Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
We have to do this.
I close my eyes to work through the problem, but when I do, the only thing I see are Blaire’s bright blue eyes. I must sigh because Oliver sighs back with a hefty dose of sarcasm.
“You’re going to make me play therapist, aren’t you?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” I say, opening my eyes. “Why would I need a therapist?”
“I don’t know. I just know since you ran into this girl at the airport, you’ve been all …”
“What?”
“Pussified.”
I stand and laugh. “I have not.”
“No, you have,” he teases. “You remind me a little of Boone when you’re all emotional like this, but that’s okay. The family has me.”
“Riiight. It’s a good thing we have you. Where would we be without your expense reports that easily double the rest of ours? Or your penchant for golfing on Fridays? Or the way we had to pay off the secretary because you—”
“Hey,” he interrupts. “First of all, my expense reports are because I actually wine and dine potential clients. Golfing on Fridays is also another work burden that you don’t bother helping me lift. And that secretary thing … Well, let’s just say that I didn’t expect her to blackmail me for giving it to her doggy style on my desk after hours, okay? Might not have been my best move.”
“That’s what she said.”
“I’m not dignifying that with a response.”
I put the call on speakerphone and begin to get dressed. My clothes smell like Blaire’s perfume—faint and floral with a dose of elegance. As I pull on my shirt, I spot a dab of her red lipstick on the collar.
My stomach twists, sending a coil of energy through my body. It nestles itself deep inside my core, and I can’t deny my desire to see her again.
“Where is Blaire now?” Oliver asks. “Not that I care. I just know that we will end up having this conversation, so we might as well get it over with.”
“I’m not sure,” I admit.
“What do you mean that you’re not sure?”
I slip on my socks. “It means I don’t know where she’s at, dammit.”
Oliver’s laugh is instantaneous. It roars through the speaker and causes me to flinch.
“I didn’t have her pegged to be a one-night stand. But good for her. I like her style,” he says.
My jaw tenses as I shove my wallet and keys into my pocket. Before I head toward the door, I grab the panties and shove them in my pocket too.
“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?” he asks.
“What?”
“That she left. Total power move. She stole your thunder.”
“She didn’t steal my thunder,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And it doesn’t bother me. I kind of like it, actually.”
Even though the words come out of my mouth, I’m not sure I believe them. Not totally, anyway. It might be nice not to have to be the one to enforce a one-night stand for once, but I wouldn’t have minded a goodbye.
Hell, I might have even offered breakfast before going our separate ways.
When I think of Blaire, I’m heated. Energized. Itching to have a conversation with the woman who intrigues me mentally as well as physically.
But she’s gone. While that might make things less interesting this morning, it keeps it a clean break. There’s a beauty in that.
Still …
“She did leave her credit card,” I say. “I need to figure out how to get it back to her.”
“Um, call her?”
“Would you believe that I don’t have her number?”
It doesn’t take long before his laughter fills the phone again.
“You don’t have her fucking number? This is gold. She just played you.”
“She did not,” I fire back, annoyed at his amusement in all this.
“Yeah, she did. Blaire is my fucking hero right now.”
“I haven’t needed her number,” I insist. “I ran into her at the Landrys, and we had dinner. I haven’t had to call her because she’s been with me, asshole.”
Oliver’s laugh dies down. He takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.
“As the smartest of the Mason family, let me point out one piece of the puzzle that you’ve not yet put together,” he says. “You might not have her phone number, but the Landrys do. And I might have told Graham that you would call him today about Wade being a closet hippie.”
I shove off the desk. Whether it’s my imagination or whether the sun really did choose this moment to shine brightly into the room, I don’t know. But the warmth radiating in from its rays is impossible to deny.
Returning her card is the practical thing to do. It’s the right, moral thing. And asking the Landrys to contact her for me—she’s practically their family—would only make me look good in their eyes too.
It’s genius.
I grin. “Ollie, I really hate to say I appreciate you, but I appreciate you, man.”
“Hold on. I’m going to put that on the calendar right next to the words Holt Got Played.”