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)
He plops the log onto his shoulder and heads for the door.
“You know what?” I call after him. “You aren’t my favorite brother anymore.”
“Good. You were never mine.”
“Liar.”
He pauses in the doorway and turns to face me. “You’re only my favorite because the others are idiots, and this side of the company would fall on its face without you. You’re the backbone around here—no pressure.” He gives me a fake smile that slowly morphs into a real one. “But as far as the girl goes—I can tell you like her, so go through with it. Let her stay with you. She doesn’t live here anyway, right? What could it hurt? She’ll have to go home eventually.”
I shrug.
“I’ll call you tomorrow about the changes to these,” he says, tapping his free hand against the drawings.
“See ya.”
He disappears around the corner without saying another word.
I drop into my chair again and let out a deep breath. I don’t exactly know how I got into this predicament, but I do think Wade is right.
What could it hurt?
Not much. She’ll be chomping at the bit to go home and get back to work as soon as she can. That much I’ll guarantee. The odds of her going Kendra and becoming a huge problem are really moot when I think about it. And hanging out with her in the evenings for a few days might be a good way to recharge while we’re battling Landry.
Besides, it’s a nice thing for me to do. It’ll get me good karma.
“She might not even take me up on it,” I say, scooting up to my desk. “I’m probably wildly overthinking this.”
I grin when I see that Wade left me a copy of his design. I peer over the papers and make a few notes along the side. I’m just about to grab a glass of water when my phone rings.
“Hello?” I ask, sinking back into my chair in anticipation of Blaire’s voice.
“Hi, Holt.”
“Hi, Blaire.”
My internal rhythms change immediately, evening out into a steady pace. The wariness from my conversation with Wade and the uncertainty I felt as I studied the plans are gone. In their place is an excitement that I can’t—and don’t want to—deny.
“Are you having a good day?” she asks.
“Wade just left my office so … not really.” I laugh. “I’m in the office. What about you?”
“Am I interrupting? Because I can call back or—”
“No,” I say, sitting up. “It’s just me now. I need a break anyway.”
She blows out a light breath.
“What about you?” I ask again. “Are you having a good day?”
“Yes, actually. Well, I was until the baby across the hall started crying again. I’m starting to think it has colic.”
I furrow my brow. “What’s colic?”
“It’s when babies cry for no apparent reason. My youngest brother, Machlan, had it when he was a baby. He would cry every afternoon from four o’clock to seven thirty on the dot. It was the strangest thing.”
“Huh. Well, I don’t know much about babies other than I’m not sure I’m built for diapers.”
She laughs. “Me either. My nana keeps pushing me to have kids before she dies, which is a completely morbid thought in my opinion. I’m hoping my brothers hurry up and have kids so the pressure gets taken off me.”
“But you’re the only girl, right?”
“Yes.”
“That might make a difference,” I counter. “She might want to see her maternal line move another generation.”
“Well, she should’ve had more children and upped her odds.”
“That’s what I tell my mother. She’s always telling us that we need to have daughters since she had five boys. I tell her it’s not my fault.” I laugh. “Then we tell her that Boone will definitely have daughters with all the estrogen in his blood so it’s not a worry.”
Blaire laughs. “So Boone is the one you tease?”
“Nah, we all get teased for different things. Boone’s the baby, so he gets punked a little more just because of birth order … and the fact that he really embraces the baby-of-the-family role.”
“Machlan is the baby in our family, and he does the punking. Except to Walker. I don’t think they’ve ever actually fought, but I’m not sure who would win.”
I fiddle with the top button of my shirt. It takes a few tries before I get it undone.
Rising to my feet, I walk over to the windows. The sun is still warm even though it’s flirting with the horizon. The day whizzed by. This time last night, Blaire and I were on our way to Picante. That seems unreal. It also seems unreal that I might not see her again if she leaves tomorrow.
“Did you give any thought to my offer?” I ask.
She hesitates. “Yes, actually. I did.”
“And …?”
“I was thinking that it might not be a terrible idea to stay in Savannah for a few more days and see the city.”