

“Hey, asshole, you’re scaring my dog. He’s already got PTSD; you don’t need to go and give him a damn anxiety attack with the door slamming and yelling.”

Lawson spins around, his usual bright, jovial smile replaced by a sneer and narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten or not, but this happens to be my house. You’re a guest and welcome to go back to your penthouse in Manhattan at any time.”

“Don’t push my buttons, Law. I’m not in the mood for your righteous bullshit.”

“You need to check this out.” He grits his teeth and crosses to the window, motioning me to follow him. “Look at that.”

I glance down the beach, trying to understand what’s got him so riled up until I note the SUTTER REALTY sign, and a woman currently hammering said sign into the lawn. Rian’s busy typing away on her phone. Ironically, mine buzzes from across the room as she slips it back in her purse.

“I didn’t even see a FOR SALE sign and it’s already sold! How the hell is that possible?”

He’s got me there. I have no idea. “Why don’t you go ask?”

“You ask. You’re fucking one of them. Shouldn’t you know what’s coming on the market? What’d you do, premature ejaculate or come in her eye or something?”

“You’re disgusting.”

He jabs a finger in their direction. “You need to find out what’s going on.”

“No, I don’t.” He doesn’t need to know about the drunk texts and the message I already left her that have gone unanswered. Although, I am very tempted to go out there and find out why exactly she’s ignoring me today, other than the obvious reasons—like my sexting suggestion.

“Did you lose your balls or something? Go find out what the deal is.”

“I don’t understand why you even care. We bought a house a couple of weeks ago. I can’t renovate two at the same time anyway.”

“It’s the principle. How the hell can we trust those two if they’re not even telling us what houses are up for sale? They’re shady.”

“They’re not shady.” At least Rian isn’t. Marley maybe. She did hit my car and leave the scene of the crime.

He points at the SOLD sign. “You can’t tell me that’s not some shady deal going on.”

“That’s exactly what we did when we bought the Franklin bungalow,” I point out.

“Marley knows I’m interested in more beachfront property. She knows to call me if there’s a whiff of an idea that someone is selling. I’m going over there.”

“You might want to calm down first.”

“Fuck that.” He stomps across the living room, gunning for the sliding door again.

“Don’t slam it!” I follow after him. I’d like to check on Trip, but I don’t think Lawson’s going to enter any kind of discussion with Marley and Rian with a level head. I also don’t think he’s adequately prepared for Rian’s sass.

I squint as I follow him out into the hot, sunny afternoon. I’d go back in for my shades, but he’s already yelling.

“Hey!” He gestures wildly to the sign. “What the hell is this?”

Rian turns slowly. Despite her sunglasses, I can already see her arched, unimpressed brow. I shake my head at my brother, because going toe-to-toe with Rian isn’t something he’s thought through.

Rian gives him her sweetest smile. “It’s a sold sign.”

Lawson glares at her and then turns his attention to Marley. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

She shrugs. “It was a private sale, like the Franklin bungalow.”

Rian’s gaze moves to me, the dip of her chin tells me she’s checking me out. I glance down and realize after my shower I didn’t bother to put on anything besides a pair of board shorts. They’re floral Hawaiian print. And these don’t have the usual built-in twig-and-berry holder, so if I happen to get a hard-on, which is likely since Rian looks entirely too delicious, it’s not going to be easy to hide. At least the flowers sort of act like camouflage.

“Those are pretty,” Rian says with a half smile.

I grin back. “So are you.”

Lawson throws me a disgusted look. “I would’ve put an offer in on this place. I would’ve outbid whoever bought it. Talk to the buyers and see what they want for it.”

“They won’t sell,” Rian says confidently.

“Everyone has a price, sweetheart,” Lawson snaps.