Lock You Down (Rivers Brothers 2)

"You were really good at that."

"I can't take credit. That was all Kingston. He gave me that speech once when I couldn't decide what of my mother's to take before the rest got boxed up."

"What did you end up taking?"

I reached into my back pocket, pulling out a piece of silver, the pattern long since rubbed away. "This was the last quarter she had to her name. I carried it with me all those years we worked to take from the company that took her from us because she couldn't afford more treatment because they wouldn't offer her medical care. I ran my thumb over it whenever I thought about her while on a job. There's nothing left of it. But I keep it with me always. I don't rub my finger over it anymore, but I think of her when I take it out of my pocket at night, when I slip it back into it in the morning."

Reagan's hand slipped into mine, pinning the quarter between our palms, her fingers curling over mine so it couldn't get loose.

Then she looked up at me through those heart-shaped sunglasses and she said the words I'd been hoping one day she would.

"I love you, Nixon. And I know, I know. It's not that long. I think men actually end up saying it first most of the time. Eighty-eight days, I think I read that in an article once. Men say it in eighty-eight days. Women in one-hundred-thirty-two. I think that is because women are afraid of seeming clingy or needy or something. I think it is kind of ridiculous that we have to hide our feelings because we're afraid someone is afraid of our love..."

"Babe, you done blabbering?" I asked, watching as her lips curved up slowly.

"I guess so, yeah."

"Good. Because I love you too," I told her, my arms going around her lower back, pulling her against me, sealing my lips to hers.

"Hey," she said, breaking away, eyes a little big.

"Hey what?"

"Why don't we see if we can find an earlier flight home?" she asked. "If we get back, we can make it to Sunday dinner," she added.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was a woman after my own fucking heart.EPILOGUENixon - 3 weeksI was pretty sure Reagan put on this big shindig simply to make Harvey uncomfortable.

She was hosting a viewing party for a montage of his three commercials he had filmed for Devil Tears. She'd had people in to clear out the lower level of the office building, brought in chairs, got a projector and screen, rented popcorn and slushy machines, invited just about everyone she knew, including Harvey's friends who, apparently, did not know he was going to be the new spokesperson, and were having a hell of a time ribbing him about it.

"You're evil," I told her as she moved in at my side, handing me a glass of whiskey. An actual glass. Because Reagan refused to use plastic even for social events. Then again, it probably shouldn't have surprised me. On top of being conscious of plastic waste, she had been raised differently. There were no backyard barbecues with red Solo cups and throw-away plates. No. She'd always known catered events with real glass, with real china for chrissakes.

"He puts on a good show, but he is just as excited about this as I am. As we all are," she clarified. "Have I thanked you for the idea yet?" she asked, bumping her hip to mine.

"Yes."

"Well, thank you again. I think this is going to be a huge hit."

She'd been pulling a lot of late nights. Then, after I dragged her to bed, I often woke up to find her fiddling around with the mockups from the graphic designer for new promotional materials.

Reagan didn't do much by halves. When she was in, she was all in. And now that she had settled things with her family, now that they had loosened up the reins a little, so focused as they were on their own project, she was running with it, doing everything in her power to make her business something she could be proud of.

She didn't need the money.

Which made her ambition all the more admirable in my eyes. I'd never worked as hard at anything as she did at rebranding her company.

It was humbling.

And I wanted nothing more than for her to succeed.

We would soon see.

"That better be apple juice," Reagan said, voice slipping into a mom-tone as Calvin moved over toward us, something a suspicious shade in his glass.

"Alcohol is bad," he agreed, voice dry. "That's why we work at a whiskey company," he added. Then took a long sip of something I knew for damn sure wasn't apple juice.

"Thanks for inviting me," Marley said, moving into our little circle. "My mom didn't want me to come on a school night, but my dad talked her into it."