So Wright (The Wrights 1)

She suddenly felt a little unglued, a little frantic. “Last time I looked, I was pretty invested in you and Elaina.”

“We’re safe. You’ve known us since you were a kid. Mr. New York isn’t safe. Gypsy isn’t safe. Seeking investors isn’t safe. Starting a business isn’t safe.” His voice grew more deliberate. “You’ve got to get out of your box, Miranda. You’ve got to learn to take risks, or those drawings will always be just drawings. You’ll never know the joy of really loving someone. You have so much potential, and it makes me crazy to watch you back away from something that’s within your reach if you just stretch a little.”

Miranda’s mood plummeted. “I think you’re the grouch here today.”

Marty swiped the coffee cup from Miranda’s hand. “I’ll get you your coffee. You need to be alert for the interview.”

She looked up at him. “What interview?”

“The one with the Nashville Sun.”

Her first reaction was dread. It was hard to get excited about this kind of thing anymore. She used to hope for exposure to gain notoriety for her innovative thinking and design. Hoped to garner interest from someone who wanted to partner or invest. After a couple dozen interviews, she knew the articles garnered nothing more than a few kudos and recreational attention.

So much damned disappointment in her life. Was it really so hard to understand her aversion to investing in anyone or anything?

“Don’t tell me,” Miranda said with a teasing tone, hoping to lighten the conversation. “She’s from the home and décor column. You met her at Starbucks and bonded over your love of caramel macchiatos.”

“Smartass. He’s from the business section, and he’s interested in how these kinds of homes could change the face of the homeless epidemic.”

Still, Miranda was slow to warm up. “Interesting.”

“You know what’s even more interesting?”

“The number of women you snag with that sexy prosthetic leg?”

“One of my army buddy’s sons has a friend who was in the special ops teams. The guy runs his own security outfit now called Manhunters. He’s based in Colorado, but he and his teams work all over the world. He’s raking in the profits, and he’s looking for a meaningful investment. I sent him your business plan. He loves the idea of helping vets, and your plan for creating alternative, affordable living environments for low-income folks.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You just bitched at me for not having a business plan.”

“I got tired of waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and worked one up on my own. You can take twenty years and do this yourself, or you can accept help and be living your dream in two. Personally, I’d like to see it happen in two. I don’t know if I’ll be around in twenty. And you’re thirty years old, Miranda. Do you really want to be busting your ass on a construction site until you’re fifty or sixty? You need to work on your long game.”

“Jesus, Marty. Go away. There’s got to be some hot fifty-something volunteer you should be chatting up.”

Marty pushed off the container. “Show a little enthusiasm when you talk to the reporter. You may not be much of a numbers girl, but you’re a hell of a people person when you want to be, and publicity is important. Consider it a gateway drug to the good stuff.”

8

A lawyer, a forensic accountant, and an investigator sat across the conference table from Jack.

It sounded a little like the beginning of a joke, but there wasn’t a whiff of amusement in the room.

Over the weekend, Jack had read through all the information the team had collected, then combed through the company books until his vision blurred. When he needed a break from the numbers, he spent time with his dad, who sporadically remembered who Jack was one minute, only to stare right throug

h him the next.

To add a little light to the darkness, Jack had built Legos skyscrapers with Jacob, taught James to throw a baseball, and let Joshua gnaw on his finger to relieve his teething pain. He’d also stopped by Spur’s hoping to find Miranda. No luck there.

As Clark Bruin, Pinnacle’s attorney, sorted through his files, Jack let his mind drift to Miranda. He was torn on whether or not to hit the bar again tonight in hopes of getting her to agree to a real date. He wasn’t sure if that would seem stalkerish. Third night in a row and all.

He was so bad at this. He understood normal dating patterns. When to call again after the first date. When to take it to the next level. But this… Whatever this was tipped Jack off-balance. He couldn’t pin down the what or why of the chemistry between them, and the intensity of it left him feeling vulnerable and edgy.

In the back of his mind, he realized he hoped sleeping with her again would put him on an even keel. That somehow the second time around wouldn’t be as mind-blowing. Then there was the flip side of that problem. What in the hell would he do if this thing between them turned out to be just as good, or even better, than he’d thought?

“Good news.” Bruin looked just as a well-heeled, conservative attorney would, midfifties with salt-and-pepper hair, tailored blue suit, red power tie. “We won a judgment against Bruce Fischer in court today.”

“That does sound good,” Jack said, “but I’m not sure what it means.”

“It means you’ve got a great shot at getting back the money Fischer stole. At least most of it. He’s surely used some.”