He greets me with a full-bellied laugh. “I guess I can forgo asking how you are.”
“Fucker.”
“Nah, I don’t think you are fucking her, actually.”
I run a hand through my hair as I pass through by the foyer. “Did you call for a reason? Or just to piss me off?”
“I called for a reason. Pissing you off is just a bonus.”
“Well, shut up and get to the point. I’m about to shut this phone off for the night.”
I enter the den and stand next to the fireplace. The blanket I keep on the back of the chair that Blaire was sitting in is draped over the armrest. My immediate inclination is to pick it up and put it back where it goes. But before I touch the fabric, I pull back. I kind of like it there.
“I’m taking it Blaire is there,” Oliver says.
“If you wanna gossip, call Wade.”
He tsks me.
“Tell me why you called so I can get back to what I was doing,” I say, my gaze drifting toward the doorway.
“You mean who you were doing? Or about to do?”
“Ollie …” I warn.
“All right, all right.” He sucks in a breath. “We’re having lunch with Landry tomorrow at eleven thirty. Wade’s new drawings are spectacular. He outdid himself. Have you seen them?”
“Yes. Well, I saw them this afternoon. I don’t know what he changed.”
“They’re awesome. Anyway, we’re meeting Graham and Lincoln Landry at Picante. Keep your schedule open.”
“Will do.” I sigh. “Can I go now?”
“Yes, you can go now. Just get this out of your system so you can concentrate tomorrow. I’m getting tired of being the only one who can think around here today.”
I snort. “Phone is going off. Talk to you in the morning.”
“Goodbye.”
Blaire’s laughter filters through the house. I don’t know if it’s loud or if I’m just in tune with her.
I rub my hands down my face.
She laughs again.
My stomach twists. I tell myself it’s a case of blue balls, and I’m sure on some level, it is. I definitely wanted to fuck. But as I listen to her faint voice filter my direction, I wonder if it’s not something else too. Something less physical.
You just have a few days of this. Enjoy it for what it is, and then everything will go back to normal.
I’m not sure if knowing I have a few days of this left is a good thing or a bad thing. And that’s fucking scary.
Fifteen
Blaire
A breeze just strong enough to rustle the branches of the massive oak trees in Xavier Park billows around me. The chapel sits on the other side of a lazy street that gives off the impression of being in a cozy village rather than the city of Savannah.
I stroll along a path and take in the space that’s more magical than mundane. People pass by, giving me a welcoming smile or a gentle wave. Others lie on blankets with dogs or lovers while some curl up with books beneath the trees.
My rush to finish my work this morning paid off. While I was sorting through Yancy’s emails and the new evidence in the Lawson case, I chastised myself for agreeing to this. My butt should be in a chair, in Chicago, with my face in case files. But now, as I breathe in the fresh, clean air, my regret diminishes.
It diminishes even more when I remember Holt is on his way.
I grin.
“He’ll be here soon,” I say aloud.
The excitement in my stomach bubbles, and I don’t try to fight it. It’s futile at this point.
Hearing him get ready for work this morning—the soft steps of his feet down the hall, the gravel of his voice answering a call, the clatter of his dishes in the kitchen—made me want to get up too. I fought with myself to stay in bed and not make a fool out of myself.
I escaped the night before and maintained my dignity—mostly. It was not the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Especially when I ended Nana’s call and looked up to see him standing in the doorway with that look in his eye. It was a glimmer of concern, presumably about something to do with his phone call, but also a predatory sheen. And while I was totally on board for being his prey, I knew that he needed to address work. I couldn’t be a distraction, so I took myself to the guest room like an adult and locked the door.
For his own good. And mine.
He didn’t come for me—pun sadly intended.
My phone rings in my hand, and I jump. “Hey, Sienna,” I say.
“Hey! How are you?
“I’m good. What about you?”
“I’m great. Walker is great. Family is good. Now talk to me.”
I can’t help but laugh at the mischief in her voice. A bench sits at the entry of the park, and I make my way to it.