ix months.
Reagan had never come across as fragile to him; though slim and petite in stature, she possessed a confidence and self-assuredness that made her seem unbreakable...untouchable. But tonight? There’d been moments when he could’ve sworn her bones had been traded for glass. And he’d fought the insane urge to wrap her up and cushion her from the strange tension that had sprung up at moments between her and her parents.
Luke squeezed his shoulder. “Telling me not to worry is like telling the Cowboys not to pass Amari Cooper the football. Ain’t going to happen.”
Ezekiel snorted, and Luke returned to the couch and his spread of papers. Before he lost Luke’s attention completely to work, Ezekiel followed and swept up the empty coffee cup and takeout container. He crossed the room and tossed them in the trash can.
“Thanks, Luke,” he said, heading for the office door.
“For what?” his brother muttered absently.
“For being there.”
Luke’s head snapped up, his light brown eyes focused and sharp.
“Always.”
He was right about that, Ezekiel mused, letting himself out and closing the door shut behind him. Through everything, Luke had always been there for him. Had never failed him.
Even when Ezekiel failed himself.
Seven
Reagan stepped off the elevator onto the executive floor of the Wingate Enterprises building. She barely noticed the tasteful, expensive furnishings or exquisite decor that prevented the office from feeling corporate but instead exuded welcome and competence.
She did notice the silence.
And not like the peaceful stillness of the cemetery where she and Ezekiel had encountered each other weeks ago.
No, tension reverberated in this quiet. It stretched so tight, screamed so loud she curled her fingers into her palms to prohibit her from reverting to her six-year-old self and slapping her hands over her ears.
She strode past the desks with people bent over them, hard at work, and the office doors shutting out the world. The anxiety that seemed to permeate the air like a rancid perfume twisted her stomach into knots.
She’d seen the news this morning. Had blankly stared at the screen as words like DEA, drugs and smuggling were thrown at her by solemn-faced news anchors who were unable to hide the inappropriate glee in their eyes over a juicy story. Her first thought had been to get to Ezekiel. To see if he was okay. To...protect him.
Reagan shook her head as she approached the circular, gleaming wood desk that sat outside his shut office doors. There was no protecting him or his family from this latest development in what had become a perpetual shit storm that circled the Wingate clan and their company. And he didn’t need or want that from her anyway. No, she was here to make sure her friend/fiancé wasn’t reeling.
Pausing in front of the desk, she met the curious gaze of the pretty woman behind it. Recognition dawned in her brown eyes seconds later, and she smiled.
“Good morning, Ms. Sinclair. How can I help you?”
Glancing down at the gold nameplate on the desk, Reagan returned the woman’s smile. “I’m well, Ms. Reynolds. I don’t have an appointment, but is Ezekiel free for a few minutes? I need to speak with him.”
“Of course. I’m sure he would love a visit from his fiancée this morning. It also happens he’s in between meetings, so it should be fine.” She lifted the phone from its cradle and punched a button. “Mr. Holloway, Ms. Sinclair is here to see you.” She paused. “I’ll send her right in.” Replacing the phone, she nodded. “He’s waiting on you, and belated congratulations on your engagement.”
“Thank you,” Reagan murmured, heading for Ezekiel’s office.
Would she ever get used to being called someone’s fiancée? No, not someone. Ezekiel Holloway’s. She doubted it. Three weeks had passed since they’d announced their intent to marry to her parents, and sometimes it still felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. There were days she couldn’t decide which.
Even though he expected her, she still rapped the door, then turned the knob. She entered and scanned the office, finding Ezekiel perched behind his desk, dark brows furrowed as he studied the computer monitor in front of him. For a moment, she entertained spinning around and exiting as quickly—and impulsively—as she’d made the decision to come here.
But Ezekiel glanced up, and she halted midstep, her heels sinking into the plush carpet.
God, he looked...exhausted. His brown skin pulled taut over the sharp slashes of his cheekbones, lending his already angular face more severity. Stark lines only enhanced the almost decadent fullness of his mouth, and guilt coiled inside her for noticing. Faint, dark circles bruised the flesh under his eyes as if it’d been some time since the last time he and sleep had been acquainted.
The news about the DEA investigation had apparently dropped sometime yesterday even though she’d just seen it this morning. That had probably been the last time he’d visited a bed. Weariness dulled his usually bright green eyes, and her fingertips tingled with the need to cross the room, kneel beside him and stroke the tender skin under his eyes, to brush her lips across his eyelids. Anything to remove the worry, anger and fear from those mesmerizing depths.
Instead, she remained where she stood. First, Ezekiel wouldn’t appreciate her noticing those emotions in his gaze—would most likely deny their existence. And second, that wasn’t what they were to each other. Business partners and friends, yes. But lovers kissed and comforted each other to ease pain. And they were most definitely not, nor ever would be, lovers.